Their Verdict of Vagaries
by Angstier
Summary: • "All who fall under your gaze become accused of a silent crime… and I am yet to understand why." -Riddle. Gray!Harry lost in love and misery. Redemption, betrayal, Death Eaters, Dumbledore & the story of Grindelwald. Voldemort's rise to power. HP/TMR
1. King's Cross

**Disclaimer: **All credit that can possible be given goes to J.K. Rowling for being the blatant creator of the Harry Potter series. I'd like to take this opportunity to explain that I'm not going to make any money off of this; I am merely doing this for the fun of it.

**Official Trailer:** (just to give you a 2:00 preview of the story) _hxxp:/www(.)youtube(.)com/watch?v=erJ5hFRdYXg_ (Replace 'hxxp' with 'http', and remove the ()'s, obviously.)

Be warned, this chapter begins with a lot of canon, but has important original content.

* * *

Harry lay face down, listening to the silence that surrounded him. He was perfectly alone because of what he had done, he knew. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.

A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore, he had a sense of touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too.

Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he was naked. Convinced that he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes.

He lay in a bright mist, thought it was not like mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapour; rather the cloudy vapour had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be.

He sat up. His body appeared unscathed. He touched his face. He was not wearing glasses anymore.

Then a noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small, soft thumpings of something that flapped, failed and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slightly indecent.

For the first time, he wished he were clothed. Barely had the wish formed in his head, than robes appeared a short distance away. He took them and pulled them on: they were soft, clean and warm. It was extraordinary how they had appeared, just like that, the moment he had wanted them…

He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement? The longer he looked, the more there was to see. A great, domed glass roof glittered high above him in sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace. All was hushed and still, except those odd thumping and whimpering noises coming from somewhere close in the mist…

Harry turned slowly on the spot. His surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes. A wide-open space, bright and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with that clear, domed glass ceiling. I was quite empty. He was the only person there, except for –

He recoiled. He had spotted the thing that was making the noises. It had a form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough, frayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.

Harry would have been afraid of it, had it not been so small, fragile, and wounded. As Harry stated at creature, the atmosphere in the room was slowly changing. The room was dimming eerily slowly, yet noticeably so. Memories of what had happened only seconds ago – or perhaps forever ago – were falling into place in his mind as he saw this helpless, repulsive creature.

Whatever the creature might be, it was barely alive. It needed help… Harry knew he really ought to comfort it. He stepped closer to the creature cautiously, lingering above it as it continued to whimper and shake, not acknowledging his presence yet. He stood near enough to touch it, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt like a coward…

Suddenly a voice rang out from behind him.

"You cannot help."

Harry stood up, spinning around. Albus Dumbledore was walking towards him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue.

'Harry." He spread his arms wide, and his hands were both whole and white and undamaged.

Harry clenched his fist. Upon seeing this unfriendly gesture, Dumbledore stopped. A silence fell.

"I've been waiting for you for quite a while, Harry," Dumbledore expressed after a moment, acting as though Harry's sudden tenseness hadn't affected him. "Don't you care to hear any of what I have to say?"

Harry didn't know what to reply to this. He did feel a stab of remorse at the sight of his old Headmaster… but that wasn't enough to stop him from blaming the aged Wizard for all that had happened.

"You're dead," was all that he could say.

"Oh, yes," said Dumbledore matter-of-factly, "but I do not believe that _you_ are, and that does not answer my question. Don't you care to hear any of what I have to say?"

There was another long silence while Harry thought about this question. He wanted to yell at the Professor, to remind Dumbledore why he was so furious, confused and upset, but deep down he knew it would do no good here.

"No, I don't want to hear anything from you."

Dumbledore seemed to have guessed Harry's answer before he even gave it. "Why not, may I ask?"

"You betrayed me," Harry stated, trying hard to keep his voice strong. "After everything you taught me about defeating Horcruxes, after all the times you told me I had to kill Voldemort, you knew I had to die. You knew it was all lies… You should have told me."

Dumbledore was studying Harry closely. His bright blue eyes were dimmed while he wore no set expression, not yet knowing how to react to Harry's words. Then to Harry's surprise, Dumbledore smiled. It was a belittling action.

"I knew you would always make it here, Harry. I knew you would find your courage in the end."

This only annoyed Harry. He didn't understand how Dumbledore could just act as though he, Harry, hadn't said anything at all important.

"If you knew I would always make it here," Harry began, his tone cold with indignation, "why didn't you tell me before?"

"Well, if you expected that you would come here, I assume the ending result would have come out entirely wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew of this place before today, you could never have come here by accident."

Harry tried very hard not to think of all the unpromising facts that arose from this theory. Dumbledore carried on talking, as if to make more sense of the situation.

"You were lucky to make it here as it is, Harry. I was surprised with how long you took to make the correct choice. With what you did, I should think that you managed to disappoint and destroy –"

"Don't!" Harry cut across him forcibly.

Another silence fell. Dumbledore seemed unable to do anything but watch Harry. The creature in the corner seemed to become more frightened at the sound of Harry shouting; it whimpered a few times, fidgeting where it lay, before falling silent. Harry's hands curled into fists and his breath was quick. He wished this hadn't annoyed him so much. Despondency was coursing though his body, nauseating him.

"I didn't mean for that to happen," Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I just… But this is _your_ fault!"

"My fault?"

"Yes! You – you were the one who didn't tell me for so long!" Harry exclaimed in a mix of anger and sorrow. "You messed up everything! And all because you – because you…"

"I was already dead by that time," Dumbledore observed quietly.

Harry had to take a moment to gather his thoughts when he heard how calm Dumbledore was. He had to recall exactly what annoyed him. "You should have told me I had to die when you were alive."

"With the risk of ruining the precocious time you had left?" Dumbledore inquired in disbelief. "I couldn't have done that to you, Harry."

"But you made it all the more worse when you scared me away with only telling me at the last minute!"

"Your reaction was your own choice, Harry."

Dumbledore was silent for a long time after saying this, as was Harry. When he spoke again, his voice was disenchanted.

"Perhaps I misunderstood you…"

The creature made more noises. "Yeah?" Harry asked, "Well maybe you did…"

"It's not too late to make the correct choices, even now," Dumbledore commented quietly.

"But it's over…"

"Voldemort is not dead and you can still defeat him. You can go back."

"Why should I take your advice now? How do I know this isn't just another trick to – to lead me down the completely wrong path again?"

"It was your own choices that created the scene you so recently left."

"Even if I go back, it won't change any mistakes…" Harry said quietly, staring at the struggling child under its chair.

"But you have a second chance, Harry."

These words only made him angry again.

"Why do I get the second chance?" he asked. "Why doesn't – doesn't…" but he couldn't bring himself to say what he wanted to, so he improvised, "that child over there?"

Dumbledore took his time to look away from Harry, to examine the form Harry's eyes rested upon.

"That would be an unwise way to spend your second chance."

Harry contemplated these words. "Would it live?"

"More than you can even guess," Dumbledore said almost sadly.

These words put an idea in Harry's head. "I could save it…" His voice was only a little over a whisper.

"You cannot help," Dumbledore repeated.

"Just like I had to die? Well, here I am."

"Harry, you have a chance to make the right choice-"

"Since when has helping someone been the _wrong_ choice?"

Harry turned away from Dumbledore. He stepped forward many paces, kneeled near the creature once more He suspended his hand over its shivering body, ready to comfort it any second now. Somehow, he knew this would take him away from this terrible place.

"It will not help as you want it to," Dumbledore advised.

Harry smiled sorrowfully as he felt a familiar prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes. "If this gets me away from you, I'm fine with that…"

Harry didn't look at Dumbledore nor wait for him to say another word. He brought his hand down to rest upon the creature, then, quite like with a portkey, a hook seemed to attach itself just to a space above his navel. He was pulled forwards sharply, before he was suddenly spinning a million miles an hour into a darkness that fell over his eyes and forced him into unconsciousness.


	2. Thief!

Harry landed with a crash on a hard, stone floor. The force of the impact winded him, and the first thing he remembered since what had happened in his mind was gasping for breath in the pavement of the street where he lay. Once he could breathe again, he opened his eyes, and blinked many times. It was daytime. He tried to make out where he was, but his vision was foggy. He wasn't wearing his glasses. He swallowed a few times to try and sooth his dry mouth and throat, but it didn't help very much. He felt paranoid with his vision impaired, so he pushed himself up off the ground with haste and stood up, checking his pockets to find his wand.

Mercifully his wand had been lying under him, so he picked it up off the ground and held it in his hands for comfort. As he felt it under his fingers he remembered that it was Draco's wand still, for his had broken so long ago… Well, that was better than no wand at all, even if it still didn't feel right to him. He felt his other pockets, looking for his glasses, but couldn't find them. On the last pocket he searched in he found an object that he had nearly forgotten about – his invisibility cloak. He was glad that he had the cloak, for he might need it, but it made him wonder. If what had happened when he blacked out was real – which he doubted, somehow – why was everything he held before that time here except for his glasses?

Perhaps his glasses had fallen off when Voldemort threw the killing curse at him… Yes, that would explain it. The killing curse again… but Harry couldn't get anywhere with reflecting upon that idea. Where was he now? Harry pointed his wand to his eyes and did something he really should have done long ago – he repaired his vision. His eye–sight wasn't perfect, for he wasn't very good with the spell, but it was better than it had previously been. He took in his surroundings.

He was standing in what seemed to be an ordinary Muggle street. Now that he listened, he could hear the sounds of pedestrians and cars not far away, and with his nearly repaired vision he even saw a few forms moving on a street at the end of the road he stood upon. Along the street he stood, there were no people. Sunlight streamed down from the sky, but Harry didn't know if the sun was raising or setting, for he knew not which direction was north. Then an idea came to mind. He put his palm out, facing the sky, and rested is wand upon it.

"Point me."

His wand spun around nearly a hundred and eighty degrees to point towards north. Harry worked out that this meant it was only morning, which was probably better all and all. The only problem was that he didn't know where he was. From what he could see, it looked like he was in the middle of a city, most likely London. He was in half a mind to Apparate elsewhere, but he couldn't think of anywhere to go… The Battle of Hogwarts was supposed to be going on, but here he was, in the middle of this city. He couldn't return to the Battle… he just couldn't. Should he wander the streets for a while? He'd be able to find out where he was then, and perhaps think of destination to go. He wondered how much time had passed since he supposedly died… and he knew he hadn't died yet, for all his senses were in tact.

But he needed a disguise. He couldn't just walk around in broad daylight like this, not while Voldemort and all the Death Eaters were so keen to kill and capture him. He made his was quickly to an alleyway, and waved his wand to conjure a mirror, peering at his reflection slightly reluctantly. He didn't want to look at himself, not since he had made all those horrible mistakes… He was a monster to even his own consciousness. The reflection that met his eyes showed him the same person he had always seen in the mirror; except he seemed older since the last time he looked. Harry mused the fact that he could be in just another transfiguration class for his years at Hogwarts, practicing human transfiguration again. The only difference was that this time he had no Hermione to help him, not matter how important this situation was… He tried not to see himself properly as he changed all he could in his own appearance.

He could have changed his hair's natural shade, or the colour of his eyes, or the shape of his face, but quite honestly he didn't want to make anything quite so different. He just wanted to look like the same person he felt, he wanted to be himself, to leave his darkened tired eyes, chapped lips and generally eerie appearance. This is whom he had made himself, and he didn't want to hide behind any mask of handsome features. Anyone who knew him wouldn't recognise him now anyway, for he appeared different by nature because he _felt_ different by nature.

All he decided to do was change the cut of his hair so as to hide his scar better with a rough side parting and lingering fringe, and to try and fix his eyesight a little more accurately. He could think of nothing else to do besides this. Yet it was rather unwise to leave everything so unchanged… What features did he have that might make the sight of him connected to who he was? There was nothing to change. It felt very foolish to do no more, but he was simply at a lack of ideas. He transfigured his dusty black robes into Muggle clothes as a last resort. This would be good enough for now anyway, because he was about to enter a large crowd.

He made the mirror disappear, and then headed for the street ahead of him. He contemplated the idea of his invisibility cloak, but that might be a bit difficult to use while weaving through such a large crowd of people that formed when he hit a main street. He drifted amongst the pedestrians without seeing any of them as he thought. He didn't like the idea of going back to Hogwarts; in fact he hated the idea. Did this mean Voldemort was dead from that curse, or had someone else managed to kill him now? But they couldn't have killed him. Not if he, Harry, was still alive…

What on earth had happened with Dumbledore? That had to be a dream. Harry could see no effect from the event, except for the fact that he was now in the middle of this city. Suddenly he remembered that he was supposed to be paying attention to what was around him, to read signs and work out where he was. He lifted his eyes to search for a signpost, but something else caught his attention, and he stopped.

"Excuse me!" A Muggle crashed into him as he stopped dead in the middle of the street, but then they carried on walking without another word, merely shaking their head at the oddly dressed boy and forgetting him a second after.

Now that Harry looked, there were a lot of people staring at him. If everyone didn't appear so solemn and worried, he would suppose that a few people might have raised an eyebrow or laughed at the sight of him, but for now all they did was linger on his form with their eyes as they hurried past. That fact didn't bother Harry though; he was too distracted by the fact that there were so many Muggles in very old-fashioned clothing. All the women wore dresses in shades of pastel and cream, with purses, gloves and jewellery. The men wore suites and held briefcases, though there didn't seem to be many men around in general. They all cast confused glances at Harry's red T-shirt and jeans, and wondered why a boy dressed so outrageously gaped at them all. Many of them panicked at the though that he might be foreign.

Harry wondered for a long moment if he was on some sort of movie-set, and contemplated finding the nearest exit to the street. But everyone seemed quite convincing in his or her own act of going somewhere they wanted to go. There seemed to be quite a lot of them as well, and no sign of anyone looping back around to make the crowd seem bigger than it was. Harry didn't know what to do as he felt stuck, but he moved with the people after a while of lingering, just to be less obvious in such company.

Harry saw many odd sights, such as people carrying heavy metals around or escorting groups of pigeons to places, and he was still baffled to know why all these people were dressed like this. Even the shops, signposts and general decor around him seemed old fashioned. He read a sign and saw that he was indeed in London, and knew roughly where a few selective places were from here – most importantly of all, the Leaky Cauldron. From there perhaps he would understand what on earth was going on.

He weaved through many streets, knowing that the Wizarding pub would be somewhere around him soon. Finally he found it, and stopped. Was this some kind of joke? The pub was also completely different… Maybe this is a dream, Harry thought. Maybe his mind was trying to make him feel secure before he was dropped back into that horrible reality that was the ending of his life. This was a pretty bad excuse for a calm atmosphere if that was the case. He felt great anxiety at the sight of the pub changed. It _had_ been about a year before he saw the place, but it was still too different to have changed since his last visit. He stepped forward slowly, and transforming his badly disguised Muggle clothes into robes again when he knew no Muggle would see him. Once in his familiar Wizarding robes, he walked towards the door of the pub, and entered.

He knew it couldn't be a dream as he entered the building, but it may as well have been one, for his senses seemed to become numb as he saw how different the inside of the pub was. The tables were all in new places, as well as the stand where the barman stood. All he knew was that the stairs to the upper floors and the exit to Diagon Alley were in tact. Harry lingered at the door for a long moment before walking towards the bar. Tom the barman had his back to Harry.

"Hello, Tom."

The barman turned around, and Harry nearly jumped. The barman Harry knew was elderly and stooped, this man was around thirty and healthier looking. Now that Harry thought of it, even from the back he really should have recognised that this wasn't the same Wizard. It did sort of look like the barman he was used to, so perhaps it was a new employee that was related to him.

"Oh. Er, Sorry, I thought you were-"

"Have we met?"

Harry suddenly remembered that he shouldn't have said hello even if this really was the right barman. He wasn't supposed to be recognised. "Erm, no – no, I don't think we've met before," Harry replied firmly.

"Then how did you know my name?" The young man asked.

"Er… I – I though you were someone else."

Tom, if that was really his name, eyed Harry curiously for a minute, before putting down the glass he was cleaning, evidently deciding that it didn't matter whether this odd newcomer knew his name or not. "So, what'll it be?"

"Er, a butterbeer please."

The barman was about to fill a glass of butterbeer, before Harry remembered something.

"No wait, sorry – I haven't got any money on me…"

Tom turned around to frown at Harry a little.

"Sorry," Harry repeated. "I'll just go and grab some now, yeah?"

"Sure," The barman said, slightly impatient.

Harry nodded curtly more to himself than anyone else, and headed towards the exit of the bar to see if he could get some money out of Gringotts. When he met the crowed of Wizards outside the back of the shop and beyond the wall, he stopped again. This time it wasn't because they were oddly dressed, or that he himself was out of place – for he seemed more or less in style – but there seemed to be an awful lot of people in Diagon Alley today, and they were all so _happy_. This took Harry completely by surprise.

The first glorious thought that came to his mind was that perhaps Voldemort had died, but they weren't that happy. They were merely content, as though there wasn't a care in the world. Did they not understand how much danger they were facing? Were they unaware of all the death that was smeared across histories' pages because of the battle he had just arrived from? Diagon Alley looked like it had when Harry had first visited it at age eleven. It had a cheery air about it that made Harry feel sick, and he saw many people stopping to chat, and young children smiling, as they seemed to be buying school supplies, though if Harry recalled, it wasn't even close to September yet.

Yet again, everything looked older than it should. But old in a new way, oddly enough… Harry tried to ignore it this time, choosing instead to follow the crowed and navigate his way towards the Wizarding bank. Sight of the great marble building towering above him made him remember the day he had first entered the Wizarding World. That was like a different life now. It was simply too far away for him to remember how it felt to be happy and excited with seeing the building.

He had put his foot on the first step towards the building, when he remembered two very important points, and stopped again. Many people stared as he paused and looked into space blankly. If he had just come back from the Battle of Hogwarts… why wasn't the street swarming with Ministry workers trying to fix the damage Ron, Hermione and himself had made with breaking through the bank with that dragon? The bank should certainly be closed, and the Goblins eager to recognise his face. Even with that fact, how had he expected for even a minute that he could walk in there and access his vault?

He couldn't go in and say "Hello again. Yeah, sorry about before and all – but could I access my vault? Name? Harry James Potter." First of all, the Ministry of Magic would arrest him, and a Death Eater or two would find out about it, to soon steal him away from the already corrupted Ministry. He would be brought straight to Voldemort, where he would be killed very slowly and securely most probably, for Voldemort would want to be sure that he died this time… None of this answered why the ground was still whole, and why the people were still merry and calm.

But Harry needed some money. He needed to stay in the Leaky Cauldron for a day to get his mind straight, because he was still very disoriented. He'd need a new name as well. What do to about that? He'd think of something, a name he would remember easily. All he needed now was money, because he had nowhere to go at this very second. The Burrow and Shell Cottage were too dreadful to even think about returning to… There was literally nowhere for him to go. He contemplated Hogwarts yet again, but he imagined the school to be covered with dead bodies. Harry felt the urge to hide at this thought, so didn't dwell on details. He wanted to go somewhere where Voldemort wouldn't expect – if it was that Voldemort was still alive.

The happy Diagon Alley made Harry feel sick, because it felt so unreal. It wasn't possible that all these people could be so blissful – it was wrong. Harry decided that the only way he'd be able to get through this was to steal money. He didn't even feel bad about it either, for what did money matter compared to staying alive? This was a situation in which he had no choice. The people were all so blankly happy anyway, and it wasn't as though he was going to steal any life scarring amounts of cash. He only needed just over eight Galleons to last.

Now to work out whom to steal from… Harry decided against using the invisibility cloak for it would draw more attention to have a hand filtering though bags unattached to a body. The cloak wasn't useful when it came to stealing, it was only to hide, and anyway, Harry felt it was fairer if he earned his money with the risk. He took a deep breath, scanning the people around him. He ignored all the mothers and young people; for that was pretty low all and all. His eyes searched for someone who really looked worth stealing from.

And then he saw the person. It was a man with a pompous air about him, dressed in rich robes of maroon and gold, and currently adjusting an eyepiece on his face as he sat down on an outside table of a restaurant. The sight of him may have been quite comical to Harry, had there not been more pressing matters to think of. Harry needed to steal the wallet that was sticking out of the edge of the bag neglected upon a chair near the rich Wizard… He stood for about five minutes just staring at the man who did not see him, bracing the moment where he'd walk over and steal what he needed. Once Harry thought the routine through a few times, he descended the step he stood upon and made his way towards the Wizard in a way that wasn't to be considered anything but a normal manner.

He walked along the same side of the street that the man and the restaurant rested upon, estimating how much time he had. Just then a waitress came out of the building and asked the Wizard what he would be ordering, and Harry was relieved. This was the perfect time. He slowed down not too much as he came closer, letting people walk between him and the Wizard in his sight. The man was still distracted, but for only a few more seconds now… Harry walked closer. He had about ten seconds to go. At eight seconds, the waitress was still taking notes. Six seconds, the rich Wizard talked a little more. Five seconds, Harry was in their sight. Four seconds, the waitress confirmed the order for the last time. Two seconds, Harry was next to the bag. One second, Harry gently scooped up the wallet in his hand, and pulled away.

He pocketed it, thinking he had gotten away, but just as he turned to go, just as he was about to sigh in relief while the Wizard couldn't see, a hand grabbed his wrist. The Wizard was at his side, yanking Harry's hand and the wallet from the pocket of Harry's robes. He hadn't even seen the Wizard get up…

"What do you think you are going with _this_, young man?" The Wizard asked, his expression livid as he help up his wallet for Harry to see.

"I…" But Harry didn't know what to say.

"Thief! How dare you attempt to take my possessions! What is your name?"

"Harry – Moore," He made up for no reason at all. Moore was the first common name that came to his head.

"Well, Mister _Moore_," the man said angrily, "I'll have you know that I work for the _Ministry_ of _Magic_, and now have the right to see your identification! I could get you in a lot of trouble for such substandard and despicable behaviour! What if I were to be carrying important legal documents, eh? What about then?"

"I – I'm sorry, I just – I didn't meant for-"

"Silence! Identification, please."

"Sorry?"

"Identification!" He almost shouted.

Harry gaped at the Wizard still gripping his wrist very tightly.

"Sorry, but… I don't know what you mean."

The man's angry eyes became even smaller slits in his pudgy face. "Don't you play dumb with me, boy!"

"No, I'm telling the truth! I don't know what you mean about – about identification!"

The man looked a little surprised, but more like he didn't believe Harry's words. "How old are you, _boy_?"

"Seventeen."

Harry was surprised if the man could see with how contorted his eyes were at this point. "When is your birth date?"

"July 31st."

"Year?"

Harry blinked, "Nineteen eighty."

"Nineteen eighty? _Nineteen eighty_? You, boy, are a liar _and_ a thief! You're coming with me – to the Ministry of Magic to answer to the law!"

"W-what? No! You can't take me there! I don't know what you're talking about, I can't go back there – I –!"

"SILENCE!"

The man cast a spell before Harry could take out his own wand, and the next thing he knew a full body-binding curse was being used on him, and he couldn't run away or use magic. This seemed like a rather pathetic way to get caught – it was so simple, yet Harry wasn't expecting it. He was caught off guard.

The next thing he knew, they were Apparating to a new destination.


	3. A Mistaken Era

"No! Please, you can't take me to the Ministry – I can't be-"

"Ah, you have something else to hide from us do you, boy?"

"It's not that!" Harry tried to think of a way to quickly stop this man from bringing him to the awaiting hands of the Ministry, yet he could think of nothing to do as they marched closer and closer to the main entrance of the underground building. Should he tell this man who he was? Harry didn't think so, somehow. It was safest to lie his way out of this once there was a time he could do it. All he needed was a chance to reach for his wand, and then he could be free. He'd escape using force if that was the only way.

"There will be no more excuses given to me," the man declared after becoming restless with how much Harry pleaded not to be taken to the Ministry. "I'm taking you _straight _to the Department for the Magical Law Enforcement Squad!"

"R-really?" Harry nearly beamed.

The man looked a little startled with Harry's reaction. "You are to answer to the law, boy, there is nothing to be happy about!"

Harry didn't say anything. Is it not true that Kingsley Shacklebolt would be at that exact department right now? If the Battle had ended – which Harry was sure of almost entirely – then anyone that was still alive would have to return to his or her daily jobs… Unless Kingsley was on the run, in which case the department may be searching for him. Whatever the case, there was bound to be at least one face there that Harry would recognised, even if they didn't recognise him.

Harry was far less reluctant in being pulled through the doors to the entrance of the Ministry now. He paid a little bit more attention to his surroundings, and saw that this place at least looked as it always had. He was quietly dwelling on the thought of whether many of the Death Eaters would be dead by now, shorting the risk of him being caught, when he realized something. The fountain bearing the five statues of the Witch, the Wizard, the Goblin, the Elf and the Centaur was still in tact and whole. He stared as the shimmering water cast spots of light across the polished floors and walls like it had in his earliest memories the Ministry. There was no longer the gigantic, frightening sculpture of black stone dominating the scene, no more thrones of twisted and naked Muggles supporting the weight of the Wizards who sat upon them. Most of all, the sentence "Magic is might" was no longer shouted from foot-high letters, poisoning the world into believing in Voldemort's cause slowly but surely. No, all that was left was the pure fountain of golden figures, representing equality in the world.

This was all that Harry's attention was targeted to at this point. It wasn't at all as sickening compared to the stature that he had last seen in this building, but it somehow made Harry feel great anxiety. This again brought up the fact that everyone around him seemed so blankly happy. Perhaps… perhaps the battle had ended, and this was some time after Harry had been nearly killed by Voldemort that night. Perhaps that second chance Dumbledore offered had been given to him anyway. Maybe he had been in a sort of coma for some time, and all had gone back to normal… But for now at least he needed to get away from the Ministry, just in case this wasn't a changed time at all. This man wasn't going to give up seeking revenge for the money Harry tried to steal, even if this really was some time after Harry believed it to be at first.

They walked through the crowd of Ministry workers and visitors until they met the lifts at the far end of the Atrium, the man constantly casting irritated glances down at Harry through his eyepiece. Harry tried again to think of a way of escape if need be, and with this thought they seemed to be quickly heading for the Department for the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Harry reflected upon the thought that this department seemed a little extreme to bring such an amateur pickpocket such as himself. Yet it wasn't for him to judge, for this man seemed like very proud Wizard in general.

"Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," called the cool female voice in the lift where Harry, the Wizard escorting him and a few other workers were crammed inside, "including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."

Harry felt himself being dragged by the rich man onto this floor, as he expected, and they made their way down the hallway together in silence. Harry's eyes scanned the corridor as the man continued to cast him very curious and spectacle glances of wonder, for Harry surely ought to be more frightened than he was. They arrived at the Magical Law Enforcement Squad's Department within a few minutes. Harry tried to recognise some faces around him, but no one he knew was here. They walked past the same stall Kingsley should be working in, it seemed, but Harry had no luck in seeing Kingsley anywhere.

"Here we are," the rich man sneered. He knocked upon a door of dark wood at the end of the hall lined with working Aurors.

"Enter," another man called from inside.

The door was opened, and Harry was pulled inside. The room that met his eyes was simple, and much like one would expect for the head of this department. It was floored in soft red carpet, with walls made of wood and a few plants here and there, giving the room a very neat look. There was a desk facing the door where Harry and the rich Wizard stood, and man was sitting at it, a huge window casting light upon the scene behind him. Harry knew the window was probably made my magic, but it looked very real. The man at the desk placed some papers he was reading down, and frowned as he saw the people in front of him. He looked around thirty or forty, but quite accomplished by the way he dressed and sat upon his chair.

"Good morning, Barrett," the man at the desk greeted.

"Louis, I'll need you to look into who this boy is," the rich man, who was evidently called Barrett, demanded.

Louis glanced at Harry for a minute, taking in his appearance. "For what reason? Sit." He indicated the two seats in front of him, and Barrett glared at Harry to follow that order. They both sat.

"I found him attempting robbery in Diagon Alley," Barrett started.

"Then we keep a record on his name and be aware of who he is," Louis said simply. "What's the problem?"

"He has no Identification on him."

"Did you double check?"

"Of course I – do you think me foolish enough not to have?"

"No, not at all," Louis looked at Harry in slight confusion. "Where is your ID?"

Harry tried to say this simply, but he knew they wouldn't understand, considering how seriously they were taking this, "I don't have an ID. I've never had one. I've never even heard of Wizards having them – I thought that was more of a Muggle thing to do."

Harry saw the Wizards exchange chances. "What's your name?" Louis asked.

"Harry Moore," Barrett answered for him.

"Erm… actually, no, my name is Jonathan Smith," Harry lied. He wasn't going to be tied to the name 'Harry' so simply; he needed a very common name. He decided that 'John Smith' would be perfectly good for his case, for though it was an obviously common name, he was guessing that no one here would notice.

Barrett's eyes became slits once more, "So he lies again."

"Most people lie when they're caught by the law, Barrett," Louis reasoned, "it's good to know that Jonathan here at least admitted to the lie unasked."

"Do you know when he said his birth year was?" Barrett replied, trying to make Louis see what kind of person Harry was. "The 31st of July, _Nineteen Eighty!_"

"Do the math," said Harry in annoyance. "That's seventeen years ago. Easily seventeen years ago!"

Louis cast Barrett a curious glance.

"What?" Harry asked, still impatient.

"Were you in any form of an… accident lately?" Louis asked carefully.

Harry paused. "What would that matter?"

"Could be a memory charm gone wrong," Loud said to Barrett as though confirming some thought they shared.

"Or he could be lying again," Barrett replied, glaring at Harry again.

Louis turned to face Harry. "What is today's date?"

Harry paused, trying to remember. Why wouldn't the Ministry know this already? "May the 2nd, 1998."

There was a silence. "He should be examined."

"What? Why?" Harry asked quickly. Then he _must_ have been in a coma for a while, or something similar. "Why won't you believe me? What's the real date?"

Louis looked uncomfortable for a minute, as though he almost felt pity for the green-eyed boy sitting across from him. "Today is the 27th of August… 1944."

There was a moment's pause where Harry felt like jumping out of his seat and shouting at them all for being wrong, but refrained from doing so. This couldn't possibly be true. Was it some kind of joke? But who would bother to make all those Muggles dressed as if in the 1940s? Who would re-form the Leaky Cauldron, make sure no one Harry recognised was around and even go so far as to put the Ministry back to how it was? Then, very suddenly, a thought came to Harry's mind. If what had happened with Dumbledore just after Voldemort 'killed' him had been real and if he, Harry, had chosen to save that child other than to carry on with the battle waiting for him… but his thoughts went no after this. Then what? What would have happened if that were all real? Would it really make a difference? Why on earth did it put him way back in 1944? None of this was making sense!

"Prove it," Harry said suddenly, before he could withhold this command.

Louis raised his eyebrows a little, before searching in one of the drawers of his desk for something. He soon brought up what was clearly a newspaper, and Harry took it without comment. There, on the top of the paper, was the date clearly marked: 27th August 1944. Harry opened the paper and scanned some random articles to be sure this wasn't a hoax.

"You see? None of us are in year _Nineteen Ninety-eight_," Barrett scoffed. He directed his next words at Louis. "Send a memo and fetch a worker from St. Mungo's to have a look at him."

"Indeed," Louis searched in another drawer and produced a quill and pre-made memo.

Harry pushed the newspaper away from him slowly as the two other Wizards sat in silence. Maybe this really was 1944… It didn't make any sense what so ever when thinking about how Harry would have gotten here, but it explained a lot. Does that mean that the barman in the pub was the same one he had always known, expect younger now? The fact that Gringotts wasn't swarming with angry Goblins and Ministry workers suggested a change of time. Harry had a horrible thought, for just a minute, that maybe he _had_ gotten into a very bad accident and all his life had so far been a lie, but that really couldn't be true. He remembered everything too well for it all to have been an illusion.

About ten minutes passed where nothing really happened, then a plump little Witch knocked on the door and entered, greeting everyone in the room and chatting briefly before she came to examine Harry. Harry felt rather foolish as she asked him questions about the year he didn't know the answers to, and he was a little concerned when she pulled his new haircut back and looked at his scar for a long while. She knew that the scar held a lot of dark magic, and she told the room that willingly, even going so far as to suggest that this could be the cause of his amnesia.

Harry knew that his scar hadn't caused this (or maybe it had, considering it was related to the attacks Voldemort had made on him) but he said nothing important to the Witch. It had been bleeding not very long before he woke up that day, so she thought it must be a new wound. Harry didn't care about any of her theories as long as he'd be able to get away from the Ministry soon. The Witch, Barrett and Louis talked for a little while with Harry, trying to see the solution to this.

"I don't want to be kept in St. Mungo's," Harry said definitely as the idea was suggested. "I don't know where I want to go yet, but that hospital is not an option, no matter what."

"But if he's in St. Mungo's," Barrett said, "He'll first of all be off the streets, and second of all be fixed by the healers more accurately. We can't allow him to carry on _stealing_ for the rest of his life merely because he doesn't want to go."

"You can't force me to stay there!" Harry retorted. "By law you can't, it's a known fact."

Louis frowned, "How do you know that?"

"I've read about it… I think," Harry replied. "Or the last time I was there one of my friends talked about it."

"But he has a point, you know," replied the little Witch. "We can't force him to stay in the hospital – not if he's able to carry on with his life how he is, and not if that isn't what he wants. If he's able to sustain a life without the help of others, there can be no forcing him to the hospital."

"But where will he go?" Louis asked more as a point than a question. "Do you remember any family or friends of yours, Jonathan?"

"Er… No. I don't remember their names at least," Harry lied.

"Then are you at least sure that Jonathan Smith is your true name?"

"Yes, I'm sure of that."

"We haven't been able to find any records of people who could be you… How old did you say you were again?"

"Erm… Well, my birthday is the 31st of June, and I'm only 17…"

"You just turned 17?"

"Technically." Was that a safer option?

"So you still have one more year of education left to go?"

"I skipped my last year."

"You mean you are going to skip your last year?"

"Well, no… I already did."

"I think he means he was going to," the Witch said.

"Have you been attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

"Er… No. No, actually I haven't." It seemed easier that way.

Barrett joined in the conversation, with much enthusiasm this time, "Then to Hogwarts he must go! We cannot keep him at St. Mungo's as the law says, but in the case of this boy having no one to return to, and being under the age limit for leaving school, we have the right to give him a last year of education!" Barrett seemed to of think this as a success in defeating Harry, somehow.

"But I don't want to go back to Hogwarts either," Harry said. There were too many bad memories there, even if they hadn't happened yet, according to the date.

"I think it would be best if you attended the school for a year," Louis said kindly.

"I agree," the Witch added. "They do have rather good Medical care at the school too, so if anything happens to the boy he can be cared for right away."

"But I don't want-"

"It is not a matter of what you want, boy, this is taking into consideration what is good for you," Barrett cut in. "Perhaps after a year of school you'll become less of a scummy street rat and finally begin to respect authority!"

Harry bit back many retorts about having been respectful to authority for too long, but he knew Barrett wouldn't understand whet he meant by that, anyway.

Louis carried on talking, perhaps sensing Harry's wish to say more, "We'll have to send a few owls to Hogwarts to be entirely sure that they can fit a new arrival into their classes and years. Four days won't be too short of a time to do this, but we'll have to make sure everything is sorted as soon as possible. As for trying to find a record of you," he said, directing his words to Harry, "we'll be able to sort it all out in a number of weeks. This is a busy department, but I don't think we'll forget to do anything."

"Right," Harry replied, not really knowing what to say to this. He was glad that he had chosen such a simple name; perhaps they'd mistake some else's file for his own, if he was lucky.

"As for where you will be staying, I think the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley is more that preferable. You'll be able to buy all the school equipment with the money Hogwarts will give you, and then you'll be all set." Louis smiled at the idea of having sorted out the problem.

"Good," Harry replied shortly.

"What about deciding what classes he'll have to take?" asked the Witch. "Will Hogwarts be able to take a student in even this late?"

"I already know all the coursework up to the sixth year," Harry reassured them. "I studied Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions and Herbology."

They all looked rather surprised at this piece of information.

"Er… I remember the subjects, but I only remember reading books about them… I can't remember where I was, and what I was doing it all for."

They didn't ask many questions after this anyway.

"Well, when we write to the school we shall add for them to test Jonathan in all these subjects, just to be sure that he's qualified to keep up with the work," Louis rounded up. "As for right now, Barrett, since you brought the young man here, I suppose it will be you who escorts him out. Drop by Terry on the way down and he'll get some money out for Jonathan to stay at the Inn of the Leaky Cauldron."

And as simply as that Harry found they were all standing up.

"It was nice to meet you, Jonathan," Louis said politely. Harry shook his hand when offered, saying nothing. "I'll get started on this letter to Hogwarts now."

Barrett said goodbye, and walked out of the office with Harry at his heels.

Harry still had no clue what on earth he would do when he arrived at Hogwarts, but this seemed an almost acceptable plan. If this really was 1944, and not some mistake, there was truly nowhere else for him to go. Even if anyone whom he had previously known would accept him into their homes. Perhaps it was better that he was not in year 1998 right now… Maybe he could somehow start a new life, and try to get used to the idea of what he had done. After a year of Hogwarts at least he'd be able to think things through.


	4. Riddle

Harry didn't know what to do. He had arrived at the Leakey Cauldron easily, booking a room until the morning of the first of September as the Ministry asked him to, and he had even gone and bought all his school supplies with the money Hogwarts had given him, but with dwelling on the thought of the date and what Hogwarts would be like at this time, Harry remembered something. Dumbledore would be working at the school. It wasn't that Harry was scared or angry with Dumbledore even in the past; it was that he had remembered Hermione explaining the importance of Time Travel back in their third year. Harry wasn't scared of seeing himself, for he wasn't even born yet, he was scared that the Professor would see his face for the next year and remember it clearly, only to see his face again when he'd arrive at Hogwarts in about fifty years.

There was also the case of Harry's father. They looked exactly alike, except for merely the eyes. The age and time difference between the two might throw the connection off track, but there was still that chance that one day Dumbledore might see James at age seventeen, and be reminded of Harry as Jonathan, and then see Harry again at age eleven, and work out what had happened. Harry supposed he could change his features a little more, but that didn't change how he was still the same person inside. He couldn't hide his eyes forever, per se. All magic that changes the colour of one's irises wears away with time, and Harry would surely forget to keep refreshing the colour so many times a day. He simply didn't want to see the Professor with all these obvious flaws in plan. Dumbledore was too smart.

But would Dumbledore be able to work out that he was from the future? Harry was sure, when the thought about the fact that he had nowhere else to go, that he might be able to simply avoid the Professor… Dumbledore couldn't exactly force Harry to be conversational. Harry in general had become less and less talkative, so Dumbledore wouldn't even think of it as anything unusual. He might be curious, as many others, but Harry wasn't going to be stupid enough to allow anyone to find out about who he was.

He wouldn't allow Dumbledore to push him into going on the run. Harry had no one join; he needed this year at Hogwarts no matter what. Dumbledore's presence might remind him of all that he had done wrong, but perhaps not. Maybe after this last year at the school Harry could get a real job and make a life somehow. He was still taking all the classes to be an Auror, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to be one anymore. Maybe he'd live a quiet life in some part of the country where he could have some employ that didn't take up much of his time, and where he could be alone.

The last thought supplied him with enough to think about to last the three and a half days until arriving at King's Cross. He decided to change his appearance a little more after he left the Leakey Cauldron, because from there and onward he wouldn't meet the same person twice. All that he changed was the shape of his jaw, the shape of his eyebrows and his nose a tiny bit. He looked like everyone else, but different from himself. It was easy, once he thought about it, to take on a new identity when you had magic… Harry put a little more effort in to look like he came from the 1940s as well, because it wasn't good to stand out, especially when he had to go and join Hogwarts again.

He arrived at King's Cross Station at the right time, pulling his trunk along behind him and worrying a little bit more about Dumbledore. He walked through the barrier of platform 9¾, and arrived on the other side to see crowds of families preparing to say goodbye for the long year of school ahead as usual. Sight of the beginning of school made him think a lot about Ron and Hermione, so he felt a little sick and didn't look up at anyone around him anymore. He stood against a wall facing the train and waited patiently for the whistle to sound. He stared down at the pavement in front of him and thought.

The whistle blew, and he heaved his trunk towards the train. He made his way down to where a random empty compartment stood, and sat, being painfully reminded of the golden days of Hogwarts in his past. His stomach was beginning to swarm with nerves as he looked out the window and viewed all the students in their aged clothing and manners. Something about this time made him feel edgy, and the fact that he didn't know what it was made him even more so. He sighed lightly, looking away from the platform where the students and parents stood.

Almost everyone was on the train now, and the whistle sounded again to signify that the Hogwarts Express was moving towards its destination in about ten seconds, when suddenly the door to Harry's compartment opened. He glanced up with blank boredom to see four boys enter the carriage. They didn't ask if it was okay with Harry if they sat here. Harry looked out of the window and generally ignored them.

"Great, _another_ year at Hogwarts," said a boy with a drawling voice.

"I'm glad it's the last year," said another boy with a slight cockney accent, which reminded Harry oddly of Ron. This boy sat in across from Harry. "I can't stand how much work we have to do."

"Well, at least our Lor-" started the third person.

"Shut up," the forth one said.

Harry glanced briefly at the boy sitting in front of him to see that he wore a curious expression. The boy spoke when Harry looked at him. "Who are you, then?"

"Jonathan Smith," Harry replied.

The boy across from Harry cast his friends a significant glance. "I never heard of you before."

"I'm new," Harry said, turning away, but the boy still asked questions.

"Why you coming to Hogwarts so late?"

"I never had the chance to join the school before, I suppose," Harry lied, looking up.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"What house you in?"

"I dunno," Harry lied again. He knew that he was going to be put into Gryffindor when he arrived at the school.

"What's your blood purity?"

Harry paused for a second, a little taken aback with this last question. Out of the habit of answering this question with the same answer for over a year, he said, "I'm a pureblood… What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. I'm Avery."

"Avery?" Harry asked quickly.

"Yeah. Well, that's my surname."

Harry looked at the boy across from in confusion. Avery wasn't supposed to be attending Hogwarts until Snape's time, in the seventies. This boy would be around forty by that time. Maybe Harry was mistaken; maybe this was just the father of the Avery he knew… Yes that had to be it. He managed to keep his expression blank after this thought. He found that anxiety had poured through his veins when he thought of this actually being the Death Eater he knew. It was just a Death Eater's father…

"And this is Dolohov, Nott and Lestrange."

Harry felt like he was about to be sick as he heard this, and slowly looked around to the other three people sitting next to him. They all nodded and said a quick 'hello'. Harry nodded back, swallowing as he struggled to keep a blank expression. He wouldn't allow his brain to comprehend what this could mean.

The Death Eaters – as Harry had no doubt these boys were – didn't really seem to have many questions for a few minutes, so they brought out what was blatantly a magical gambling game.

"Wanna play?" Avery asked.

"No thanks…" Harry reflected on how odd it was that the Death Eaters played gambling games in their free time. He wondered – slightly reluctantly – what their leader thought of this. If it was true that he was at Hogwarts.

"So… what house do you _think_ you'll be sorted in?" Avery asked.

"I don't know," Harry replied. "Most likely Gryffindor."

Harry heard one of them make a hissing noise Slytherins he had known often did when they disapproved of something, thought he knew the hiss had no real meaning in any language.

"I'd suggest being a Slytherin," the boy called Nott said.

"You can't choose where you go," Harry replied simply. "An idea of where you want to go does help the Sorting Hat decide, but you can't really choose. It's more about what decisions you have made in your past, and what personality you have by nature."

"How would you know?" asked Dolohov in his thick voice.

"I heard about it," Harry lied.

"Well, even if that's true, I'd try and be a Slytherin," Avery said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

The Death Eaters cast one another secretive glances. "We don't much like the other houses," Avery stated.

"What should I care what you do and don't like?" Harry asked. He had said that without really thinking, but didn't regret it either way. It was true.

"Definitely seems like a Gryffindor," Lestrange said quietly in his drawling voice to the others. Then he addressed Harry directly. "Since you're new here, we won't do anything about that last comment, but bare in mind we probably won't forget it."

Harry bit back a few retorts at this, and turned away. "Alright then."

The Death Eaters didn't say much more, they just continued with their game of cards. Harry remained silent as he stared out of the window next to him. He had nothing to do but think, for he didn't want to talk to any of the Death Eaters or read; both of those options seemed duller than just reflecting upon the past. After a long while Harry came to realise that if this was the '40s, then Slughorn would also be a teacher at Hogwarts. Harry didn't know how he felt about this. He knew that there was nothing about him as Jonathan Smith that would make the potions master want him in the Slug Club, so that was good at least. He wondered what it would be like to see the Professor in the eyes of a student who was all and all disregarded. Also with Dumbledore, it would be odd to be a student of his…

The Hogwarts Express headed north for the entire day, and it was near nightfall when they arrived in Hogsmeade station. The Death Eaters and Harry got changed into their school robes before waiting a minute, and then moved outside their compartment to be some of the first students off.

"So if you ain't been sorted yet, are they gunna sort you when we get to the castle, at the feast?" Avery asked.

"Probably," Harry replied indifferently.

Harry vaguely wanted to drift away from the Death Eaters, but they seemed to think that staying with him would be the best. He knew they probably just wanted to ask him a few more questions before they got to the castle. Harry ended up in a carriage with them all.

"Why did you decide to come to Hogwarts this year and not the other years?" Nott asked as Harry watched the shadows of the Thestrals against the window for a minute.

"It was the Ministry that told me I had to come to Hogwarts this year," Harry replied. He decided that some truth wouldn't be too hard to give.

"Why?"

He thought of this question, trying to give a reasonable answer. "I got caught stealing a sum of money, and the man who I stole from turned out to be in the Law Enforcement. They looked into my records to see who I was… The next thing I knew they were sending an owl to ask Hogwarts if they would take me."

"How much money was it?" Dolohov asked. None of the Death Eaters seemed surprised by the story; in fact they seemed a little impressed.

"Probably a few hundred Galleons, I didn't check before they caught me."

"You don't sound very much like a Gryffindor much with that in mind," Lestrange commented. "How did you get caught?"

"My timing was off."

"Do you steal often?" asked Avery.

"Not unless I need to."

"Why did you need to this time?"

"There was an unexpected event, and I needed somewhere to stay, and money to do so," Harry replied in a monotone.

"Didn't you have any at hand?"

Harry was sure with this that the Death Eaters were never short of money. He supposed that it was their pureblood families who made sure that was possible in their lives. "No. I lost it all the night before I got caught."

The Death Eaters continued to ask Harry questions, but the carriage on which they were seated soon stopped at the entrance to the castle, so the answers they received had come to an end. They made their way to the oak front doors and Harry tried not to look out at the dark grounds that surrounded him, choosing instead to block some thoughts and seek the Professor he was told would be waiting for him. His eyes fell upon Dumbledore scanning the faces of the students. His beard was not quite as long as it was when Harry knew him, and its colour was auburn instead of the familiar grey, yet it was still Dumbledore. Harry could see his twinkling blue eyes even from the distance that he stood away from the Professor in the dim light spilling from the entrance hall.

When Dumbledore's eyes fell upon Harry he smiled lightly, and headed towards him. Harry had expected through habit that Dumbledore would come over to him and greet him as if he had known him for the last seven years of his life and more. But Harry then remembered that they technically hadn't met one another yet, and Dumbledore wouldn't have recognised him anyway. The Professor put out his hand for Harry to shake.

"Hello, Jonathan, I am professor Dumbledore."

Harry took his hand and shook it, looking into his eyes and trying to remember that he had to act like a new student. "Erm… Hello Professor."

Harry was still angry with Dumbledore, there was no doubting that, but sight of him here at Hogwarts, alive, and younger than ever before made Harry feel rather mystified. This felt like another dream, and he, Harry, was drifting slightly from his grasp on what was real and what wasn't. Dumbledore's x-raying eyes lingered upon Harry for a minute as he spoke.

"It is, as you know, rather unusual for us to have a new arrival at our school so late, but I'm sure that you'll be able to fit in just finely."

"Yeah, I hope so," Harry replied, not really knowing what he was saying. Dumbledore was here, alive, and this was the most bizarre situation.

There was a pause as Dumbledore looked down at Harry, and Harry could have sworn that he saw a small speck of curiosity cross the Professor's face. It wasn't as though he had read Harry's mind, as what usually seemed to be the case, it was more like something that he expected to be there wasn't after all… Harry looked away from his eyes. Even if Dumbledore had just used Legilimency, Harry's mind was too blank to have given anything away.

"Come then, Smith."

Harry followed Dumbledore, and they walked across the entrance hall and into the Great Hall. Harry was too familiar with the school to be awed at the beauty of it all, and he was also too unenthusiastic to be nervous about the fact that he had just walked into a hall full of chatting students who shot him glances and whispered when he was in their sight. Harry was far too used to this to even care. Dumbledore lead Harry up to the high platform where the teachers sat, and they both stood a little to the left of the centre of the space. Harry tried to look impassive as he recognised the Headmaster at once from the diary so long ago, getting up from where he sat to come and stand with Harry and Dumbledore. He smiled at Harry in welcome, and the Great Hall grew silent as the students waited for their Headmaster to speak. Dippet cleared his throat.

"Welcome back, students, to another year at Hogwarts. Now, as you all have probably noticed, there has been a slight change in our usual routine for the beginning of school year, so we are to be doing a quick sorting for our newest student – Jonathan Smith – before we sort the first years and begin the feast."

Dippet seemed to want to add more, but didn't have anything else to add, so he turned to Harry after a second and smiled again, nodding for him to try on the Sorting Hat that was awaiting on the three-legged stool. Sight of it from this angle made Harry remember the day he had first tried on the hat. He looked at Dumbledore who nodded for him to try it on too, and he walked forward. He placed the hat on his head and waited. The hat actually fitted him this time.

Then another thought came to his head, just as late as all the other important thoughts so far seemed to have come. If this were the same sorting hat that he had put on in his past, and the hat's future… surely when Harry was to be sorted at age eleven (to the hat's life), the hat would have already known who he was? Or perhaps the name Jonathan Smith would bring the trail off track for the hat's mind? Harry was relieved, suddenly, to know that the Sorting hat wouldn't be able to see his entire past, even if some important snippets of his life may be added in to show what Harry was like as a person. Harry heard it begin to speak to him as soon as he put it on.

"Interesting… I don't believe I've ever seen such a changed student before this. If I could take any of the courage you seem to have shown into consideration now, I'm sure that would be my ultimate answer… But you changed, my dear boy, more greatly than what I have seen in a while. It'll have to be SLYTHERIN!"

There came a satisfied murmur and series of cheers form the Slytherin table at this point, and Harry felt Dumbledore come and take the Sorting Hat off of his head. Harry was frozen, barely believing what had just happened, but Dumbledore indicated for him to leave for the Slytherin table now, and Harry had no choice but to go.

How on earth had that just happened? Sure, the hat had told him in his first year here that being a Slytherin was an option, but Harry had thought that after all these years, after all that he had done, he had proven himself to be more than worthy for Gryffindor.

He saw Avery, Nott, Dolohov and Lestrange looking at him as he made his way to the Slytherin table. Harry decided to go and sit with them, even if he didn't really want to. He was within a few meters of them, when he saw the very last person on this entire earth that he ever wanted to see again. Tom Marvolo Riddle. The Death Eaters had already started greeting him by the time he noticed Tom, so Harry could do nothing but try and look impassive yet again. He took a seat across from Tom slightly reluctantly, trying not to look at the leader of the Death Eaters just yet.

"I knew you'd pick the right house," smiled Nott. "See, wanting to join a house _does_ hep."

Harry refrained from contradicting that theory again. "Yeah, I suppose it does…"

"It must have been all that stealing that put you in Slytherin," said Dolohov thickly. "Even that counts for the sorting."

"Probably."

"I suppose you'll have to care about which houses we do and don't like now," Avery commented with a smile.

Lestrange sneered quietly.

Riddle spoke next, directly to Harry. "My friends have just been informing me on all the tales you have told about yourself."

Harry couldn't refrain from looking at Riddle any longer, but he wanted to. He clenched his fist under the table to try and get rid of any anger that might show in his expression, and his eyes met Tom's. The only time that Harry had seen Riddle looking directly at him was when he was twelve years old, and talking to the memory that came out of the diary in the Chamber of Secrets. The boy who sat across from him looked exactly as Harry had remembered him, except he was a little older now, and perhaps had a darker air about his eyes. It didn't make him any less handsome though, in fact quite the opposite. Harry tried very hard not to think about all of that right now. He replied to what Tom said with pretty convincing efforts, "Have they?"

"Indeed." Tom surveyed Harry for a second in silence. "It seems odd that someone such as yourself would arrive at the school so late. Why come at all?"

"I had no choice," Harry replied, struggling to keep his voice even. "The Ministry couldn't think of anything else to do with me."

"You are seventeen, I believe? Why, then, did you not decide to tell them that you are technically an adult?"

Harry guessed by this point that Riddle wasn't going to give up his case until he was satisfied that he understood every important detail to work out what kind of person he, Harry, was. Harry supposed it was this form of curiosity and ever-so-slight paranoia that would make Riddle go so much further in ruling the Death Eaters and so on. Harry tried to answer the question simply, but he knew that Tom would only have more questions after this. He made a mental note to find a way of leaving this group of people by tomorrow. "I suppose they decided that I'd be better off at Hogwarts for my last year of education because from there I can make a more successful life or something. Find a job."

Riddle still continued to stare at Harry in a way that reminded him of Snape slightly. He soon continued asking questions. "Why didn't you come to Hogwarts before?"

"I prefer to learn at home… it's easier for me."

Harry suddenly realised, now that he was a tiny bit less disorientated with the sight of the boy in front of him, that Tom was wearing the same shadow of wonder that Dumbledore had just worn a few minutes ago… except this time it was mixed with something that looked like anxiety. Harry wondered after a second if Riddle could use Legilimency, so looked away. After this Tom didn't ask anything more of his past.

The sorting of the first years was over shortly after this time, and so the feast began. Harry wasn't very hungry, but he tried to eat something, to look normal to anyone who was watching him. Dippet stood up after everybody was finished eating, reciting more of less the same things that were always mentioned in the start of term feast, even though this was over fifty years earlier than Harry was used to. Then, at Dippet's command, there was a loud screeching noise as all the benches from the four house tables were pushed back, and everyone started to file out of the hall at their own pace, chatting away happily and smiling at the prospect of sleep after such a long day.

Harry followed the Death Eaters and Riddle down to the Slytherin Common Room while trying not to look like he knew where he was going. When they arrived along the corridor where the Common room should be, Riddle gave the password, "Machiavellianism", and they entered the room through the illusion of a wall. The Slytherin Common Room was just as Harry had seen it in his second year, with its low ceiling, decorations of green, silver and black, and high-set, barred-off windows giving a view into the great lake. Harry had walked on, thinking the Death Eaters right next to him, but when he turned around they were lingering a little behind the crowed. Harry didn't really mind being separated from them, but he thought that might be a bit too straightforward in stating how he didn't care to stay with them if he didn't show any sight concern. He turned back for a minute, until Riddle spoke.

"Go to the dormitories, we'll be there in a minute."

Harry was a little surprised, but supposed they had some important Death Eater topics to be discussing without him around. He turned and walked down the long Common Room without comment, and headed for the dormitories. It felt very unnatural for him to think of having to stay in this place for the rest of the school year. It was far more dark, damp and cold compared to the Gryffindor Common Room.

He found the dormitory from guessing mostly, and supposed that the bed with his trunk in front of it was meant for him. The un-neat square structure of the dormitory seemed so vastly different to the round tower bedrooms of Gryffindor. At this thought, Harry realised that he wasn't yet over the shock that he had somehow landed himself in Slytherin. _It's your own fault, _said a quiet voice in his head. _Even Dumbledore said so, more than once. You are the only one that can be blamed for this. _

Harry winced at these thoughts, and then decided to get changed into his pyjamas just for something to do. He looked down at the open trunk that laid on his bed, and thought about how unusual it was to not have his broom, shred of mirror and old Quidditch books that had always made into Hogwarts with him in previous years… But all and all those objects didn't really matter. There were more important things to do that play Quidditch or wonder about what a shred of mirror Sirius gave him might mean. There were many more important things to worry about.

The Death Eaters and Tom came back to the Common Room after a few minutes, and Harry said goodnight to them all shortly before closing the curtains around his four-poster and preparing for sleep – and the few hours of thought that filled the time until then. He couldn't believe how insane the last five days of his life had been. It had all gone by so quickly… The Battle of Hogwarts now seemed like some nightmare that never really happened, like another life he was divided from with that encounter with Dumbledore, and that creature… What on earth had happened there? If Harry only knew, he was sure this would all make sense again.

He was in 1944. He thought of that a lot, as if to start some spontaneous wave of realization, but none ever came. There didn't seem to be any reason for him to ever be in this situation. The only thing Harry knew, as he sat in this Slytherin bedroom, was that he had wanted to help that creature, or whatever it was. Dumbledore had said, "You cannot help" when he threatened twice to save whatever it had been. Why did he say that? Harry hadn't even known what that creature was…

Well, perhaps if Dumbledore hadn't yet again refrained from telling Harry something important, he wouldn't be here at all. This time, though, Dumbledore's lack of confidence in Harry's understanding hadn't caused Harry against doing something, but had provoked him into making the choice. Did that mean that he, Harry, was to be blamed again? That's what Dumbledore would say, that it was Harry's fault for not asking, or perhaps not working it out for himself quick enough. Harry glared angrily at the piece of ceiling he could see above his bed. He blamed Dumbledore again, no matter how much he didn't yet understand about this situation.

There was also the fact that he was here, in this year, this country, this school and this dormitory, with Tom Riddle. Harry couldn't comprehend how that had happened. All he knew was that Riddle would probably end up messing up any plans Harry made in the next few months. His encounter with the boy had been pretty brief, compared to what it could have been, though Harry knew that come tomorrow Tom would have a whole array of new questions to ask about Harry's life. Harry wondered again why both Tom and Dumbledore looked surprised earlier… but then another thought occurred.

Hadn't Tom already murdered his own father and grandparents by now? Yes, he would have to have done. He had also opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed Myrtle, and then blamed Hagrid for the crime. These thoughts stayed in Harry's for a long while, until he slowly came to the conclusion that Riddle must have already made a Horcrux – or Horcruxes. He was already Voldemort.

Not too soon after that though had arrived, sleep seemed to overrule Harry with a field of nightmares, before he could postpone them any longer.


	5. The Ring

Harry had awoken early the next morning to find that everything around his new Slytherin dormitory was pitch black. He wondered for a moment whether it was yet morning. Perhaps his dreams had scared him awake before he could even get a few hours sleep… but when he checked his watch, it was only about forty-five minutes before the others were supposed to wake up. He then remembered how they weren't in a tower of the castle, but instead were under the lake, so no sunshine could find it's way to where he lay. He decided to get up and get changed, for he was quite aware that three quarters of an hour trying to sleep wouldn't make him any less tired.

He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the other side of the room once he was ready for the day, and though he couldn't see his face very well in the dim light, he felt a little disgusted with having to wear Slytherin robes now. He had been taught for six years at Hogwarts to automatically despise anyone who wore the handsome collection of silver and green… but then again, he hated himself quite a bit, so perhaps it really shouldn't be such a shock to him that he should find himself in these robes, with this tie and sweater. He left the dormitory.

Once he was out of the dark scenery of the Slytherin Common Room, he made his way up a few flights of stairs and onto the first floor. Early morning sunlight could be seen when he reached this section of the school, so he decided to take a long walk before breakfast, to prepare him for getting back into the mindset needed for school. It calmed him greatly to walk, and gave him time to get over his new nightmares that haunted him in the night. But, of course, sight of Tom Riddle and the Death Eaters at the Slytherin table at the breakfast later on made anxiety fill him without warning, so he wasn't as social as he should have been.

When Harry had been at the Leaky cauldron, Hogwarts had sent him some tests to do, to be sure that he capable of handling the N.E.W.T. level classes he was taking. They hadn't wrote him back a reply, which made him worry vaguely, but it seemed as though he was qualified for all the classes he had wanted to take, for timetables were handed out to all the students at the Slytherin table, and he had been given the classes he expected. Harry had wondered, when he was taking the test at the Inn, whether or not he might accidently write about discoveries the Wizarding World hadn't yet made, so he tried to be careful and not add in anything discovered after the forties. He was pretty sure that no one had noticed that though – and if they had they would just think that he was mistaken, until a few years time when it is learnt, and they forgot.

Harry's first class of the day was Potions. Nott, Lestrange and Riddle were all taking the class with him, and though that was a little annoying to Harry, it was expected. When Harry entered the classroom not long after breakfast, he found that it looked exactly as it always had, with the exception of where the objects in the room were placed. It could have been the same classroom Harry sat in two years before, with the same Professor but different students… Slughorn, who was standing behind his desk at the end of the room, looked the same as he had in the memory that Dumbledore and Harry had watched so readily. It was quite an odd sight to see, in full honesty. Harry felt as though this was just another memory, but he knew that wasn't at all possible. He sat down with everyone else.

Slughorn welcomed the class to another year of potions, and congratulated them all on making it this far. Harry listened without much enthusiasm as the Potions Master explained how throughout the year they were all going to be making a number of complex potions, starting with PolyJuice Potion. Harry knew that he wasn't going to be good at this long and insightful potion, even if he had seen the real thing a million times, and watched Hermione brew it perfectly with a little of his and Ron's help in their second year. He tried to pay a little more attention as the Professor asked questions, for he knew that he'd know the answers mostly. But then again, did he really want to get points for Slytherin? Mention of the PolyJuice potion made him think about Ron and Hermione, and he couldn't help but be indulged in memories…

"What about you Smith? Smith?"

Harry looked up slightly later that what would be considered normal, and saw the Professor looking his way. He realised that he hadn't been listening enough to know what the question being asked was about. He tried to think of what it might be, but thankfully Slughorn repeated himself.

"At what time must the fluxweed be picked to work well in PolyJuice Potion?"

"At a full moon, in the dead of night," Harry replied, relieved that he remembered this. "But you have to be really careful about it, because it can make the PolyJuice Potion poisonous if picked at the wrong time."

"Precisely!" Slughorn beamed. Harry hoped that the Professor wouldn't take what he knew about this potion as a sign that he might be a good potion brewer. He wouldn't make the mistake of becoming skilled in this subject again. "Well, you certainly seem to know your facts, even if I'd advise a little more attention."

Harry didn't say anything as the Professor smiled at him.

"Tell me, my dear boy, could you possible be related to the famous Anthony Smith of Scotland? He was a rather skilled potion brewer himself."

"Oh…" Harry wondered why he hadn't seen this coming – Slughorn's need to know of any possible blood ties to favour Harry. Since Harry had already known the Professor for a solid year at Hogwarts, the idea of being asked about his family hadn't occurred to him before now. "Er… No – no I don't think so, sir."

"Or Elise Smith, of German blood, who discovered the Draught of Ongoing Oxygen?"

Harry wondered if he should agree to being related to some random person the Professor mentioned, but he knew it would just make Slughorn ask more. "I don't know, Professor."

"What about Atticus Smith, discoverer of a number of key ingredients for potions deep within the Amazon Rainforest? His whole family carried on the subject after that time."

"Erm, no, I don't think I'm related to him either."

Slughorn frowned. "I suppose Smith is a rather common name… Do you know much about where your parents come from?"

"My parents are dead," Harry said automatically. His tone was casual from repeating those words so many times, but that seemed to make Slughorn feel worse, for his face dramatically fell, and Harry found himself being looked at with sympathetic eyes. He wanted to sink into the floor and never come up again.

"Merlin's beard – I had no idea!"

"No, I don't really care anyway–"

"You would think the school board might have dropped a word in! I'm dearly sorry, M'boy, dearly sorry."

Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but decided against it. He wished he had thought twice before telling the Professor this piece of news… But perhaps it would stop people asking about his family after all. He gave the Professor a minute to get over the shock of it. This gave him the excuse to not participate much later in the class, at the very least.

When the introduction to the class had ended, Slughorn told everyone to take out their ingredients and scales, and begin their potions. Harry found himself remembering odd pieces of information from the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, even though he had tried to block out most of what he knew from there. It seemed like all that was scribbled in the margins of that book had etched itself to somewhere in Harry's memory, which was ironic, considering Snape had never been a particularly good teacher in real life. Why should his book have made potions easier to remember? Well, at least Harry wasn't as good with potions as Tom was, for he was managing to cut all the ingredients needed far before the exact time in which he waited to put them in his potion. Tom seemed to be better than ever Hermione had been, which was eerie to Harry. The Death Eaters started talking to Harry.

"So how come you never told us about your parents?" Nott started.

"It's not really my top priority in life to admit that my parents are dead, I suppose," Harry replied.

"Have you been living on your own?"

"Yeah."

"How do you know if you're a Pureblood then?" Lestrange asked.

Harry was in half a mind to say that he didn't know how much blood purity he had and didn't care to learn about it either, but he knew that if he wanted to have an easy year as a Slytherin, he had better make up something to keep them off his back. His voice was a monotone. "I remember that I was born into a rich family, and I know I was a Pureblood because I kept a bracelet that my mother owned before she died. One winter when I was twelve, I sold the bracelet and got a lot of money for it. The man who bought it from me told me a lot about where it had come from, so I found out about my parentage. The money from the heirloom just about kept me going until now."

Harry knew that the tale he just told was a vague rip-off of the story following Merope Gaunt, but he didn't really care. It seemed to work, because Nott and Lestrange didn't show any signs of disbelief. Tom himself was busy with his potion, but Harry knew he was listening.

"So that's why you tried to steal from that Ministry worker? Because you ran out of money?"

"Yeah." That seemed like a simple enough excuse.

"It seems a waste that you would sell that bracelet though," Nott commented.

"How much did you get for it?" Lestrange asked.

"Erm, Five thousand Galleons." Harry invented.

"That's a pretty good amount," Lestrange said.

"You probably could have gotten more if you were older than twelve," Nott added.

"Probably."

"How did you live on your own for your whole life though?"

"I used to live in mainly one village, just outside of London, so I knew the same people for most of my life. I moved on with time, after I was a little older, so it was a pretty easy life." He hoped that was believable. "Er, it was a Wizarding village, of course…"

"Riddle didn't know his parents either," Nott started, "because he lived in an-"

"An orphanage all his life, yeah I know." Harry finished. He didn't want to hear the connection between himself and Tom stated so plainly. The last time he had been told that they were the same was by the memory of Riddle that had spoken to him in the Chamber of Secrets so long ago. Harry refused to believe it even now – they were different people, had different frames of mind… Either way, he didn't want anyone to talk about the similarity.

Harry suddenly realised that Lestrange, Nott and Riddle were all staring at him.

"What?" He asked, wondering if he had said something wrong.

"How did you know that already?" Nott asked slowly.

"Know what already?"

"Know that Tom was an orphan?"

Harry realised now that it was rather unwise thing of him to do, to finish that sentence. He should have been thinking more than that. But the connection between Riddle and himself still annoyed him more than anything, so how on earth could he regret it? He made up a lie. "Er, I heard someone talking about it."

"Who?"

"How should I know? I don't know the names of anyone here yet." Harry really hoped that this was a good enough excuse. Did the current students of Hogwarts speak about such things often?

Nott wore a slight frown on his face. "Alright…"

The subject was dropped after this, but Harry saw Tom cast him many curious glances as they sat within the classroom. Harry had an odd feeling, even after the day passed and they spend a few hours doing homework in the Common Room, that Riddle wanted to ask him something, but wouldn't do it while the Death Eaters were around. Harry didn't want to hear what he had to say no matter what it was, so he ignored this suspicion. He managed to drift away from the Death Eaters for most of the day, until dinner arrived, of course.

Harry sat directly across from Riddle again today, and was surrounded more or less by the other Death Eaters. He hadn't said very much to any of them as they sat and ate, for he was lost in thought. He was reflecting upon what Riddle might think of him knowing that he was an orphan already. It was truly a foolish mistake on Harry's part, and he dearly hoped that Riddle would ignore or forget about it. Harry looked over to the leader of the Death Eaters, wondering if Riddle was still casting him curious glances, when he saw a glint of gold. Harry paused, and stared, awestruck, as he saw Morfin's gold and black ring, unscratched and undamaged, on Riddle's right hand.

He shouldn't have been surprised really, for he had already seen Riddle wearing the ring in Slughorn's memory, but it felt different to see it again, in what he knew to be real life. It wasn't the fact that Harry knew it was a Horcrux, or the fact that Dumbledore had only shown it to him broken before, but it was because it was, no doubt, one of the three Deathly Hallows. More pacifically, it was the Resurrection Stone…

Tom moved his hand away from Harry's view, and the latter looked up to see the boy ahead taking in his appearance impassively. Harry looked away again, not really caring that he had been seen staring at the ring. It made him slightly annoyed to reflect upon the fact that Tom didn't know what the ring was, didn't know what it could do… Would Tom want to bring anyone back from the dead, Harry wondered? Most of the people in his family, who Harry knew of, were only dead because of Tom himself. Tom probably didn't even care enough about his mother to bring her back, had he known how to…

Harry decided to leave the table before the other Slytherins so he could get away from everyone and do the rest of his homework somewhere quiet, where he wouldn't be asked questions regarding his fictional past. After all, the Death Eaters probably wanted to talk of Death-Eater-like things without him around again. Harry wanted to be alone, so he could think. He made his way to the fourth floor of the castle, where he planned on visiting the library, to get rid of some of the overflowing assignments he'd have to do.

He wondered vaguely if all the time he was spending in school was worthwhile… But he knew that until he discovered why he had been placed in 1944, he'd have to stay somewhere safe. Hogwarts was the only place he could think of where he'd feel secure enough to make up a plan for the future. There was always going to be that nagging fact that Voldemort and his Death Eaters had somehow managed to end up sharing the same dormitory as he, but he couldn't do anything about that now. He couldn't trust them with a grain of sand, but at least they were as of yet unaware of whom he truly was. He was safe here, and he couldn't dent it.

The first week at Hogwarts passed quickly, and Harry had managed to become quite distanced from the Death Eaters, much to his own approval. It was Saturday evening, and Harry was wandering the upper floors of Hogwarts, planning on visiting the library yet again. Memories of the Battle recently fought flickered through his mind every time he saw a part of a school where a terrible scene had etched into his mind forever, but wandering the school was still better than talking to the Death Eaters. He didn't want to talk with anyone at all, never mind the people who were to cause all the most terrible things in his life to happen.

He was walking along a corridor on the sixth floor, when suddenly he heard someone call his new name. He turned around, only to see Riddle walking towards him. Harry felt his jaw clench, but other than that he was doing relatively well with resisting the temptation to attack the man in front of him, or to run away. Harry wondered faintly what it was that Tom wanted.

"I've been trying to find you for a while, Smith," Riddle started, as he came nearer to where Harry stood.

Harry unclenched his jaw to speak; he didn't even care if Riddle noticed that he had a problem with him. "Why?"

Tom walked forwards a little more, and indicated for Harry to walk with him, pretending he hadn't noticed Harry's temper. "I couldn't help but notice how you seem to be rather distant from the rest of us – that is to say, my friends and I."

"I've never really been one for staying around people, I suppose," Harry said shortly. It felt unusual and irksome for Harry to be talking to this person, in this circumstance. He tried to think of it as someone else – anyone else – but it didn't seem to work. His mind knew only too well who the boy walking alongside truly was. He stared at the floor in front of him as they walked.

"Perhaps it would be helpful for me to add that it's quite unusual for a student at Hogwarts to not become intimate with their fellow housemates?" Tom added in his carefully quiet tone. "Especially not as a Slytherin."

Harry held back a retort asking Tom if he really thought his 'friends' were close to him. Riddle, as Harry knew, never became attached to anybody, particularly not as a friend. He didn't even treat his most useful Death Eaters with any more respect than he would to his most useless follower. But perhaps Riddle wasn't yet aware of the fact that he had no friends.

"I don't see what use it will do to make _friends_ with anyone this late in my life. I don't care about being left alone… I prefer it that way."

Tom only smiled at this comment, perhaps to belittle Harry's words, or perhaps because he actually found humour in what had been said. "I suppose you'll just walk away after this school year, and not care what happens to the rest of us?"

Harry didn't answer, because thought of what Riddle and his friends would become later in life put a stab of anger inside him, and he wouldn't allow himself to say anything relating to things Riddle couldn't understand at this time.

"Though I suppose most people do just walk away," Riddle mused, his smile long gone.

Harry again had nothing to comment.

"Even if that is so, it does not change the fact that I can't seem to understand why you would begin your stay at Hogwarts trying not only to postpone any social contact with my friends and I, but avoiding us altogether. It does not seem normal for anyone recently acquainted with a group of people to do."

"I'm not avoiding any of you," Harry responded. "This is just how I am."

"That could be possible," Riddle said slowly. "Yet… I can't seem to get rid of the suspicion that it is me in particular that you are most anxious to stay away from." Tom's tone was casual, but easily burning with curiosity under the carefully composed words.

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked in a monotone, not caring at all that Riddle had finally noticed the fact that he hated him.

"Many things… but the reasons aren't what bother me. It's more the idea that we haven't had even one conversation thus far, and yet you are easily showing signs of a person who has been offended by me in some way."

"What do you care about that?"

Riddle smiled. "I don't. Yet it makes me wonder none the less."

Harry laughed humourlessly, trying to annoy Riddle in some tiny way. He hated the fact that the boy walking next to him could show no anger, and could even reveal false signs of blissful happiness as they waked. Despite all of it being an act, it annoyed Harry. "What, you've never had anyone hate you before?"

"Not so soon," Riddle replied.

"Well, maybe just I understand you more than the other idiots in this school who can't see past anything that doesn't scream 'evil'."

Riddle stopped walking at Harry's words, and Harry stopped too. The latter stared at the taller boy for a long moment, glaring and waiting for him to speak.

"You are mistaken," said Riddle quietly.

"I know only too when that I'm not."

Riddle cast Harry another curious gaze, and didn't speak for a long moment. When he spoke, his words were careful, "Do I know you from somewhere else?"

His words made Harry feel rather nervous, but he knew that the memory that came out of Riddle's diary couldn't possibly make the boy that stood in front of Harry remember the events that had happened. He was only a memory at the time, whatever that meant. Riddle wasn't smart enough to destroy the meaning of time. He was smart, but not that smart. "No, I don't think you know me from anywhere," Harry replied. "I don't have to know you to hate you."

"Knowing the person often helps to begin hating them. Unless I've been misinformed…" Riddle said softly. "Nevertheless, this leaves only one answer to how you knew that I was raised in an orphanage."

"Because someone told me, maybe?" Harry suggested.

"There are very few people within this school who talk of it."

"Well, I guess I was just lucky." Harry turned to leave Riddle standing there, but stopped walking when he heard Tom's next words.

"Where did you learn Occlumency?"

Harry turned around slowly, not bothering to shorten the space between Riddle and himself. "Sorry?"

"Occlumency. Where did you learn it?"

"I don't know Occlumency. I was suppose to be taught once, but…" Harry's voice drifted away, confused with this conversation.

"It's an illegal branch of magic to study, you know," Riddle said with the same sly tone he evidently enjoyed using. Harry could almost feel the happiness radiating off the boy facing him, and he was sure that he could see it through Tom's cold eyes. Riddle was convinced that he had caught Harry in some unique, cunning and brilliant trap.

Harry didn't know what to reply. He had never actually learned how to perform Occlumency at all, not in his lessons with Snape, and not later. "Why are you assuming that I know Occlumency? Do you know Legilimency?"

"Well, I never said that… Though this proves you know about both banned skills."

"That doesn't prove – you're the one who suggested it!" Harry said angrily. He had no clue why Riddle was guessing something that wasn't true or related to anything. There was a long pause where neither of them said anything. "If you are assuming that I know Occlumency, then you _must_ be a Legilimens."

"You certainly don't seem smart enough to have the skills, which makes me wonder," Tom mumbled more to himself than Harry.

"Are you or aren't you a Legilimens?" Harry asked impatiently, ignoring Tom's comment.

"Are you or aren't you an _Occlumens_?"

"Well, you're the only one who can tell," Harry said, "but I'm don't know Occlumency… so maybe you're just a really bad Legilimens."

"No, I don't think that is the case."

"Why did you ask then?"

"Because if you admit to being an Occlumens, my theory on you having read the minds of my friends, and perhaps some other students, could be possible. In the case of Occlumency and Legilimency, the first is usually followed quickly by the second…"

Harry thought about this comment for a second. If he pretended he was a Legilimens to Riddle, perhaps then the knowledge he had of Tom being brought up in an orphanage would be disregarded… But that didn't make any of this less confusing. "Well, maybe I am one of those… or neither. You'll never know."

"Unless you admit to it."

"I'm not that stupid."

"Then I can only guess."

Harry didn't say anything.

"But it would explain a lot if you were one."

"Did you become a Legilimens because of Dumbledore?" Harry asked, the idea coming to his head only then.

Riddle only smiled as though Harry had given him proof on this theory, but he wouldn't admit it yet. Harry was disappointed at this, for he wanted to scare Tom with this assumption.

"Then you'd have be a Occlumens and a Legilimens," Harry said. He was very glad suddenly that he might have somehow obtained the skill of sealing his mind off to mind readers. Did this have sometime to do with travelling through time? Was this a sort of security measure added for his situation, so as to avoid blatant disrupters in how things were to be later in life? That seemed like a logical answer. It was a useful thing, if he really knew how to close his mind after all.

"Theoretically, let us say, we both knew both those skills," Riddle began. "Where would you have learned it all?"

"Where would you?"

"I would have taught myself."

"A trust issue?" Harry taunted.

"More the fact that I never knew anyone who was willing to share the skill, in theory. Where would you have learned it?" he repeated.

"By accident, obviously."

"Not a good enough answer."

"I knew a lot of people who knew Legilimency and Occlumency." Harry replied, not really caring if Riddle learnt this insignificant piece of truth. "They tried to teach me how to shield my mind, but it didn't work out. I had a fight with the wizard teaching me… What you tell me about knowing Occlumency is news."

"Why did they teach you? Who were they?"

"How should I know?" Harry asked, so he wouldn't have to answer. "This is only theory… it's not real." He turned to leave.

To his surprise and relief, Riddle didn't ask him to continue explaining the situation. As Harry got further and further away from Riddle, he wondered if that had all been some sort of lie, or a joke or something. Though he didn't really think that Tom had a sense of humour like that – or a sense of humour at all. Maybe it was a trick, a way to get Harry to believe that he knew Occlumency, so that he, Riddle, could read the thoughts that Harry believed were safe. That seemed like something Riddle would do – play a complex mind game as such…

But then again, he had seemed convincingly interested in learning why Harry had the skill, more so than he would have been if it were just a trick to make Harry vulnerable, and Harry's thoughts on travelling through time creating this situation made a lot of sense. Was this why Dumbledore was always a little curious when he looked at Harry, because Harry was now an Occlumens? He wondered if having this skill scared Riddle at all. He smiled at the thought.

Riddle would have to be a Legilimens no matter if Harry was or wasn't. If it was a trick, he was a Legilimens, and if Tom was just generally curious, it also meant he was a Legilimens. It seemed a very smart thing for Riddle to do, to get Dumbledore off invading his privacy in a million little ways. When he, Harry, had finally realised what his old Headmaster did with his piercing blue eyes, he had been very offended as a whole. It was almost as bad as realising that Snape had known his every thought for so long. If Snape had been on the Dark side after all, a lot would have been known by the Potions Master to be used against Harry in some way.

The more he thought about it, the more Harry liked the idea of having his mind secure from all the mind readers that were currently stationed at Hogwarts. But it made him fearful of Tom a little more. He hoped, at the very least, that the older boy wouldn't become obsessively curious about who Harry was. It seemed like a likely thing for Voldemort to do… but Harry wouldn't allow it. How much could Tom really learn about Harry in just one year? It wasn't as though he, Harry, was going to begin being any more social, especially not now. No… there wasn't anything to worry about.


	6. Invitations

Harry stared down at the letter that rested within his hands, holding his breath while he digested the dread and annoyance that filled him slowly, like a poison spreading throughout his body. A student had brought this message to him only a few minutes ago on request, and now that he was alone, Harry had time to read and think about it. It was from Slughorn, and it suggested, amongst a few useless words of welcome, that Harry should join what was even now known as 'The Slug Club'.

It wasn't the idea of being forced back into many dull evenings full of conversation that annoyed Harry enough to worry about this, it was merely that he knew Riddle would be in every one of those Slug Club meetings, only too eager to torturously engage Harry into conversations with the help of Slughorn. Tom had been relatively civil in leaving Harry alone as he disappeared for hours on end, but Harry knew that this would simply be too good a chance for Riddle to pass by in his future efforts to learn about Harry.

The first Slug Club meeting was in half an hour. Harry was sure that Slughorn had made the time between this letter arriving and the meeting so close to be sure that Harry couldn't reply with a long and polite answer of 'No, I don't want to join the Slug Club'. Slughorn knew even now Harry was not the type to wish or crave any form of social interaction, so this was a wise way to trap him. The Professor was no doubt trying to make the sympathy he felt towards Harry even plainer past the terribly embarrassing comments and looks already given in potions class. Perhaps – if chance were to suddenly favour Harry as it used to – these meetings would put an end to all Slughorn's concern and sympathy … yet this still wasn't much of a consolation.

When Harry arrived, reluctantly, to Slughorn's office just under half an hour after the arrival of the letter, he saw most of the Slug Club members already seated in the room, beginning conversations. To Harry's great dismay, he found that everyone within the room sat and talked in a way that was extremely similar to how it had been in Slughorn's memories, with the exception of a few new faces for the new year. They were shuffled around a little, but Slughorn sat in the same comfortable winged armchair next to a table with a goblet upon it, and again Riddle seemed to be the person in the room who appeared the most relaxed…

Avery, Lestrange and even Nott had made it into the Slug Club, but Harry already expected this from the past memory. They, as Death Eaters, sat close to or right next to their leader, stationed in a way that hinted of protection. The other boys within the Slug Club must have noticed or expected this from experience, because their glances towards the group were always with careful hesitancy. Slughorn himself was blind. Not even a shadow of doubt towards Riddle's 'greatness' appeared to cross his face, not when he held potions class and certainly not now as he spoke with the handsome boy. He was even smiling.

Had he somehow forgotten about the event of Riddle asking about Horcruxes? Harry couldn't see how that was possible, for the memory was by no stretch of the imagination etched deeply into his own mind. The question being asked along with a million memories of Horcruxes to go with it flicked past his mind's eye like film whenever he set his eyes upon Riddle. Anxiety followed soon after these memories, so as Harry stood here, watching Riddle's body language become a shadow of what it once was, he felt as though he was going to be sick.

He half expected the words: 'Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" to slide carefully from the lips of Riddle as he rested his right hand elegantly on the arm of his chair, but of course the words would not be repeated again now. Harry watched and saw that Riddle was being ever so slightly more careful with the ring, more so than he had been in the memory… It was easier to see it, now that he was in the same room.

Only a few seconds had passed since Harry arrived at this gathering, yet it felt like more to him. When Slughorn spoke, Harry felt as though he had been staring at Riddle for too long a time, and he hastily pulled his gaze away. Tom looked at him the second he looked away.

"Ah, Smith! How good it is to finally see you with the rest of the Slug Club. Do come in," Slughorn said beaming. Harry had no choice but to walk further into the room and slide into the nearest empty chair without comment. "What a fine addition to this group you will be!"

Harry himself could not quite agree with Slughorn's last words, and he still made no comment. He could sense that questions about him where going to be asked soon. He would see it in the eyes of all the Slug Club members watching him. Slughorn took a sip from the goblet in his hands whilst smiling, somehow, and then placed the goblet upon the table next to him so as to give Harry his full attention.

"Where to begin with such a new addition?" Slughorn began. In his walrus-like way, he leant back in his chair, smiling with content as he surveyed Harry carefully. "It is a true rarity that Hogwarts receives such a late arrival, but I don't see why I couldn't get to know you as well as any of my other students. You seem to have an interesting enough past – an unexplained tale. Tell me boy, is it true that the _Ministry_ suggested you come to Hogwarts?"

Harry paused, trying to decide upon an answer to this question. He decided to go with truth, for a lie would mean a whole new explanation, and he wasn't in the mood to lie in front of so many onlookers, eager to tell the rest of the school what was heard here. "Erm, yeah."

"Why was it that they chose such a fate for you even so late?"

"Er, well, I move around the country a lot, sir. My whole life I've never stayed in the same place for long. I was brought to the Ministry one day because I met a Wizard who worked there, who was sceptical about me because he was doing a random check for ID, and I of course didn't have one. Erm, they found out that I didn't attend a school, but I told them I'm already educated and all. Either way, they sent me to come to Hogwarts… they said this year is the most important."

Harry heard Avery, Nott and Lestrange laugh very quietly together as though sharing a privet joke, and guessed that they all knew and realised he was somewhat lying. He didn't care about that though, for he knew that they'd only find some pride in knowing – or thinking that they knew – one of his secrets.

"Naturally, naturally." Slughorn said. "I'm glad none the less that the Ministry is doing well in checking people for identification. Merlin knows how the world would be now if we couldn't tell who was foreign and who wasn't."

Slughorn have a short, gruff cough or laugh that Harry was sure implied disapproval. He wasn't sure why Slughorn had made such a gesture, even as he noticed the students within the room mumbling words of agreement. It reminded Harry of how Uncle Vernon used to speak about his magical abilities, and how Aunt Petunia and Dudley used to agree, so Harry remained silent, wondering why it was that Slughorn might be rude to people who aren't strictly English. He had never seemed xenophobic in Harry's experience… Could he have somehow missed that fact before? Every student besides Harry had agreed on this comment, and many of them were having quiet conversations on the matter now, including Riddle and the Death Eaters.

As Harry looked around at the Slug Club members more carefully, he realised for the first time that there were no girls present. Even the many pictures of previous Slug Club members displayed not one female student. This all made Harry feel a bit edgy, for it told him again about how different the nineteen forties were compared to the nineteen nineties. He soon remembered, after thinking about what year it was, that World War II was still going on. He felt a little relieved – at least that explained the xenophobia. The sexism couldn't be helped right now, but at least Harry knew that he hadn't completely misunderstood who Slughorn was … It was only because of that war, it wasn't the same as the situation as with Dumbledore's past …

"That don't really matter to us though, does it sir?" Avery asked the Professor. "It's only the Muggles who have to suffer."

"Now, now Avery, you shouldn't give such a comment so lightly." Yet Slughorn didn't seem too bothered by this. He still looked content and comfortable even on such a momentous subject, and Harry wondered if the Wizard World cared about the Muggle World War at all. His question was soon answered as Slughorn carried on, "We still have to suffer quite a bit of mayhem, and not only when Muggleborns go home to all that danger. Attacks have been made on Magical buildings and so on. By accident, mostly, or a misfortunate aim, but nevertheless it's effecting everyone."

"I think it's a dreadful thing, the war," a boy sitting three seats to Harry's right said. "It doesn't matter whether it's Muggles or Wizards dying, it's still horrible. They're still human." The boy glanced over to the Death Eaters once or twice as he said this, evidently not confident that he was allowed to say this.

"Very true, very true," Slughorn agreed.

"Actually, Professor," Riddle began, "though I myself find that though wars are often a frightful event, the grounds on which they are based are a rather important significance to how the world must work, how the world stands as it is. Wars are never lacking in morals … Even if the Wizarding World were to have a war it would be for the greatest of reasons only."

"True," Slughorn agreed, "but there hasn't yet been a war amongst Wizards – not a World War anyway – so perhaps a world is better off without any of it. The Wizarding World is far better as it is, compared to how the Muggles are doing. We live without the bother of worrying about people dying."

Riddle gave Slughorn a few seconds to make him believe he had a point, before contradicting the opinions given. "But isn't it important in some situations, Professor, to start a war? If the opposing government that one wants to fight against won't acknowledge the facts or opinions of one's own cause, per se, wouldn't war be amongst the most effective ways to tell the world of something? Even if people die because of it, there are too many other important points to such a fight. The opinions of the world would be very one sided, if there was a complete lack of revolt."

Slughorn frowned as he thought about this, and Harry stared at the people holding this conversation in disbelief. Here Riddle was, attempting to convince Slughorn that wars weren't all that bad, that people died for good reason. Riddle was even telling the Professor that he was all for war if and when 'the opposing government that one wants to fight against won't acknowledge the facts or opinions of one's own cause'. That was basically screaming 'I'll start a war one day if people won't listen to me' in Harry's opinion. Harry knew that Slughorn couldn't possibly guess what war, or two wars the boy in front of him would start one day, but it still seemed a tad obvious to Harry. Riddle didn't even have the moral sense to make this a private conversation; he was speaking to the room at large with no hesitation to have his opinions heard.

"You're still rather young, Riddle. There are many complications in the case of wars that you don't understand." Harry hoped that meant that Slughorn disagreed, but knew it that probably wasn't the case, for Slughorn was still smiling in his content way. This obviously didn't affect him at all as a subject. "Wars can certainly seem like a easy way to be heard – especially from the view of the person starting the war – but mostly commonly it's a last resort. Splendid though it would be to be always agreed with, that's not a common outcome. It's in one side getting angry with the other side that starts a war. No one likes his opinions disregarded, particularly when it is that he has worked hard in making his own side believe all of his words. But wars are never really planned. Never agreed upon."

Harry was surprised to see that Riddle wasn't annoyed in being lectured on such obvious point. He just agreed with a polite smile as if he hadn't known this all. He continued to talk about his own opinions, but though it was interesting when thinking about what and who Riddle was, Harry wasn't listening. His own mind was wandering to the Battle of Hogwarts, and the war that started it.

He was sure that no one else in this room had lost anybody because of the Muggle war alone – Slughorn collected mostly Pureblood students. It was naive of any of them – most of all Riddle – to claim that it wasn't important or significant that people died…

Harry let the voices of the other Slug Club members slide past his notice. They weren't getting very far with their conversations as far as he could tell, and about an hour of needless conversation passed on. Harry had barely said anything, but thankfully it turned out that other students had much to say on the subjects that were discussed next. Harry knew that this was a simple meeting, and he hoped this wouldn't change for him any time soon.

"Good gracious, is that the time already?" Slughorn asked as the clock struck ten. Harry tried not to acknowledge the fact that those exact words had been used in his memory. He assumed that it was somewhat of a habit of Slughorn to round off his meetings with this phrase. He was just glad this meant he was almost allowed to leave. "You'd had better get going, all of you. It'll be a busy week for potions, what with this being the beginning of the year and all…"

Slughorn addressed a few members of the group to give snippets of advice and reminders and so on, but Harry had left the room before he took in very much of what was said. He heard the Death Eaters and Riddle close behind him as he walked down the corridor, but they were talking in low voices and he couldn't hear what they were talking about. His steps were not quick, only determined to find a path away from the other students. His feet were not at all interested in returning him to the Slytherin Common Room, he knew.

He was finished with all his homework, so he had nothing left to do concerning mundane tasks. He was free to do anything, or nothing at all. While trying to decide where it is he wished to walk tonight, he determinedly avoided glancing out of the tall windows that displayed the moon-bathed grounds outside. He wasn't interested in being reminded of a dark Hogwarts. It was too soon to see the dead of night eating away at the castle walls. He wanted to turn a corner in this corridor, to come closer to the safe centre of the school, where torches were lit and carpets and bright tapestries welcomed him, but he stopped soon after this wish.

A strange prickling sensation, he just realised, was apparent on the back of his neck, telling him instinctively that he was being followed. He was full of nerves again, as he span around with haste, wand at the ready, to meet whoever was there. He hated the idea of someone waiting for him to turn around, watching him, but when he scanned the view now ahead of him he saw there was no one there. There was a silence. The only noise to be heard was Harry's breathing, which was now rough with paranoia. He was just about to tell himself that he imagined it, that he was being irrational, when he sensed someone behind him again. He span around.

"You look ill, Smith."

Harry nearly jumped at the sight of Riddle standing so silently behind him. He took a few steps back. Riddle had been as quiet as a shadow, and it was exceedingly eerie to have him suddenly right there. Harry was a little disorientated.

"Did I scare you?" Riddle asked in a somewhat amused tone, as though that wasn't his intention.

He waited, but Harry didn't say anything. The answer was easily assumed by the fact that Harry had his wand pointed to the other boy's face.

"You seem… paranoid." Riddle commented. "What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything." Harry said, glaring at Tom.

"Well, I can only assume that's a lie when knowing you still haven't lowered your wand. That hints of guilt, and fear."

"I just don't like to be followed," Harry replied shortly. He put his wand back into the pocket of his robes, knowing there wasn't much of a chance that Riddle would or could attack him more quickly then he could defend himself. "What do you want?"

"Besides this chance to report you to the Headmaster for being out of bed out of hours? Oh, nothing."

"_What_? There will have to be ten other students out of bed right now because of Slughorn, you can't report me alone!"

"Perhaps not for this, but for the other week you've spent avoiding the rules concerning time regulations, I can."

"But you have no proof that –"

"I have four other students who share the same dormitory as us to confirm the story."

Harry glared into Riddle's impassive face for a minute. "What are you trying to gain with this, _Riddle_?"

"Whoever said I was gaining something, _Smith_? I'm merely curious to know what it is you do in all those hours you should spend with your housemates."

"I don't do anything." Which was almost the truth. Riddle didn't believe it, and said nothing for a moment. "Look, if you want to find out about some amazingly interesting story about why someone is out of bed out of hours, go and find someone else to stalk. I don't do anything, and I won't do anything interesting for the next year of my free time, except walk and think. Happy?"

Riddle surveyed Harry for a minute in silence. "You merely think?"

"Pretty much."

"What about?"

"What do you care?"

"Well, if any thought is important enough to spend hours dwelling upon, it sounds interesting."

"It's not interesting, and nether is this conversation." He hoped Riddle might take the hint that he wanted to leave. He turned to go when nothing was said.

Five paces away, Riddle spoke. "You know, my friends and I would be more than willing to accept you into our group. You appear to have some useful qualifications…"

Harry turned to face Riddle again, scowling at him. "I don't want to join you're idiotic group. I don't want anything to do with you or anything you do! I have better things to do than that… I…" He stopped.

Riddle looked half surprised and half curious about Harry's reaction. "Why do you say that?" he asked quietly.

Harry didn't answer; he just turned and walked away in anger. He didn't want to even attempt an explanation on how much he hated the idea of joining Riddle and his friends. It wouldn't make any sense to him. Even if it did, the explanation would be too difficult to put into words. To explain the pure hatred that pulsed through Harry's veins would be impossible on any level, so he left Riddle to work that out on his own. Harry had no interest what so ever in becoming a Death Eater…


	7. A Letter

"Smith, a word please?"

Harry stopped walking, and turned around to face Riddle. It had been two weeks since the first Slug Club meeting, and in that time Harry had managed, with effort, to continue avoiding Riddle non-stop. He regretted suddenly that he hadn't left the Common Room a little earlier.

"Sorry, but I'm busy," Harry lied. Riddle spoke before he could leave.

"Oh, I don't mean to bother you with conversation this time. Instead I wish to ask you a favour."

"A favour?" asked Harry slowly.

"Yes. You see, I have a letter here that I am very keen to get delivered, yet I can't seem to find any time around school work, and so on. Since you seem to be out of the Common Room a lot, I thought that perhaps you might have some spare time to help me?"

Harry recognised the tone that Riddle was using – it was the same tone that he always seemed to use when he wanted someone to do something for him. But this was very confusing to Harry, for he knew very well that Riddle didn't suffer from the time he had to spend doing school work. Riddle and all of his friends were gone for hours on end most days, evidently not doing schoolwork. All of the Professors yelled at Avery, Nott, Lestrange and the others constantly for not getting enough homework done. But Riddle got everything finished perfectly, and still spent all his time with his Death Eaters.

Why, then, was Riddle asking this favour? More to the point, why was he asking Harry to do it? He could get any of his followers to run this letter down to whomever it was for. This left only one reason. Riddle was trying to trick Harry, somehow. Harry surveyed the other boy sceptically.

"Why do you want me to do it?"

"As I said, you seem to be out of the Common Room quite often. No one ever seems to stop you, either."

"Well, I haven't got the time today," Harry said shortly.

"Why ever not?" Riddle asked, his tone suggesting that he had decided to mask his curiosity.

"I…" Then an idea came to Harry. Since Riddle was trying to trick him, Harry was probably better off taking on this challenge prepared. If he were to reject this offer, then Riddle would only think of something better, another way to get to Harry more slyly. Because Harry was now expecting it, as the first trick, a refusal to take this letter would mean that Riddle would know that Harry knew it was a ruse. If Harry accepted, Riddle would think of him as foolish, thus underestimating his intelligence.

Pulling the best skills in acting Harry had, he rearranged his expression into one that suggested he was blind to see any tricks, and that he was contemplating being nice for once. He looked down at the letter that Riddle had in his hands, and then sighed as though annoyed with having no choice but to accept.

"Fine, I'll deliver your letter…"

Riddle smiled faintly as Harry put out his hand to take the parchment.

"Who do I have to deliver it to?" Harry asked.

"A boy named Rubeus Hagrid. He lives in a cabin in the grounds."

"What?" Harry asked quickly.

"Are the school grounds a problem for you?" Riddle asked with raised eyebrows, reading Harry's shock incorrectly. "I was under the illusion that you could manage the avoidance of prefects and teachers… Perhaps I was wrong?"

"No, I just…" Harry had completely forgotten that Hagrid was still at Hogwarts. He couldn't believe that such a detail had surpassed his mind. Hadn't he thought about this before? With all that had happened, and with seeing Dumbledore, Slughorn and a lot of other people from memories of this time Harry had overlooked who the groundskeeper might be.

Riddle was still waiting for Harry to speak. Harry decided to stop showing such obvious signs of shock, for Riddle would no doubt see something more going on in Harry's head if the pause was any longer.

"It's not a problem."

Riddle nodded slowly, with an air that suggested he was happy that his plan was working. With that Harry left the Common Room. It was around nine in the evening, so most of the other students that Harry saw were heading back to their dormitories. Once Harry reached a completely deserted path in a corridor hidden between two tapestries, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his invisibility cloak. This was, of course, how he had managed to continue his strolls around the castle so easily.

Throwing the cloak over his shoulders and putting on the hood, Harry began to walk towards the Entrance hall, one floor up. As he walked closer and closer to the exit towards the grounds, his mind began to wander towards why it was that Riddle was making him do this. The more he thought about it, the more Harry was sure that this wasn't another offer to become a Death Eater, nor a ruse to do the same thing. There was no way that this could trick him into joining Riddle's order, and Harry knew that Riddle was smart enough to assume the same. So there was a motive past this extent.

Then Harry came to guess that perhaps Riddle was just testing him, trying to see if he really could succeed in making it all the way across the grounds without being caught. From the way that Riddle had spoken to Harry before, he gathered that the older boy was curious about how Harry was now never seen. Since the night in which Riddle threatened to tell about Harry's common night wanderings, Harry had taken the invisibility cloak everywhere he went, using it when needed. He knew that if no one could see him or catch him, there was no way that anyone could prove and stop Harry from being away from the other Slytherins. But that must have made Riddle more interested.

Harry pushed open one of the great oak front doors quietly and made his way down to where he knew Hagrid's cabin was. He could see light spilling out from the same windows that he had known for so many years as a student at Hogwarts. It reminded him of being so happy at the idea of visiting Hagrid.

Harry remembered about his first year, when Ron, Hermione and him had tried to help out with looking after Baby Norbert, and his second year when Ron and Him were so desperate to find out how Hagrid was linked to the Chamber of Secrets. There was also the third year, when Harry and Hermione had hidden in the cabin, waiting for some time to pass so they could go to the scene for the second time where Lupin, Sirius, Snape, Ron and their old selves were stationed. In Harry's fourth and fifth year he had always come to visit Hagrid when he had important problems, and in the sixth year that's where he had miraculously obtained the memory that Slughorn held, with a little help from his lucky potion.

But here Harry was now, half way towards visiting the cabin again, both long before and long after he had visited previously. To make matters worse, he was going to give Hagrid a letter from Tom Riddle of all people. The very boy who had almost ruined Hagrid's life and future…

Harry stopped walking. Now that he thought about it, why on earth would Riddle ever be sending Hagrid a letter? Riddle should know that any contact what so ever with the boy who he framed was dangerous. Harry wasn't really supposed to know about the past between Riddle and Hagrid, so maybe Riddle thought he could trust Harry… But Riddle didn't trust anyone. Harry was still frozen with trying to work this all out. He really wanted to get his facts straight for this.

If supposedly Harry was a mind reader, like Riddle, then maybe Riddle had decided that Harry knew about the past of Hagrid and himself. Harry would have perhaps heard about it in the minds of other students, even before someone told him about it. There were doubtlessly theories and gossip wandering around, after all. So Riddle probably knew that Harry was aware about the stories that followed Chamber of Secrets… That would mean that Riddle would expect Harry to be interested in this letter.

Harry really wanted to open it now, but was reluctant to, because he knew that this is what Riddle was intending him to do. Yet if Harry didn't open the letter, he could never have the chance to work out what Riddle was playing at. Harry regretted having started this. Riddle was still ahead of him, and he knew it well as he stood here. Even with Harry knowing more about Riddle than Riddle knew about Harry, he was losing.

Well, what had he expected? Voldemort wasn't going to be a foolish person even at seventeen years old, even facing a boy who came from the future. Harry was beginning to feel truly sick. He had to open it, even if that was the intention. If he resisted the temptation, he would never know what this was about, he would never be able to learn from this mistake to know and understand how Riddle worked…

It couldn't be a fake letter anyway, for if it was there would be no point to it. Harry gave up thinking about everything by opening the letter with quick haste. He recognised Riddle's neat handwriting at once, and began to read in the light of his newly lit wand.

_Dear Hagrid. _

_To begin, I ask that you do not throw these words away out of shock or bewilderment, or at least not before you have read what it is that I have to say. As unexpected as the idea of this letter may be, it is under the best terms possible that I am sending it to you, and I hope you will be able to accept the new provisions on which I am approaching without too much struggle. I am not asking for any sort of change from the damaging correlation I inflicted between us, I merely ask that you weigh out the options here as carefully as the past will allow, for the sake of the future. _

_To put matters simply, I am rather interested to hear about anything you might know about your own parentage. Not on your father's side, of course, it is only your mother and her evidently large family to which I am referring. I know that there aren't very many people within this school, if any people at all besides you and I, who are either interested in or aware of a few facts concerning your ancestors, yet to me it is very a fascinating history, and something that could be put to good use one day._

_As you may or may not be aware of, I am hoping to learn about all the different kinds of magical creatures and beings to a great extent in the near future, and what with your evident knowledge in that very subject, you would be an ideal person to come to for help with any inquiries I may meet along the way. Even at your current age there can be no mistake that you have made somewhat of a connection with the creatures you come across. I know that this must perhaps be because of your mother's side of the family, and a gift such as that should be passed along and taught to as many people who are willing to learn about it, I believe. _

_If the answer to my question is a definite 'no', then there is not much more to be talked about between you and I. If you're answer is 'yes', however, you will have made an exceedingly wise choice, and a reply back to me as soon as possible would be greatly appreciated. I'm not asking more than a few details on things you might know, and we could even communicate through owl if you do not wish to be within my presence at this time. _

_So until we speak again, I send my best regards. _

_-Tom Riddle_

Harry stared down at the neat strokes of ink upon parchment for a very long while. He barely felt the cold wind seeping in under the invisibility cloak as he stood stock still, thinking over what this letter meant, whilst taking in the smaller details of it. He only stood where he was for about two solid minutes, yet it felt like longer to him as he came to one important conclusion. Riddle was already trying to obtain power over the giants.

This was only the beginning, perhaps, but Harry knew that a lot would come of it. He reread the letter again, less quickly this time, and noticed that it was very well written. By using the right terms and not giving away too much information, Riddle had managed to hint towards the idea of giants, but if Hagrid was willing to search for another alternative he could perhaps think that Riddle only thought that his mother's side used to be involved in some form of research towards magical creatures.

Harry knew, as Riddle might have, that Hagrid wasn't a pessimistic person, so any chance to see a less harming or difficult meaning in Riddle's message would be just what Hagrid would do. Does Hagrid even know how evil Riddle is yet, Harry wondered? Hagrid could easily fall for Riddle's ruse of kindness if he believed that Riddle was trying to make amends with him, or if he thought that Riddle was perhaps not scared of the monster he was supposed to have caught Hagrid looking after. Hagrid might think that Riddle felt regret for that event, and would hear what he has to say, to sympathise with the idea that he too had parents that had died.

Riddle would use Hagrid after this letter was delivered, Harry knew. He would pretend to feel sentiment and understanding towards the half giant if he needed to, like his memory had done with all of Ginny's problems. Riddle wouldn't need to keep Hagrid at bay with false hope of understanding for very long, because he would manage to get all the information that he needed out of him long before he saw it coming.

Harry bit his lips as he thought about what could happen if Hagrid did know about giants even this soon. Riddle would be able to rise to power rather quickly… or perhaps just have time to make a very strong bond with giants all around the country for the years to come. Harry had never learnt very much about how the first war went, for it was a confusing event, yet he knew that giants and other magical creatures played a very, very important role. With them on his side, Voldemort had become more powerful than the Ministry so simply. He had more to offer, he made the creatures trust him…

Harry turned around gradually to look back up at Hogwarts castle looming above him. He started to feel his heart beat against his chest rapidly as the darkness pressed against the high walls of the towering school, offering his imagination the chance to think that giants could be stationed not far away, waiting for the chance to smash the school into pieces and kill all the people he knew from the past again. Harry knew that it was only the blood pounding in his ears that made a booming noise clearly notable to him, yet he found himself walking briskly to Hagrid's cabin before he knew it. He didn't want to be in the dark grounds, alone, for much longer.

He was soon climbing up the few steps that lead to the door to Hagrid's cabin. He knocked, and heard rustling behind the door. The heavy footsteps of Hagrid were only feet away when Harry remembered that he couldn't wear the invisibility cloak here. He quickly tore it away and put it in his pocket before the door opened, and a boy with a mane of tangled black hair appeared in front of him.

Hagrid was a little shorter than he usually was to Harry's memory, but still taller than any other person Harry had met. The beady black eyes weren't quite as merry as they were within the older form of Hagrid, and it was unusual to see him without the huge heard obscuring half of his face, yet Harry could still see that this was the same Wizard he had befriended so many years ago. Age could not confuse such a fact.

Harry then saw that Hagrid was glaring at him slightly, and realised that he had been staring for longer than politely necessary. He almost felt embarrassed, but not at all scared, even if the younger boy was three times his size and about seven times his strength.

"Erm, I'm sorry to bother you Hag - Mr. Hagrid. But I have a letter here for you."

Hagrid didn't drop his glare. "A let'er?"

"Yes. It's not from me, of course. I was just asked to deliver it."

Harry held out the envelope in which Riddle's letter was held. He had managed to seal the envelope again almost perfectly before he rushed onwards to the cabin, so he was sure that Hagrid at least wouldn't know that he had read what was written, even if Riddle would. Hagrid took it from Harry after a second of hesitation.

"Thanks… Yeh can go now."

Hagrid was about to close the door in Harry's face when Harry spoke.

"Wait. There's one more thing."

Hagrid opened the door again, giving Harry his full attention. Harry was glad to see that he wasn't glaring as much now.

"Erm, I just want to tell you that…"

"That wha'?"

Harry had no clue how on earth he was going to word this properly. He tried as best as he could in the short time frame he had. "I just want to say that I personally don't agree with the person who is sending you that letter."

"Wha' does tha' mat'er?"

"Erm, well I suppose it doesn't matter very much… but you should know more than anyone that the person who's sending this letter likes to play games. Only today I was tricked by him… he does it without care and without a trace of a bad outcome to appear later on. He's only doing it for himself, there's nothing in it for you in the end."

"What're you talkin' 'bout?" Hagrid asked, in a tone that suggested he had a theory about who Harry might be referring to.

"Just - just don't listen to him. You'll be far better off in the end."

Harry and Hagrid stared at one another for a minute, and Harry wondered if he should say any more, yet he couldn't think of anything else to say. He hoped that these words at least would hint towards the fact that he knew a lot about this situation, and didn't think Hagrid should help Riddle. There silence was broken after a while by Hagrid.

"Righ'… Well, g'night."

"Goodnight." Harry replied quickly, taking a few steps downwards to show that he was leaving as Hagrid closed the door.

The darkness that fell once the door was closed turned out to be very prominent to Harry's vision. He threw on the invisibility cloak without real need, and headed back towards the castle. The light pouring out from the tall windows lead Harry back up to Hogwarts safely. But his mind wandered as soon as he started to walk.

Riddle must have been trying to catch Harry's curiosity with this letter, and it had certainly fulfilled that purpose, but in a different way than expected. Harry wasn't burning for the answers of why such a 'riddled' letter was being brought to the mysteriously wild groundskeeper of an unsure past, instead he was wondering why Riddle was sending this letter now. It seemed so early in time to his mind…

He knew that this must have been a test of trust from Riddle, amongst other things. If Harry brought the letter to Hagrid even after reading it, as Riddle wanted, then he would have kept his word and wouldn't have hesitated on the idea of telling a teacher. The plan was, of course, to hook Harry in, to test if he was trustworthy even past his apparent suspicions of Tom, and to see if getting to Hagrid's cabin and back was or wasn't a challenge. Harry had just passed Riddle's tests… and he didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

There was one thing that he was sure of though, and that was that this was already the beginning of what would soon be the greatest War Wizardkind will ever come to face. The idea of ruling giants and perhaps all other magical beasts was placed within Riddle's mind even so soon. Harry realised, almost suddenly, that he was going to have to do something about Voldemort before it was too late for him, and if he was going to attempt sussing Riddle out, Harry would have to go with some of Riddle's tricks occasionally. They were only minor setbacks, after all… and it was the only way in which he could learn.

He didn't know what he would do, but he was certain that it would mean acting upon this last chance that he evidently had. The idea was scaring Harry though. This would mean that he had to stay around Riddle, had to wait patiently for the time to come when he could defeat some part of the Dark Lord. He knew that it would take a long time – years, perhaps – but it could be worth it.

Yet he was alone. Completely and utterly alone…

… Until he was old enough to meet Dumbledore again, forming the Order of the Phoenix. The idea didn't make Harry smile, to his surprise. It made him nervous. By then Lupin, Sirius, his mother and his father would be there. A load of other people he knew, too.

Then he realised what was making him nervous. Even if he did manage to live for that long a time, he would have to refrain from telling people certain pieces of information due to the fact that it would change history too much. To change the day that made Harry come to the nineteen forties in the first place would be one thing, but to change the day when Voldemort chose to visit his own house in Godric's Hallow, to kill his parents and fail in killing him was quite another.

If he lived to that point in time, he would literally have to let his own parents die after months or perhaps years of getting to know them in the Order. Then Sirius would be sent to Azkaban, and Lupin would perhaps stay underground with the werewolves in fear of being unjustly framed for some other crime, like Sirius. Harry really wasn't sure whether he could do that, even centuries in the future.

Yet it meant that he could somehow, impossibly, spare some of the people he had known, saving the world from complete destruction. And why else would Harry be here? Now that he thought about it, it seemed like a completely valid reason for this completely messed up and confusing fate. It seemed a long and troublesome path, lasting for over fifty years, but it was still better than death. This war was all that Harry had known… even after messing it up once he had a chance to fix it. He might die, but at least he will have done something to help this time around. Harry felt hypocritical, but ignored it.

He would have to stay closer to Riddle and the Death Eaters though, which made him a little uneasy. He wondered how on earth he could manage to endure their presence, but maybe after this year he could become more companionless. Riddle himself would be impossible to keep away from if Harry was to do this properly. If he was really going to become a Death Eater, as he tried to avoid thinking about, then he had to learn how to be one as accurately as possible.

He felt like Snape, somehow. Except Snape hadn't faced quite as much as he was facing now, so he'd have to become as good as Snape had been, if not better. He was the only person that Harry knew to have hoodwinked Voldemort successfully. Harry wasn't really sure yet what 'being more like Snape' meant to him, but for now it seemed to make sense. It made him feel reassured.

He was at the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, so he stopped thinking about this new and extraordinary idea, this plan. Now wasn't the time to dwell upon such thoughts, for only time could help him to decide how he was going to pull this off. It was the beginning of a new adventure, and this time he had to do it without being helped with blind luck. He had to become more prepared, and face all that he had been fighting for completely alone.


	8. Follow the Leader

Harry was starting to feel claustrophobic as he crouched under the invisibility cloak, reading the chipped text of a book he was examining in the light of his wand. The bookshelves that created corridors all along the Restricted Section of the library were dusty and crammed with many ancient volumes that Harry still hadn't worked out the subjects of yet. He was trying to be perfectly quiet, so as to be sure that the librarian wouldn't suspect an intruder, and was also being cautious that the light from his wand wouldn't seep under the invisibility cloak and out to the dark passageway, meaning that he had to stay in a rather uncomfortable position as he held his wand, the book and the creases of the cloak in place.

He was reading about Occlumency and Legilimency, and because these subjects were supposed to be against Wizarding law when read about lightly, he had to break into the library just to get to them. He had been doing this for two solid weeks, yet he wasn't sure whether or not he was actually learning anything from it at all. They were extremely complex, and he didn't understand half of what he read. He would have assumed that the subject would be easy to understand, having nothing to do with anything besides reading and shielding the mind, yet they seemed to root themselves so deeply into understanding the minds itself, and details on human nature, and many other fields of expertise that Harry had barely even thought about, never mind heard of before.

But he tried not to feel the pressure of the subject as he read. He pushed away the thought of nothing registering in his mind as he trudged on with determination. He had given up so many different books before the one he currently had, but quitting the books didn't seem to help, so he was going to try and read this one all the way to the end, even if that was about two thousands pages worth of reading. This wasn't just another assignment where he could do the best of his abilities and walk away, glad that it was over. This was something that he had to study until he knew it back to front. If he made any mistakes in trying to convince people such as Riddle and his followers that he was who he says he is, there would be no chance of him being able to do all that he wanted to do, to try and find his moral sense again.

Harry had been spending almost all of his free time reading. He no longer had time to walk and think about the past, he could only find somewhere to be alone, reading the books he stole from this part of the library. Yet now that he thought about it, perhaps being distracted with learning such an important thing for so many hours a day was better than regretting what had happened before. There was nothing he could do about the past, but everything he could do for the future. On top of homework, this was very time consuming, but he wasn't sure whether he cared. Before he could befriend Riddle under false terms to watch him as he prepares for what comes after school, he needed the ability to use Legilimency. He was very glad that Occlumency was covered, but also exasperated that that meant he had so much work to do on Legilimency.

Deep down, he was glad that he finally had a purpose for being here. His gladness didn't take him very far at all, but it gave him the will to not be tempted by the idea of simply walking away from this war again. This was the only reason he could now find for being here, in this castle, at this time. It was the only rationality, the only thing that made sense to him when he thought about how all of this had happened. He thought of it as fate, again pushed into his hands, for him to control. It was all that he was living for.

Harry decided to get up after checking his watch. It was almost seven O'clock, and he had to get back to the Common Room. He knew that he would probably come back here within a few hours, but he had to appear in the presence of his fellow house mates for the sake of them saying that he was there some time in the day. He took the book he had started reading and placed it in his schoolbag with a bit of effort, extinguishing his wand soon after to head towards the exit of the Restricted Section.

When he arrived at the Slytherin Common Room a short while after, he began to make his way towards the dormitories, having no wish to read in this crowded room, even if its couches and tables and general groups were spaced so very far apart. He had only made his way about three quarters of the way to his dormitory, however, when he heard someone call his name. He still wasn't used to being called 'Jonathan Smith', and wondered why he had picked such a plain name after all.

As he looked around to see who was calling him. His eyes met the Death Eaters and Tom Riddle sitting together, and he suddenly wished that he hadn't looked around. He saw and heard Avery call him again, and he had no choice but to walk over to where they all sat to see what it was they wanted.

"Yeah?" He asked, hovering reluctantly to listen to them.

"We need another player," Avery said, indicating the table between them all that was strewn with cards. "Wanna play?"

"Oh…" Harry hesitated, wondering how he could explain that he had no desire what so ever to join them. "Sorry but I'd only ruin the game. I don't know how to play."

"We can teach you," said Riddle, to Harry's surprise. "It's not particularly difficult."

"I dunno, I'm really not very –"

"Come on, it'll be fun," Nott insisted.

"I have homework to do," Harry lied.

"That can wait," Avery said, indicating a free seat next to him.

Harry looked at the fifteen or more faces that gazed towards him expectantly. "Well…"

"You can watch how it works if you wish not to play so soon," Riddle suggested, again unexpectedly to Harry.

"Sure," Harry said, giving in. He felt that it was easier to do this other than to find a worthy excuse. "I suppose I'll watch for a while…"

The Death Eaters seemed to smile at this, and Harry found himself suddenly sitting next to some of them as they made a ring around the table. He didn't want to become acquainted with the Death Eaters so soon, but he wasn't sure whether he had much of a choice. He watched them prepare their gambling game, wondering how on earth he could get out of this.

"I shall have no choice but to play a solo team," Riddle said quietly. "Yet I'm not sure that will effect my chances."

The other Death Eaters smiled and made pointless comments to this, as Lestrange tapped a new deck of cards with his wand. Everyone watched as the cards were dealt out to teams of two.

"I'll explain how it works, yeah?" Nott suggested.

"No, I can just work it out on my own," Harry assured him, wanting to hear the conversations that might go on other than to be taught how to play. "Thanks."

"Suite yourself," Nott said, giving an approving hiss and a smile as he saw what cards he had.

"Counter clockwise from Lestrange then," Riddle instructed, referring to who would make a move when.

"Why always counter clockwise?" Mulciber asked.

"Going clockwise is for Muggles and filth," Dolohov said, as if this were an obvious fact. "Because they've got all them Muggle clocks and rules that think going clockwise is a better option."

Nott laughed. "We shouldn't let them claim directions."

"They ain't claiming them," Avery said. "We made the choice on that one."

"Is it like the difference between diagonally and nocturnally?" Nott asked.

"Something like that," Avery said, distracted by his cards.

Harry didn't know nor care why certain directions would really matter, he merely continued to watch as cards were thrown down and picked up. As he looked over at Riddle, Harry noted that he seemed to be examining the expressions of his followers, probably trying to work out who had good or bad hands. He tried to pay attention to the game again, just in case he had to end up joining in.

"Alright, what have you got?" asked Avery, having been given some signal for the end of the game that Harry hadn't seen. "We've got seven ghouls, and that's about the best of it."

"We have a hunchback, three centaurs and nothing else good," Dolohov said, for his and Mulciber's team.

"Only six elves and three goblins here," Lestrange responded, putting his cards down in defeat.

"We have four trolls, a giant and eight gnomes. That has to count for something," Nott said, in a tone that suggested he felt he had won.

The other Death Eaters announced their scores, ending in Riddle. "I have eight giants, four trolls and an army of ghouls."

He seemed to have won, for the other players sighed and threw their cards down, some of them saying it was a good game but others complaining about their constant bad luck. "I knew I shouldn't have thrown so many ghouls away…" Avery murmured, tapping the pile of cards with his wand so he could deal this time.

Another two games passed, all ending in Riddle winning by what Harry was guessing was a good score. He wondered for a moment whether the Death Eaters were going easy on him.

"Do you want to play yet?" Lestrange asked Harry before the fourth round.

"No thanks," He replied. "Maybe after a few more games."

Lestrange didn't seem surprised, but still continued talking to Harry after glancing at his cards. "So, how come you don't know this game? I thought almost every Wizard knew of it."

Harry could tell that most of the table was listening as Lestrange started this conversation. He saw Nott cheat and look at Lestrange's cards as he thought of that to say. He wondered if Lestrange was trying to hint towards the idea that Harry, as a Wizard, should know how to play. He wondered for a second whether this was a game particularly taught to Pureblood families, and gave the first response that came to his head. "I've heard of it before, but I've never been particularly interested in learning how to play. It didn't seem like a important thing to know."

Lestrange seemed satisfied with this answer, for he tore his eyes away from Harry so he could look at the cards he had once more. He paused for a moment and threw down a hand Harry didn't care to pay attention to. He knew more questions were coming.

"What did you spend your time doing then?" Lestrange asked.

"Er – reading, mostly."

Harry watched as Riddle looked at the expression of the next player before more cards were out down. He seemed to be taking in every detail of their behaviour, but Harry didn't have time to dwell on why. Lestrange was talking again.

"What do you read about?"

"Generally subjects that I can't already learn about from the teachers." He then realised that all the Death Eaters looked up at his words as though it was some sort of signal for them to do so, which he didn't understand.

"What kind of subjects, exactly?" Lestrange pressed.

"It depends," Harry said shortly.

Lestrange seemed to want to narrow his questions down more, but the game had suddenly ended, and he was distracted. Riddle had won again. Harry thought about the Legilimency he had been studying, and an idea had just come to him. Could Riddle possibly be winning constantly due to Legilimency? He remembered how persistent Riddle had been to try and get Harry to play, and he was glad suddenly that he had refused to. Without being able to see the hands his housemates had, Harry wouldn't have been able to win as easily as Riddle, which would be suspicious.

"Tell me, Smith, what do you think of Dark Magic?" Riddle asked quietly. Harry looked over to him, noting that he probably wanted to lead the conversation now that it was at an interesting point. "You seem to be rather good at Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Harry heard a few of the Death Eaters hiss, which reminded him that he shouldn't give his real opinions on the matter. He decided that now was probably a good time to introduce the idea that he could be interested in the Dark Arts. He felt sick at the idea, but ignored that fact. This was the best chance he'd get to become one of them, even if it felt far too soon for him.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts is quite an interesting subject for school," Harry forced himself to say, "but it's not as interesting as the Dark Arts themselves."

Harry saw the Death Eaters smile, and knew that it pleased them that he wasn't against the arts that they doubtlessly studied. He didn't elaborate on the subject, just in case he pushed it too far.

"Tell me, why do you take such an interest in Defence Against the Dark Arts then?"

"DADA is an easy subject to take if you already know about the Dark Arts themselves." Harry felt as though another voice was speaking though him, he could hear his own voice very strongly, and it was throwing off his concentration. "Not to mention it convinces the teachers of your innocence."

Even Riddle smiled as this remark, and asked, "How would you describe the difference you feel between the Dark Arts and learning to be defended from them?"

Harry paused for a second, trying to look like he was thinking this question through as he panicked inside. How on earth should he know what the difference between them felt like? He had never actually practiced Dark Arts willingly. Sure, the Order of the Phoenix had encouraged that he fight more viciously against the Death Eaters since he had left school, but he had never had the chance since then to try and experiment with using Dark Magic.

The Dark Arts had never interested him, even when the purest people he knew, his guardians, had suggested using them. But Lupin for one had been scared by the war, so Harry hadn't really taken the option of the Dark Arts into consideration – not so simply. But he wished suddenly that he had taken that advice.

He tried to remember an answer to the same sort of question he might know, and thought back to the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class of his sixth year. That's all he had to work on.

"I think that the main difference between the Dark Arts and defence against them – when not stating the most obvious parts – would have to be related to how they can be used. If someone uses the Dark Arts, and is good at it, they can easily conquer a lot of other fields of magic, whereas when you're fighting against it, it's like trying to defeat a monster that when killed once will sprout a new head, a more fierce and difficult one to defeat… The more you try and overpower the Dark Arts, the more impossible it will seem. But I also think that maintaining powerful skills in Dark Magic is endless…"

He felt like a bad rip-off of Hermione, reciting things he had heard quite incorrectly, and morphing what he could remember to fill the unknown spaces. He knew that he wouldn't have to use other people's words and stories in his lies once he worked out what kinds of questions he'd need to answer, but for now this would have to do. It seemed to convince Riddle and the Death Eaters for the time being, which was a relief to Harry. They didn't ask any more questions, for the gamed has just ended, with the leader of the Death Eaters still winning.

"I think that's about enough cards for today," Riddle said. Harry hoped this meant that he could leave them now and read alone in his dormitory.

"Does this mean we're gunna – er…" Avery didn't seem to want to finish his sentence as he glanced at Harry. The latter wondered whether this was a sign that they too wanted him to leave.

Riddle ignored Avery's comment and turned to face Harry. "Do you wish to accompany us? We are to be meeting with a few more of my friends in a moment to carry on what we normally do outside the Common Room."

Harry looked at Riddle for a second, knowing that he was referring to the Death Eaters and himself practicing the Dark Arts. He was about to ask what Riddle meant, for he thought that perhaps he wasn't supposed to know already, but as he examined Riddle's expression he could tell that the other boy supposed that Harry already knew what they practiced.

Harry wondered if anything that he had learned about Legilimency was sinking in yet, but he doubted it, on second thought. He decided that there was probably no intention beyond wanting to see how Harry reacted to the Dark Arts in Riddle's offer, so he didn't hesitate on thinking over finer details.

"Sure, I'll join you," Harry said. "Where do you normally hang out?"

"In the dungeons," Riddle replied, walking onwards and smiling faintly at the fact that Harry had accepted his offer. The Death Eaters followed without hesitation. Harry wasn't at all surprised that they met in the lowest part of the castle, he merely wondered whether they would just talk about theory, or if they had any rivals within the school or something of the sort. He was so caught up in wondering how the Death Eaters currently were when not watched by the teachers, that he forgot to worry about what might become of him in these meetings.

As Harry walked alongside Riddle in the lower dungeons of the school, he could hear the Death Eaters talking behind them, discussing the arts that they practiced with such calmness. They almost made it sound moral to Harry's ears, but being a fighter of the Dark Arts at heart, he knew he would always be sickened by the idea of practicing them when he really saw it.

He had suffered from them too much to pretend to himself that they were acceptable, so as he counted each step that lead him to this unknown gathering, he wondered what would become of it all, and whether he would be able to watch a meeting or two without joining in, to prepare himself. He only hoped that he'd be able to work around the fact that he didn't know the first thing about Dark Magic; he only knew the defences against them. This was, he knew, the first test to see whether or not he could go through with the long and unsure path ahead of him.


	9. The Dark Arts

They had entered what appeared to be a dimply-lit storage room, but once Harry took a better look past all the boxes and crates stacked without care against the walls, he saw a long, shining black table framing the centre of the room, surrounded by chairs. This was evidently a convenient place for Riddle and his friends to gather for their meetings, for it was pretty well hidden and far enough away from anywhere the occupants of Hogwarts might visit… Yet it surely wasn't at all big enough to practice any kind of magic in? Harry felt a little calmer at this quick assumption, hoping that they would do nothing but talk here. Then he saw that the Death Eaters who filed past him into the room didn't take their seats at the table; instead, they made their way instead to one of the three doors at the back of the room, which Harry hadn't noticed previously.

He felt the dread return to him, but forced himself to follow. The next room he entered held even more chairs. In fact, that's all that was actually present. Every seat was facing to the left, looking towards a piece of smooth, clear glass that lined the wall. Behind the glass was a view of a second room, this one much bigger than the one in which Harry stood with the others. This had to be – as Harry knew – a place in which to duel and learn new pieces of Magic in. He felt nerves twist in his stomach, but tried not to show it.

Riddle was standing in the centre of the second room, waiting for all of his friends to sit down. Harry wondered whether he should be pleased with such an easy acceptance to join Riddle's group… but the more he thought about it, the more he felt as though he had been tricked into this. He knew that was an irrational thought, but it was still an honest one. Harry heard the Death Eaters behind him talking about magic, and he tried hard not to listen, hoping not to become distracted and more nervous…

The Death Eaters seemed to have an unsaid rule that stated that when every member of this group was present, they had to fall silent and look through the glass towards Riddle. Harry saw them do so the second the door to this room was closed. Harry felt his hand, which rested on his leg, claw into a half fist as he took in the sight of Riddle standing ahead of him. Riddle's tone was business like and as delicate as always when he spoke, with the Death Eaters hanging onto his every word. Harry felt a familiar drifting sensation, as though this were some bizarre vision or nightmare that did not belong to him. He tried hard to pull himself back to reality with thought, unfortunately only making the sensation stronger. He then ignored it, telling himself this was real and he had to listen.

"Before we start this new lesson, I'd like to make a bit of a update upon the topic of the Dark Arts themselves, which must be explained again in honour of gaining a new member." Riddle paced the room a little, ahead of where Harry and the Death Eaters sat, calmly thinking how best to word the small lecture on the magic that he was about to give.

"To begin, the Dark Arts are not exactly as clearly defined as one new to the subject would think. Although none of you are exactly lost in understanding Dark Magic, this is still an important aspect to remember. The spells that I teach you can often be undecided when labelling 'good' or 'evil', for that is the nature of the Dark Art as a whole. It is – in a short explanation – down to the goals you have with this magic and the uses you can extract from it all to define the Dark Arts from all other fields of Magic. The intention behind the magic is the only true feature to define the Dark Arts, so we must preserve such a rule with all the work that we do.

"Yet there is much one can gain from such a rule, and there are two main upsides that I believe you must all remember. The first being that you should display and interlink what is considered 'lighter' magic with the dark that we learn, so as to get the fullest extent of power in your work. Which leads us to the second aspect we must remember: be sure that you aren't caught for simply performing Dark Magic. Constant Dark Magic will do no good on your reputation for the outside world, and Light Magic put to a dark use can often be demeaned and overlooked, which gives anyone educated in many fields an advantage. This doesn't mean that Light is a better choice in the end, it merely suggests that we shall have to redefine the uses that Magic we learn within this room or out can be put to."

Riddle turned to face the still eagerly listening Death Eaters and appeared to be finished with all that he had to say. Harry was a little curious as to why Riddle would ever claim that the line between good and evil was so thin. From all that Harry knew about the Dark Arts, it was pretty obvious when something wasn't a moral piece of magic. He wondered what Riddle might have meant by it all, and listened to see if he was going to say anything more on the subject. Yet it appeared that Riddle was finished.

"I am sure that most of you can elaborate upon that subject more accurately in your own minds, so I don't see why we shouldn't begin our lesson for the day…"

Harry wondered what the Death Eaters might practice. He wanted to see how it was that they started off, and wanted to know whether or not even those who he did not know – who would surely die under Riddle's order – were any good at the Dark Arts. He was so distracted with wondering what would become of this situation that he was barely listening when Riddle called his name.

"Smith, I do believe it's time for us to see if you have any potential in the Dark Arts," Riddle said.

Harry looked up, wondering whether he had heard incorrectly at first, but he knew he couldn't have been wrong when all the Death Eaters turned to look at him, and Riddle told Nott to enter the duelling room as well. Harry stood up, having no other choice, and walked with Nott to the room outside, and back around to the room where Riddle stood. Harry saw the Death Eaters watching the two Slytherin boys and him through the thick sheet of glass, but he soon forced himself to look at Riddle, who seemed unconcerned with Harry's nervous expression, but he could never guess the extent and reasons behind why Harry felt so sickened.

"To begin, I believe the Unforgivable Curses are in order," stated Riddle, with a lack of emotion. His words made Harry's heart pound, as he comprehended what it is that he would have to do. "I see no point in starting with anything less or more. But, of course the Killing Curse must be excluded."

Nott seemed to have expected as much, but it was eerie to Harry that the all the Death Eaters on the other side of the glass seemed so calm and familiar with even the idea of practicing these curses. He remained silent as Nott asked, "Who'll cast them?"

"Jonathan, of course," Riddle replied. "It would be simply cruel to make our newest arrival suffer so soon."

Harry felt sick. He didn't know how to perform the Unforgivable Curses, and he couldn't see himself succeeding tonight. He wondered how on earth Nott could be so calm. It was true that he seemed to be bracing himself, but anyone Harry had known would have been screaming and fleeing the scene at the mention of practicing the Unforgivable Curses. Harry was glad that the Killing Curse was ruled out, but he was still unsettled about the idea of the one remaining Unforgivable that he hadn't ever succeeded or attempted in casting…

"The Cruciatus Curse is a pretty difficult spell to complete, but I'm sure you'll get it after some tutoring," Riddle said to Harry, as if to try and make him reassured at the idea that they'd stay here until he completed this task. When Harry tore his gaze away from Nott to look at Riddle, the latter seemed to assume that Harry was only scared of failure. "I don't believe it will be hard for you… you never seem anything but angry."

Riddle turned away, leaving Harry to wonder about these words for a moment. Riddle then backed away from the centre of the room completely, choosing to stand watching Harry and Nott from the complete opposite angle of the Death Eaters seated behind the glass. "In your own time, you can cast the spell," Riddle said calmly. "I daresay you know the incantation?"

"Yes," Harry responded, using his voice for the first time in what felt like hours, though it can't have been more than ten or twenty minutes. He turned to face Nott, while the Death Eaters were silent. Nott wasn't armed; instead he stood in front of Harry almost bravely. Harry felt it was ironic that he as a Gryffindor should stand here, preparing to curse the courageous Slytherin, standing defenceless. But then again, was he really a Gryffindor anymore?

Reflecting on School Houses made Harry think of Theodore Nott, the blatant son of the boy who stood in front of Harry. Theodore hadn't been a particularly pronounced bully at Hogwarts; in fact he had been a loner at times. He had still been a dedicated Slytherin, and had been a part of a lot of incidences that Harry disapproved of, but such weak disfavours weren't even close to being enough to make Harry feel the hatred he needed to feel towards Nott for this Curse to work. Theodore was innocent in measures of what so many other people Harry knew had done.

This led Harry to think about Nott's future. The boy who stood in front of him seemed innocent enough, but the fact that he was about to meet the Cruciatus Curse so willingly suggested guilt, or resistance to the Dark Arts from experience. He had probably been as twisted a Death Eater as any, in Harry's past. All that Harry knew was that Nott avoided Azkaban in later years, but had also been summoned to Voldemort's rebirth party.

This told Harry that he was a survivor… He had also been in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Harry remembered, because Hermione had stunned him. Every Battle Harry had even fought seemed etched into his mind, replaying when he tried to work out where on earth he went so wrong. Harry felt his fist clench on his already drawn wand, but not because he hated Nott. This was only because he hated himself.

He couldn't be angry with this one Death Eater, for he didn't know him well enough. If it was someone like Bellatrix, he could do this without hesitation. Or, better yet, Riddle himself… Oh, how Harry would love to stand here with Riddle ahead of him, defenceless for even a second while Harry was prepared. Newborn anger filled Harry's throat and pulsed through his veins at this thought, causing his hands to curl into tighter fists. The boy who was, one day, to be responsible for all those deaths… Riddle of all people deserved to be punished, tortured under the Curse he taught to so many others…

Harry raised his wand in a split second, pointing it to Nott without thinking – yet he only saw Riddle in his blind rage. He counted the silenced milliseconds it took him to say the incantation as Nott closed his eyes.

"_CRUCIO!_"

Harry watched the boy in front of him screech in suffering as he twisted and coiled on the floor, blinded by the pain of what Harry knew would feel like white-hot metal against his skin. Harry felt a smile curl on his lips as he watched the boy in his Slytherin robes and dark hair, the curse being fuelled by memories; happy and terrible memories of people Harry once knew from his previously guiltless mind, people he had laughed and bounded with so long ago. People who didn't deserve to die so young…

The boy on the ground twisted to face Harry, and for the first time since seeing the figure in front of him hit the floor, Harry recoiled, finishing the Curse. He became confused as Nott's face looked up at him, but he then remembered that he had only imagined it as Riddle. He blinked many times, his smile long gone. The room was silent. Barely a drop of emotion filled Harry, even as he implored his blank mind to comprehend what this all meant. His thoughts appeared to have frozen.

"Very impressive, Smith," Riddle's voice called from a distant place. Harry watched as Nott got off the ground, avoiding everyone's eyes as he brushed off his robes. "That lasted around fifteen seconds… Have you preformed this Curse before?"

Harry tore his gaze away from Nott to look at Riddle. He heard some of the Death Eaters behind the wall of glass talking in approval about what they had just witnessed. "What?" asked Harry, disoriented.

"The Cruciatus Curse, have you preformed it before?" Riddle asked again.

"Yeah," Harry answered, barely knowing what he was saying. "Yeah, once before…"

Riddle seemed to take something from these words, but Harry didn't care to understand what that meant. He was starting to feel nauseated. Riddle seemed to see this too, for he asked, "Would you like to take a break?"

"Yeah…" Harry managed, "erm, Bathroom…"

No one stopped him as he made his way out of the headquarters. They had expected as much from Harry's unknown character, and were too impressed by his success to care whether or not he didn't wish to finish celebrating with them. They carried on, knowing he would come back some time.

Harry made his way down the dark dungeon corridor, clambering up stairs at a quick pace, desperate to get onto the upper floors. He was surprised to see it was dark outside, but made no hesitation for the nearest bathroom. It was empty as he entered it. He ran over to one of the sinks, vomiting barely after placing his hands on the cold, dark marble. He made a noise of disgust, standing over the sink for over a moment before the putrid smell of his own sickness met his nose, pleading for him to wash it down the sink properly. Harry turned the tap, closing his eyes as the water ran. When he was finished with that, he opened his eyes again, peering at his reflection through the chipped, ancient mirror. He felt as though he was about to be sick again.

He had just tortured a boy he barely knew. Harry understood what it was to suffer under the weight of the Cruciatus Curse, and he suddenly felt like a monster for having caused that pain for someone who was innocent to him. He couldn't comprehend the idea fully; he couldn't grasp the idea that Nott had felt what he and so many others had. The Longbottoms… but Harry couldn't finish thinking about the Longbottoms now, even if _they_ hadn't suffered the Battle of Hogwarts.

He had been able to perform that spell only because he thought about all who had suffered under Voldemort's wrath, but was Harry any better now? He felt cracked, broken. This was almost worse than the Battle… but Harry wouldn't think about that. He couldn't. He felt his hands shake as he held onto the marble structure of the sink, his eyes now closed due to the green irises in his reflection reminding him of all who had suffered from the failing of the Boy Who Lived…

Harry wasn't sure how he was going to get over this new wave of horror that was trapping him with in his own body. All he knew as that he wasn't going to return to the Death Eaters, not tonight. He couldn't go through with suffering that much again. Memories of his friends were haunting him even in this space of time… Harry's hands clenched into fists as burning tears began to fall from his closed eyes.

Two weeks had passed since Harry joined in with the first Death Eater meeting. The lessons that followed the one in which Harry tortured Nott were a little less stressing, to Harry's relief, but he was still being forced to learn a lot of Magic he strongly disliked. What was more, he didn't seem to be making any progress with Legilimency. He knew that Riddle would not be so obvious in confronting Harry with the idea of the skill again, but Harry had the nagging feeling that one of these days Riddle might ask him a question as an inside joke about the minds of one of the Death Eaters, and he wouldn't be able to answer. The last thing Harry wanted was for Riddle to think over his story and situation again.

As time drew on, Harry began to worry if he could even learn Legilimency at all. He had been terrible at Occlumency, but even with that now covered he wasn't confident that he could gain a skill so close to it. With learning Occlumency it had been particularly difficult due to Snape not getting along with him, but surely his hate for Riddle should fuel him _forwards_ in Legilimency, rather than away from it? Harry felt as though he couldn't take in any information at times, however. It was only when he found the energy to think about the future that he could bring himself to continue on with all the books. He simply couldn't let this fail…

As Harry sat in the Library doing homework, however, it wasn't lack of motivation that was distracting him from work. Riddle and the Death Eaters were sitting around him, all reading books or else talking and joking quietly amongst themselves. Harry had the horrible feeling that, as he looked down at the book in front of him, Riddle was watching his every move. Drumming his fingers on the ancient volume in slight stress, Harry avoided eye contact with anyone around him… After what felt like ten solid minutes of being seemingly watched, he decided to close his book and looked up.

Riddle was indeed staring at him. He didn't drop his gaze even when Harry stood; he stood up too.

"I was wondering if I could have a word with you, Jonathan?" Riddle asked, in the same way he had asked this question what felt like a million times before.

"Sure," Harry said apathetically, not caring what this would turn out to be about. He began walking out of the library, Riddle following. Once they were on the corridor outside, Harry turned to Riddle. His voice was still lacking some emotion when he spoke, but he didn't care to change it. "What is it that you want to talk about?"

"I was wondering if I could ask you something," Riddle began, "but first I think we should go somewhere more private."

Harry glanced at Riddle for a second, in half a mind to question this offer. The taller boy led him down a corridor before he could find a protest, however, and brought him to where an empty classroom stood. Riddle was, after all, supposed to be his leader, Harry mused idly. The room they entered was gloomy and neglected, but Harry only cared about what Riddle had to say.

"So what did you want to ask me?" Harry pressed.

Riddle, who stood leaning on one of the desks in front of Harry, surveyed him carefully.

"I was merely wondering what you might be able to tell me about your parents," he started in a light tone.

Harry stared at him in silence.

"I mean, I understand if you don't want to share such information," Riddle clarified quickly, "but… I merely feel as though it would help me in getting to know you better. It is, of course, somewhat of a similarity we share, that our parents weren't around in our early lives… You could begin, for example, with telling me exactly how it was that they died?"

Harry paused for only a second upon hearing Riddle's words – a new test, he was sure. For the last two weeks he had been under the impression that Riddle was trying to suss him out in some way, and this was a confirmation. It brought up a lot of questions: should Harry take on this challenge, and declare himself smart enough to understand characteristics as well as Riddle did? Harry was sure that he had no option other than to accept, for a refusal reeked of fear. But then, how much should he lie? Harry wanted to keep it somewhere close to the truth, for he knew a complete lie was another opportunity for mistakes, while complete truth was out of the question. The answer to give Riddle came to Harry quickly…

"They were murdered…" Harry responded carefully, "by a man I wish very much to kill."

Riddle gazed at Harry for a long moment, and Harry stared back with equal persistence. This answer appeared to either confused Riddle deeply or confirmed some assumption he had made previously, but Harry couldn't tell which. He had barely known a time in which Riddle remained silent for so long, thinking over the many possibilities of this answer, and as another rarity, Harry spoke to ask Riddle a question, to watch for Riddle's reaction.

"What about your parents?"

Riddle blinked once or twice at these words, and seemed to stop thinking of Harry's parents in order to spare thought for his own. "My mother died when I was born. I don't know about my father…"

As Harry listened, he thought he heard a shadow of a mistake in the way that Riddle said 'father'. He heard a hissing sound too pronounced in the 'f', which suggested bitterness in the word as a whole. It was far too slow and delicate to have no meaning. Harry knew that by this time – at seventeen – Riddle's father was long since dead, murdered by Tom himself. The ring upon Riddle's finger told Harry as much. It almost amused Harry to think that the Dark Lord as a young adult made mistakes as such. He wondered whether Riddle was regretting the way he said 'father', or whether he didn't notice it at all.

"That's all I really wanted to ask," Riddle said, standing up fully and turning away from Harry. "Unless you have something more to ask?"

He turned to face Harry again, and the latter knew this was a rhetorical question.

"No… Nothing."

Riddle nodded, before pausing. "The next meeting is at nine."

"Yeah… thanks."

Riddle left without another word.


	10. I Must Not Tell Lies

"So how do you know of the Imperius Curse?" Riddle asked curiously.

Harry took a breath of cold November air into his lungs to give himself time to think of a lie, while trying to calm his heart that pounded with either nerves or anger – Harry wouldn't tell which anymore. It was all the same. Every day he had to endure these endless questions, replying with delicate lies as quickly as he could, but never without thinking… He always had to be careful.

"I read about the curse." Harry replied simply. When Riddle seemed surprised at this short answer, Harry added, "I leant quite a lot about it."

"Still, to complete this spell so quickly is impressive. You seem better at it than you are with even the Cruciatus Curse…"

Harry himself wasn't surprised that he had succeeded with the Imperius Curse, for he had managed to cast it successfully on the day when he had broken into Gringotts, in search of the Hufflepuff Cup. It wasn't as terrible to cast for him as the Cruciatus Curse was – it wasn't even close. The calming blissfulness that one feels when under the Imperius Curse can often be a relief, as dangerous as it is.

"… Unless, of course, this wasn't your first attempt at the curse?" Riddle suggested, in a tone that told Harry he was trying to fit this into some mistaken theory.

"No, it was the first time I used the spell." Harry lied quickly.

"And resisting it?"

"I've never done that either." He lied again. He threw in a fake laugh. "Why would I need to?"

Riddle did not answer his last question. Harry looked at the taller boy swiftly to be sure that he wasn't thinking over anything too important, but he then remembered that Riddle never seemed to show any emotion at all. He decided to continue speaking.

"So where is it that you learnt the Unforgivable Curses?"

"Like you, through reading." Riddle replied. "Though my friends and I didn't begin to use them until my sixth year."

From this comment, Harry guessed that Riddle had refrained from teaching his follows these illegal curses until they were all practiced enough in other sinister pieces of magic. It would have doubtlessly taken years to prepare them to accept it all… or at least Harry hoped so. He wondered vaguely how much longer before the others it was that Riddle learnt these curses, but he didn't really care to dwell upon the thought for long. He wanted to keep talking.

"But the others aren't bad at what you teach them." Harry said. "They're much more interested in this than school work, anyway."

Riddle smiled faintly. "School work is something quite distant from what my friends and I learn – as each and every one of them know from all that I've displayed and taught. Even those who are entirely useless in class appear to have some talents here and there… I think of it as private tutoring, bringing out the best in all of my friends and letting them take pride in selective fields of the Dark Arts, the fields in which they show the greatest talents and skills, even if that merely ends up being all that they know fully."

Riddle often talked on like this, explaining things in great detail with slight pride. Harry wondered whether it made him feel important to have this chance to explain the feature of all that he had accomplished in his efforts to build up his own personal army. Harry also wondered, on reflection, whether this is why Riddle had been talking to him so persistently for the last few weeks – even past the extent Harry expected with joining the formation of the Death Eaters. Almost every day Riddle would talk to him for over an hour, whether the other Death Eaters were around or not. He had allowed his paranoid mind to assume that Riddle wanted more information at first, but then he began to realise that Riddle spoke of himself and the Death Eaters often.

"What are you trying to gain from this though?" Harry asked carefully, forcing his tone to be more innocently curious and interested than eager for answers. "I mean, because by the time everyone leaves the school they will probably know more about the Dark Arts than anyone else they'll meet."

Riddle pondered this question for a second, and Harry wondered why he had even asked this at all. He knew what would really happen… Maybe he just wanted to hear the words said by Riddle, to bring himself back to seeing reality. Sometimes he felt as though the Death Eaters were more innocent than he would assume when thinking about what they were to become in the future. "I don't suppose that I will make much use of their skills," Riddle lied, perhaps, "Yet I can at least feel satisfied with knowing that I have passed on my own knowledge of the Dark Arts, to make the world slowly but surely more powerful."

"What do you suppose the others will do with their knowledge?"

"They might teach more people their skills, or write books on their professions, or look more into the magic – who knows." But Harry knew that Riddle for one knew perfectly well what uses he was planning to put all of his friends to in the near future, and even how his enemies, like Hagrid, would be helpful. After a short pause, Riddle asked, "What is it that you wish to do, Jonathan?"

"Er, I dunno." Harry said truthfully. He hadn't given this question a lot of thought before, hadn't found of a mask to shield his real intentions. He couldn't wish to be a full time Death Eater yet, he knew. Yet it sickened him to merely think about that, so perhaps talking of it might have been impossible so soon… As he thought about Death Eaters, he became inspired. "The Dark Arts are quite interesting… maybe I'll continue on with them, even after school…"

Riddle appeared mildly surprised at this, and as Harry looked up at the taller boy he thought he saw something like triumph in his eyes, but a second later he looked at the view ahead of them again, and Harry wouldn't see his second of expression anymore.

"I believe that would be a worthy choice for you," Riddle said delicately, "You seem to have potential in measures of both power and skill…"

Harry didn't reply to this, for he was lost for a moment whilst comprehend why it was that the Dark Arts seemed so easy for him. He silently pushed that thought away, loathing this idea the moment it came to his head. He wasn't 'good' at the Dark Arts; he had merely learnt what Riddle was teaching beforehand… He realised then that Riddle was looking at him, examining his expression. He tried to be more impassive, not meeting the other boy's eyes.

"Yet I feel as though there is something you dislike about the subject." Riddle stated quietly.

"No," said Harry quickly, having no idea how he was going to dismiss such a direct address to his true feelings. "I'm, er, just surprised that there are so many people here who are learning it – underground… you would think that the school would teach it…"

Riddle smiled at Harry's last words, and the later dearly hoped that this meant Riddle was buying into his hate being relating only to the 'lack of the Dark Arts'. In truth, Harry thought there was far, far too much of it at Hogwarts at the moment.

"I believe that Hogwarts will one day teach the Dark Arts to its students." Riddle stated quietly. "There are many Wizarding schools – Durmstrang, most knowingly – who are already accustomed to passing on the ancient skills of the Dark Arts, which is, naturally, the most powerful field of magic the world will ever know… Hogwarts is merely too proud in it's current state, too determined to continue on the idea of morals to mask their fear of such power."

"I agree." Harry said lamely, wishing for Riddle to talk himself away from suspicion. Harry wondered whether Riddle was planning on becoming a teacher at Hogwarts yet…

"The weak have had a long history of fearing the Dark Arts, fearing the powerful becoming acquainted with the truly magnificent fields of magic. Those lacking in strong willpower subside to banning all that is worth researching, hoping in vain that making a subject labelled 'evil' will stop those of us with intelligence and ambition from progressing… Yet I believe that the Wizarding world will give in to acknowledging true power one day soon."

"Yeah," Harry said carefully, having no idea what he was supposed to reply to this. "I don't think it will be very long at all before everyone sees the Dark Arts are a better choice…" It didn't feel like his own voice as he spoke, but Harry was almost used to this sensation by this time.

Riddle appeared unaffected by this worthless reply. He was doubtlessly used to people misunderstanding or having no opinions of real value in contrast to the things that he talked about. The Death Eaters were good at the Dark Arts, Harry knew, but they probably didn't know what Riddle was talking about a lot of the time. Harry himself was merely cautious and bewildered whilst he comprehended how each of Riddle's words would link into the future…

In the silence that followed these next words Riddle reached into his pocket to withdraw something. At first Harry thought he was taking out his wand, and he was milliseconds away from defending himself, when he saw that The Heir of Slytherin was merely extracting a packet of cigarettes. Harry recognised the neat packaging of the wizarding company who made these non-lethal but doubtlessly addictive bad habits. He stared for a second, trying to calm his heart that was beating fast from paranoia.

Riddle withdrew single cigarette and then held the rest of the pack out to Harry, in offering. "Want one?"

"Erm…" Harry hesitated. "I don't normally–"

"There's barely a student in this school over fifteen who doesn't smoke," Riddle interrupted with a shadow of a smile, "And I don't agree with the ban placed upon them. Take one."

Harry looked up at Riddle and decided that it would probably be abnormal if he didn't accept the offer now. Though cigarettes were forbidden for younger people in the Muggle world because of their harmful contents, the wizarding world cared very little about them. They were looked up with rather sceptical eyes in the year that Harry had come from, but he was sure that Riddle was right in claiming that there was scarcely a student over fifteen at this time who didn't allow their self to become addicted.

"Thanks…" He took one.

Harry placed the cigarette in his mouth as Riddle had and they lit them in silence. Harry watched as Riddle appeared suddenly relaxed at the taste of smoke, his eyes closing for a second as he inhaled and exhaled slowly. In his years at Hogwarts Harry had tried smoking a few times, but he hadn't made a habit of it. Hermione for one had disapproved of it greatly, perhaps because of what her parents had taught her, being dentists, yet Harry couldn't resist taking just one cigarette from a pack hidden in his trunk when yet another unbearably stressful event occurred. He liked the taste, and the smell, despite the fact that it reminded him vaguely of bad times. It was calming, almost a solution to the many problems he had been force to face so continuously…

Riddle was examining Harry's expression again, and the later glanced at him for only a second before staring fixedly to the view ahead of them. He hated looking at Riddle a lot of the time. He couldn't bear to take the memories that flooded back to him whenever he thought of what he had seen previously of him. If ever he had nightmares, which was often, Riddle would be there, somewhere. Harry tried to block most of it out, reminding himself that this Riddle was different to one he had met at twelve years old… He was glad, suddenly, that he hadn't refused this chance to smoke a cigarette.

After a pause, Harry decided to continue on their conversation. "So tell me, Riddle–"

"Call me Tom." Riddle corrected him.

"Right…" This wasn't the first time that Riddle asked to be called Tom, but Harry kept forgetting to use his chosen name. In his mind, he wasn't close enough to Riddle to call him Tom… "What is it that you wish to do when you leave Hogwarts?"

Tom pondered this question, occupied with his cigarette for a moment. "I suppose that I will go into research, as so many other wizards seem to do. I shall continue gaining knowledge until I find a job interesting enough to take. Then there is the idea of teaching, which has always interested me."

Harry was surprised with Tom's last words. He wouldn't expect Riddle to speak so lightly of his wish to pass on ancient skills, to poison the minds of young witches and wizards, in Harry's opinion. Yet perhaps Riddle trusted that Harry wouldn't care about the idea. It seemed like an innocent enough dream when one didn't take into consideration that the boy standing besides Harry was going to become the greatest Dark Wizard in all of history…

"You mean to teach at a school like Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

"If I am qualified enough, then potentially."

Harry took another drag of his cigarette, willing Riddle to elaborate. He knew perfectly well that Riddle would fail at obtaining the Defence Against the Dark Arts post when Merrythought would retire. Then he would move onto working at Borgin and Burkes, killing Hepzibah Smith and framing the house elf for it all… It scared Harry, suddenly, that Riddle was literally going to go on living a life Harry knew each step to. He had a perfect overview on Riddle's entire future…

"But paths change. I will perhaps teach as soon as I leave school, or only in much later years. Something as such can never truly be planned, for there are endless possibilities of setbacks and so on."

"Yeah, no one can ever really know…"

Just then the bell rang, signalling the end of Tom and Harry's free period. Both boys took one last drag on their cigarettes and put them out in unison.

"We shouldn't stall," Riddle said, "for I've never yet been late for Dumbledore's class, and though I know he isn't one for handing out punishments, he never does seem to give up excuses to lecture his students on something or another."

Harry hesitated for only a second, adjusting his rucksack as he felt a stab of annoyance. Riddle had only walked on about five paces on, before Harry followed. "Transfiguration…" He mumbled, stating the obvious as he became lost in though.

Whilst they walked, Riddle must have been examining Harry's expression again, for after some time he asked, "You dislike Transfiguration? I didn't think you were particularly bad at it. You keep up with the class rather well…"

"No, I don't mind the class…"

There was another pause where Tom seemed to see something in Harry's expression. "Do you dislike Dumbledore?" He asked carefully.

"Er, no… no I just…"

Riddle seemed to take this as a 'yes'. He looked away from Harry to think as they walked, his expression pensive. "A lot of people seem to like Dumbledore, yet I myself am of a rather reserved opinion of him…"

Harry already knew why that was. Dumbledore could see clearly through Tom like no one else could, excluding Harry. The Transfiguration Professor was the one and only threat that Riddle knew of, the only person he would ever fear. Harry hoped, as silence fell, that in exchange for asking no questions, Riddle would let Harry keep his own opinions on the matter reserved too.

"Dumbledore is a secretive person…" Said Harry quietly.

"What makes you say that?" Tom asked.

Harry wasn't sure if it was really smart to answer this, but thought of Dumbledore had left a burning sensation of hate in his stomach, and he couldn't help but say something, anything, to express his anger. "He has a rather hidden past, and never seems to tell anyone the full story of anything he talks about… I just think he's a fraud."

They had arrived in a corridor flooding with students now, and were close to the Transfiguration classroom. Tom either didn't have any questions or didn't want to ask anything with all the students around, so both boys were silent as they made their way into the next class of the day. Harry didn't look up to see Riddle's expression.

Harry took a table, and wasn't surprised when Riddle chose to sit next to him. They saw some of the Death Eaters enter the class, and Tom talked to them for a minute while Harry was silent. He hated Transfiguration more than any other class he took. He was tempted, at times, to ask the headmaster of the school if he could change this subject for another one, yet he knew that this was perhaps a suspicious request. He didn't seem to be that bad at the subject, so asking to quit now was unusual.

Dumbledore called the class to order, and Harry was distracted for a long while after this, trying hard not to glare at the Professor as memories played like film in his mind. The only time he looked away from Dumbledore was when he had to take notes, and when the class was giving the assignment of the day to work on. He barely seemed to be paying attention to what he was doing, but didn't care.

The class wore on and on, until suddenly Harry saw that everyone seemed to be finished with their work. He had succeeded in transfiguring the chameleon in front of him into a pair of boots, and he was mildly surprised to see he had done a basically good job. Dumbledore was making his way along each table, complementing and suggesting things on everybody's work. Harry felt his anger become stronger with every step the Professor took, until, finally, Dumbledore was standing over Tom and Harry's table.

"Ah, I'm very glad to see that the both of you have done rather well in your work today." Dumbledore said, smiling down at the two impassive boys. Then Riddle managed a false smile, Harry saw. Dumbledore went on to complement Riddle greatly, talking about some finer details in the transformation, but Harry was barely listening. It wasn't until he heard his false name that he looked up.

"Though I must say that you often seem a little distracted, Jonathan." Dumbledore said. "As well as you may be getting along with using magic, it appears to me as if you become distracted when it comes to remembering facts and figures… Is there something you wish to speak of? If so, my office is always open."

"No, I'm fine, Professor." Harry replied.

Dumbledore surveyed Harry for a second longer, the later feeling his fists clench. Harry was concentrating hard on getting rid of the anger from his expression, to remain impassive, but he wasn't any less annoyed even as the Professor nodded slightly and moved onto the next table.

"Very well…"

Harry was surprised that he could still be so angry with his old headmaster, even when the Professor was away from his sight. His heart seemed poisoned with loathing, allowing the anger to pulse through his veins as he continued to feign composure.

Suddenly Riddle's voice broke Harry's trail of thought. "_'I must not tell lies'_, what's that about?"

Harry turned to look at Riddle, stunned that he had quoted the line he knew so well. Yet before Harry could work out how on earth Riddle knew about that collection of words, Tom had grabbed Harry's fist to have a closer look at the white scars etched deeply into the skin in the back of his right hand.

Suddenly, time seemed to stand still. Harry felt as though he was made of water, while waves appeared all around where Riddle's hand met his own. They started at a close range and slowly moved up his arm, the ripples upon his skin becoming stronger with time. If Harry had imagined anything to come from Riddle's hand touching his own, he would have expected burning pain to sear in his scar, blinding him as he had known it to do so often over the years. He would have expected the power of Voldemort to affect him even in this place in time, had there been an unexpected outcome from this one touch…

Harry pulled his hand away, staring at Riddle in shock. Tom appeared to be just as confused as he was to understand what on earth had just happened. It was odd, Harry thought, to actually see emotion upon Tom's face. They stared at each other for a long moment. Harry realised then that barely a second could have passed, for no one in the room around them appeared to be at all changed. Not one person had noticed anything unusual even as Harry's mind raced to try and work this out.

The bell rang barely seconds after this, and Harry stood up, glad for a reason to avoid Riddle's gaze. He picked up his school bag and headed for the exit to the classroom before even the Death Eaters could wonder where he was going, leaving Tom to stay frozen at his table, just as lost as the Boy Who Lived.


	11. Concentration & Consideration

December had arrived far too quickly for Harry's liking, bringing with it progressively colder and more frozen days. A thick blanket of snow had piled up all across the grounds of Hogwarts, to be seen outside every window's ledge whilst infecting the glass with sprawled snowflakes. Every torch and fire had been ignited within the castle, yet this was only a small consolation to the plummeting temperature. It was doubtlessly going to be a very cold winter.

Harry was sitting in the Common Room at this time, reading the last few chapters of one of the ancient volumes dedicated to the subject of Legilimency that he had stolen. He felt as though he was almost improving with Legilimency, but not nearly as much as he was with the Dark Arts, as much as he hated to admit that. He hated every lesson he had to endure with the Death Eaters… but he knew that everything he learnt would only be put to good use, in the end. He could live with it all if he thought of it like that…

There weren't very many students gathered in the Common Room even if it was close to mid evening now, for most of the Slytherins were up in the grounds, enjoying the snow while it was still more interesting than a nuisance. Harry was peacefully reading his book, and wasn't interrupted until he heard someone sit down on the couch opposite him. He looked up, and saw Tom placing a glass enclosure on the low-set coffee table between himself and Harry.

At the sight of the glass enclosure, Harry remembered about the Transfiguration homework they were supposed to be doing. Dumbledore had paired up all of the students in the class, making Tom and Harry work together whilst giving some reason of practising cooperative skills that Harry didn't care about. He was exceedingly annoyed with having to do homework with Riddle no matter what he was supposed to be gaining from it.

Dumbledore hadn't caught onto the notion that Harry and Riddle were generally avoiding each other at this time. Or perhaps the Transfiguration teacher had noticed this, and decided to annoy both of the boys out of curiosity or spite… But Harry had to accept the fact that Dumbledore couldn't possibly have anything against him personally, when he thought about it. This Dumbledore wasn't the same Dumbledore he had known, not quite yet.

"Hello, Jonathan." Said Tom once he was seated. Riddle's tone suggested that he was in denial of the fact that something out of the ordinary had happened between the two boys just over a few weeks ago. Harry had been trying to take much the same approach to the event, but it was harder for him to ignore.

"Hello, Tom…" Harry replied. The square-set placement of the couches and chairs in this part of the Common Room allowed Tom to sit this far away from Harry without seeming too determined in keeping his distance. It was common for the Slytherins to have plenty of personal space, unless a full group – like the Death Eaters – wanted to sit together.

"I hope you don't mind if we start the homework now?" Riddle said, not looking at Harry.

"No, I don't mind," Harry replied. He said no more, and was glad when Tom didn't start up another conversation. They sat in silence for a moment as Tom examined the animal they were to transfigure with interest. Harry couldn't see what they'd be working on yet past the cloth that covered the glass, but he didn't really care. He watched Tom carefully as he smiled faintly at what rested in the enclosure. Riddle obviously enjoyed schoolwork…

Was he gay? Harry had been avoiding asking himself this question for weeks now, putting it off with saying that he has liked both Cho and Ginny… But he had to face it one time or another. The only thing he knew for sure was that he felt as though there was something more to whatever had happened in Transfiguration than just being attracted to Tom – as he tried extremely hard to deny. It wasn't normal to get such a strong reaction from a gesture so simple, especially when it was more the skin on the back of his hand than anything else that had had a peculiar reaction. It wasn't Tom himself, it was something else – it had to be…

Harry examined Riddle more carefully now. He was doubtlessly handsome – it was even more prominent under a watchful examination. His hair was as black as Harry's, but far more neatly kept. His eyes had a dark air about them, which Harry felt gave away his true intentions and personality more than people such as the teachers were willing to accept… but perhaps this being attractive stopped most onlookers from thinking about it too much. His cheeks were not nearly as hollowed as Harry knew they would be only a year from now, when Riddle left Hogwarts to work at Borgin and Burkes, but it was still slightly changed form what Harry had seen of the sixteen year old Tom. Every feature upon Riddle face was masterfully designed, from his straight nose to his stunning but pale complexion, which brought out the best in his beauteous lips…

Harry looked away. This was Voldemort. Lord Voldemort_._ This boy had murdered three people already, and would evidently go on to murdering one more, Hepzibah Smith, in a year's time. Riddle was the soul reason for all of the terrible things that had ever happened in Harry's life. He was going to cause two terrible Wizarding World Wars, and was going to kill an innumerable amount of people as he did so. He was the greatest Dark Wizard in all of History. There was no chance that he could possibly like Riddle! Harry closed his eyes in annoyance.

Tom's voice suddenly broke Harry's trail of thought, as it so often did.

"_Tell me about your past…"_

Harry felt a stab of anxiety and annoyance at Riddle's words. _"I've already told you everything about my past." _Harry said, opening his eyes. _"I have nothing left to add."_

Harry realised, then, that Riddle was staring at him blankly… and if he wasn't mistaken, it looked as though Tom was a little bewildered. This confused Harry. It wasn't as though that was an irrational thing to have said. It was true… But then he looked down to what Riddle was holding. It was the animal from the glass enclosure. A snake.

As if to clarify what on earth had just happened, the snake that weaved in and out of Tom's long, thin fingers hissed quietly, _"Two who speak the language of serpents… One is a peculiarity in itself… It is an honour…"_

The two boys stared at one another for a long time as the serpent stopped talking. Harry felt as though his mind was jammed, he couldn't think. All he could do was feel waves of terror crash over him. Tom broke the silence.

"_You speak it?"_

Harry didn't know to reply to this. Only a few seconds passed, however, before both boys realised that some of the Death Eaters were coming back into the Common Room, soaking wet from the weather outside, and all wearing cheerful expressions. They sat down around Harry and Tom, not noticing the expressions of the two boys. Avery took a seat next to Harry.

"You wouldn't _believe_ how easy it is to scare them Mudbloods with an exploding snowball." Avery said, sharing a childish grin with a few of the other Death Eaters. "We managed to smash one of the windows of the school though, so we had to make a run for it – Hey, where you going Jonathan?"

Harry had stood up; glad for this distraction so he could get away from the still curious stare that Tom was giving him. "I just remembered that I have more homework to finish in the Library…" Harry lied, picking up his rucksack and moving away from where everyone sat.

"What? C'mon, homework can wait. I want to tell you about what happened to Linda Anthony!"

Harry didn't reply, heading towards the exit to the Slytherin Common Room.

~&~

December was passing too quickly. This had been happening since Slughorn had asked who would be staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays, and Harry had realised that all of the Death Eaters were going home. He knew that little or no break at all from anxiety would be known to him over the winter holiday, for even before the school term ended Harry could sense that Tom wanted to ask him a whole number of questions – starting with how he had obtained the skill of parseltongue.

Harry didn't have an answer. It had been weeks now, and he couldn't think of a single lie. It kept him awake for hours some nights, eating away at him as he tried to see a way out of it all. Tom would have checked through hundreds of books over the years to find out who was and who wasn't part of the bloodline of Salazar Slytherin, and on a revaluation Harry wouldn't fit anywhere on it. Even if Tom supposed that they were brothers for a moment, there was always the fact that no one ever talked about Merope having had more than one son, so no lie could be told concerning that.

There was only one option left for Harry now, and that was for him to wait until Tom found an answer that fitted. It was in Riddle's personality to stop at nothing to know the truth, so Harry would have to leave his fate in the observant hands of the Dark Lord, as much as it sickened him to accept. It had been a terrible mistake for him to speak Parseltongue, even unknowingly, when Tom was already so curious to understand what had happened when their hands met. This was a mistake he was going to live to regret, he feared.

On the day when the Hogwarts Express was going to take most of the school home for the holidays, Harry felt sick. He had said goodbye to the Death Eater shortly, and made his way up through the deserted school to submerge himself in more Legilimency books, trying to not think about when he would have to return to the Slytherin Common Room later on. He just wanted to read, and forget everything for a while.

He was getting better at Legilimency. Though he was still extremely slow at learning the skill, he was sure that within a month or two he'd be able to read the minds of most of the people around him – excluding any Occlumens. He wasn't sure if the day for Riddle to question his Legilimency would come any time soon, but he wanted to be prepared. If he couldn't help things such as Parseltongue or whatever happened when he touched Riddle's skin, he was going to be prepared for this.

But Harry was doubtful about a lot of things, at this time. He knew that if he messed up with any of the questions with no answers, he _could_ simply run away from everything concerning the wars to come in the future… but deep down he knew that he couldn't do that, not now. He wanted to continue pretending to be a Death Eater, so he could watch everything and understand the war more clearly than he ever had with hearing about it from the Order of the Phoenix so uncommonly. He wanted to fix everything this time around, to make a difference in the world…

Yet at times he wanted to run away from it all, to hide somewhere and be content with the currently calm world – he couldn't deny that. His whole life had revolved around this war, so surely he deserved a break? But no, he didn't. Not now. He deserved nothing more than to finish what he had been brought up to do… With this much time ahead of him, with the chance of preparing all the fighters against Voldemort properly, he couldn't back down. He would risk his life again, if it came down to that. He had to…

It was getting dark outside before Harry finally accepted the fact that he would have to return to the Slytherin Common Room some time or another. He knew the library was going to close in about ten minutes, so he got up, still wearing the invisibility cloak, and put the stolen books back into his bag. He left the library, and made his way down the deserted corridors that lead him towards the Slytherin Common Room. He hoped that Tom was busy with reading at this time, so he could head towards the boys dormitory without comment.

There didn't seem to be any Slytherins left when Harry arrived in the Common Room. It was a known fact that most of the students in this house had rich, pureblooded families, with parents as ambitious as any of Slytherin's students, so it didn't surprise Harry that everyone had decided to go home to their spoiling mothers and fathers. But knowing that there was a reason explaining why the room was so empty didn't make Harry feel any less uneasy.

He saw Riddle, the only person present, sitting at the usual table where the Death Eaters gathered. He was reading a book, and didn't seem to have noticed Harry entering the Common Room through the un-solid wall that every Slytherin could walk through after giving the password. Harry made his way across the room without haste and lingered a little less than ten feet away from Tom. The later looked up from the book he was reading at the sound of Harry's footsteps.

"Hello, Jonathan." Said Tom. "I was wondering when you'd come back to the Common Room…" He turned back to look down at his volume he held after a moment, so Harry decided that it wouldn't be rude of him to not socialise.

"Hey," Harry replied. "Er, I'm going to go and read in the dormitories. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all." Riddle replied, still reading. "I'm used to spending the holidays alone. I prefer it that way."

"Right." Harry said, not surprised. "Well, if you need anything…"

He turned away from the still reading Riddle, and made his way to the dormitories. It was close to nine O'clock now, and Harry hoped that Tom wouldn't go to bed until at least eleven, when Harry could technically be asleep. Harry would read until that time, he knew. He wanted to spend the holidays becoming a Legilimens, because he had nothing else to do.

He sat down on his bed when he arrived in the dormitories, and turned on the light resting on his bedside table. He pulled off his heavy rucksack and extracted the ancient volumes from it, picking up the particular one he was about a quarter of the way through. He wondered, then, whether Riddle had ever noticed that he had to have been stealing these books from the Restricted Section of the Library… Yet even if Tom did know, it wasn't as though he could or would really do anything about it. Harry sat back against the pillows of his bed and began to read.

Barely an hour passed, however, when the door to the dormitory opened again and Riddle walked in the room. Harry looked up from his book, annoyed at the sight of the taller boy, but intent upon being impassive.

"Don't mind me, I'm merely passing by." Riddle said, not really caring whether this bothered Harry due to the fact that he was supposed to be Harry's leader.

"No, I don't mind…" Harry replied vaguely, not returning to his book. He watched as Riddle made his way to one of the beds across the room, and started gathering objects that suggested he was going to take a bath, or shower. Harry looked away, glad to know that Tom would be gone for about an hour longer after this for sure.

Harry read on, at a slower pace than usual, for he was still somewhat distracted by the presence of the other Slytherin. He waited until he heard Riddle's footsteps head towards him and the exit to the room, before he felt a little relief. But this was shortly lived, for Riddle stopped walking as he reached the end of Harry's bed. He looked up.

"Jonathan," Tom started carefully, "I was wondering if you could answer a question I've been trying to work out the answer to for a while…"

Riddle was leaning against one of the supporters at the end of Harry's four-poster bed, careful to keep his distance, as always. Harry knew this meant that Riddle wanted to ask one of the two questions he really didn't want to answer, and Harry felt another wave of anxiety at the very idea of blundering out an answer right now.

"Sorry," He said, knowing that an excuse was the only way out, "But I have a lot of work outside schoolwork to get on with…"

He averted his eyes from the other Slytherin after he said this, choosing instead to look down at the book he was holding. To Harry's dismay, however, Riddle did not leave so soon. He looked up again after a pause.

Riddle was examining his expression, wearing an impassive countenance himself. After a long pause, where Harry tried hard to be as expressionless as Tom, Riddle spoke. "All who fall under your gaze become accused of a silent crime… and I am yet to understand why."

Harry did not reply, but it appeared that Riddle did not expect anything to be said after this. Slowly he straightened up from leaning against the bedpost, and walked from the room without another word. Harry paused, slightly confused as to what Riddle had meant by that… the more Harry thought about it, the more his mind allowed him to believe that this was a form of a warning to tell him that Riddle wasn't giving up until he found a fitting story. He had mentioned Harry's expression… was that to point out that even if Harry apparently knew Occlumency, Riddle supposed himself better at seeing and working out what Harry was feeling, and what he was hiding?

Harry felt sick again. He looked over to where Riddle's bed rested as if this would help him understand the Heir of Slytherin more clearly. His jaw clenched for a moment as he thought, feeling the pressure of this endless game weigh upon him. He wondered whether Riddle was more curious about the Parseltongue or the reaction they both had when their skin touched… But he supposed that the idea of Harry being a parselmouth would be an easier thing for Riddle to ask about.

As Harry looked over to Riddle's bed, he saw that Tom had left a book lying on the blankets. Having no motivation left to read about Legilimency, Harry stood up, and made his way over to the other boy's bed. He lingered by it for only a second before picking up the volume that rested, lying open, with a page saved. He was about to read what was written, before he noticed that it wasn't in English. He frowned, never having thought about Tom knowing another language before… As Harry looked, he supposed it was written in German, for he thought that he recognised some of the simple German words.

He wanted to know what the book was about, but none of the words on the pages he flicked through made any sense to him. He gave up looking after a while, and rested the book back on the bed, how it was when he found it. He looked up at the shelf above Tom's bed, seeing all the books nearly stacked, not a speck of dust, or a single item out of line besides for the book on the bed… except Harry now realised that that too was organised, parallel to the bed around it.

The more Harry examined where Riddle lived, the more he felt the nagging suspicion that Tom might, perhaps, have OCD. His bed was by far the most neatly kept of all the beds in the dormitory, and everything just seemed far too orderly. Harry thought this rather fitted who Tom would become in the future. He had never really cared to think of it before, but for Riddle suffering from obsessive–compulsive disorder might explain a few things…

Then, quite suddenly, Harry saw it. Bathed in the dim light being cast by the lamp on Tom's bedside table was the shiny gold and black ring. Harry stared. He felt as though his mind had been wiped of all thought… Riddle must have taken it off for some unknown reason, and left it here. Maybe it was his OCD… but Harry didn't care why it was where it was. All he cared about was that this was, as he knew, The Resurrection Stone…

He felt as though something was pressing hard against his lungs, not accepting the air around him to breath. Here was the ring that he had thought about so carefully whenever he missed all of the people who had left him, all the people who had died in his lifetime… Never once had he actually considered there being a chance for him to get hold of the ring. But here, without denial, was the perfect chance to use it. He was still frozen with shock.

The sign of the Deathly Hallows was clearly displayed on the black stone set securely in gold, but Harry didn't know whether this scared him or made him feel immense happiness. He felt nerves twist and coil in his stomach like live snakes, and then, slowly, he extended his hand to take the ring. He held the ring in his hand, examining it as his pulse began to pound in his ears. He didn't really know how to use the stone yet, for he had never actually held the ring himself. He had only ever seen it in Dumbledore's office, and dreamed about it in all those nights spent camping with Ron and Hermione.

He had hoped for months on end that perhaps Dumbledore had left this ring inside the golden snitch, but he had never worked out what the snitch was for either. Harry had come to the conclusion, as he stayed at Hogwarts in this year, that the snitch been nothing more than a ruse, a distraction to keep him wondering and full of hope until he was to learn the truth… He felt a wave of loathing at thought of Dumbledore, but he ignored that. He wanted, finally, to awaken the dead.

As Harry thought about the Deathly Hallows, he felt as though he understood how it was that The Resurrection Stone worked. Closing his eyes, he held the ring in his right hand, and twirled it three times, thinking about the people that he wanted to bring back. Harry paused for a few frozen seconds after this, his heart still pounding and his eyes still closed, until he heard the soft rustling noises of people moving around him. He opened his eyes. They had arrived.


	12. The Resurrection Stone

Harry's heart felt as if it was about to burst as he looked at the forms of Ron, Hermione, Lily and Sirius all standing next to him. They were neither humans nor ghost, and somewhere in the back of Harry's mind he thought they looked somewhat like the Riddle that had appeared out of the diary in the Chamber of Secrets so many years ago. It felt as though he was looking at them through a thick sheet of glass, a window, but not only from their appearances. These were four people from a life he had a long lost, and he almost felt as though being with them before had been some part of a very vivid dream. His mother, especially, appeared so distanced in his mind, her smile radiating towards him from miles away.

Harry then realised that not of all them were here. He wanted to see James, Lupin, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Tonks and everyone else… He wanted to see everyone who has been murdered because of him, to apologise to them all… He looked at each of the four smiling faces in turn, trying to read their expressions. Hermione spoke first.

"Oh, Harry, we're so happy to see you!" She exclaimed, her smile the most sincere of all. Yet her eyes still displayed signs of sorrow and concern that Harry wasn't surprised to see. "I could barely believe it when we felt you use The Resurrection Stone! I'm so glad to see you're alright."

Harry tried a smile, but found that this was a rather difficult thing to do. "I wasn't sure if you could arrive here." He managed.

"There's no time in the world of the dead, Harry." Said Hermione, guessing that he was thinking about time travel. "We just… exist."

Harry bit his lips after this, thinking about the others who were still in the realm of death. "Where are the others?" He asked.

He saw Hermione's expression change, her smile faltered, and then faded away. Her eyes seemed more luminous than before.

"What?" Said Harry. He looked towards Ron who was wearing an uncomfortable expression, to Lily who was sympathetic and to Sirius who was silent and waiting. "Was there a problem with them?"

"It's nothing to worry about, Harry." Said Sirius, attempting a smile but giving up after a moment.

"Won't you tell me?" Harry asked, worried.

Hermione took a deep breath when no one replied. "Well… It's not actually the bearer of The Resurrection Stone who chooses the people they want to bring back…" She said carefully. "It's the dead who decide weather to return for that short while or not."

Harry stared at her as these words crashed over him, and he realised what they meant. All of the other people that he wanted to see once again, his friends and family, didn't want to visit him. Neville and Luna had lost faith in him after all this time… Lupin and Tonks surely blamed him for the life that had been taken from them so unjustly; they hated Harry for having been taken away from their son so soon into his life… The Weasleys didn't want to see his face ever again, including Ginny, who he had thought light have actually liked him… Hagrid was probably in denial about his very existence, and everyone else much the same. And his father – is own father – had decided that he had nothing to say to Harry. James had let Lily go on without him… Harry felt as though he had been stabbed with a dagger of ice as he thought about this. Was his father, perhaps, disappointed in him?

He looked up at the faces of the four people who had stayed with him until the very end, and all else that lied after it. He could feel his eyes begin to cloud slightly but he ignored that, intent upon changing the subject before he became overwhelmed with the truth. He thought about how glad he was that at least Ron, Hermione, Lily and Sirius still believed in him.

"I'm sorry," He said, his voice weaker than he wanted it to be. He shook his head as if that would help to clear his mind. "I didn't mean for this to happen, I didn't mean for any of you to die… This is all my fault."

"You can't blame yourself for this, mate." Said Ron. "We all knew what we were risking when we joined you for this war, so no one can be blamed for it. Well, except Voldemort maybe…"

"We all made our sacrifices." Lily said, smiling at Harry as he looked at her. "There were many who would die happily for hope of the ending of this war."

Harry felt worse with every contradicting comment towards what he knew was fact. "No," He said, "It's completely my fault. My fault that we lost the war, my fault that Voldemort is probably still alive…"

He felt as though iron was pressing against his chest again, not allowing him to breath as he tried to brace himself for explaining everything.

"Honestly, Harry, no one can be blamed for this." Said Hermione.

"And it isn't as though _everyone_ died." Sirius added. "I'm sure that Voldemort will be killed by someone one time or another."

There words made him feel worse and worse. He felt trapped in his own body, cursed. He had poisoned every person with a good nature that he had ever met, leading them to believe in the Boy Who Lived when there was now absolutely no hope. There was not a chance in the world that Voldemort could be killed. He was in half a mind to cower on the ground and live in self-loathing, never telling those who had remained with him about the terrible truth. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and looked up at the four faces waiting for him to speak. They were all apprehensive at his reaction to their words. He felt physical pain with the very idea of the past.

"I should have died," Harry whispered. "I should have let Voldemort kill me while I had the chance, before all of you had to die before me…"

"Harry, don't talk like that –" Began, Sirius, but Harry interrupted.

"Snape left memories. A whole series of memories, as his dying wish." Hermione and Ron knew this, but he carried on, forcing himself to tell the whole story without a pause, to tell the whole truth for the first time. He had barely allowed himself to think about this, never mind speak of it. "And towards the end of the memories, he left one with Dumbledore and himself sitting in Dumbledore's office, telling Snape that… that…"

"Harry, please tell us what's wrong," Said Hermione, looking more concerned than ever.

Harry felt his throat contort for a moment, his eyes prickling. "Dumbledore was telling Snape that I had to die. Telling Snape to tell me this when the battle began, so I could allow myself to be murdered by Voldemort."

"Dumbledore said that?" Ron asked in disbelief.

"He had to…" Said Harry. "Because on the night when Voldemort tried to kill me, a piece of his soul attacked itself to me… Making me his seventh and final Horcrux."

Hermione gasped, and Harry saw that his four visitors were dreadfully shocked. Harry decided to carry on before there were any questions.

"When I came out of the pensive, I was terrified. I didn't want to let myself die. I didn't want to give up everything I had ever believed in, and leave the world to chance. I… I wanted to find a solution… but there was no hope."

Harry had the mental image of himself pacing Dumbledore's office, seeing time slip away from him as he saw no way out of this, loathing Dumbledore for not doing something about this before. He wanted there to be some sort of happy ending to this war, but he couldn't think of a plan quick enough. He had heard the voice of Voldemort declare that the time was up. The war was to recommence…

"All I could do was go back to all the fighters, and hope that killing Voldemort enough to make him flee the earth would buy me the time to think of a real plan." Harry saw in his minds eyes the Acromantula scuttling from the dark forest, followed by Voldemort himself, flanked by his army of Death Eaters.

"But the Death Eaters were fighting harder than ever, and with Voldemort's wrath with them we were easily loosing. When we retreated to the castle," Harry addressed Ron and Hermione at this point, feeling his heart pound as they waited for him to talk. "I began to worry about whether anyone had a chance. He was so powerful, helping all of his Death Eaters and eliminating anyone he came near… I realised that there was no way I could pull this off alive."

"Is that when you started panicking, and we had to pull you aside from the battle?" Ron asked.

"Yes…" Harry replied.

"I was wondering." He said. "You weren't concentrating on the Death Eaters we were fighting…"

"With complete right to be distracted!" Hermione added, looking at Harry with luminous eyes.

"I was going to tell you both," Harry said after a short pause, hoping that Ron and Hermione would understand. "I really was, but then…"

He couldn't carry on. Then there had been an explosion. Harry could remember not being able to hear, not being able to think or feel until minutes passed. He had managed to stand up, and upon looking around he found that the entire corridor had been blasted open. The sky was visible through a huge hole in the castle's wall, and there, half buried in rubble, had been Hermione. Ron was keeling close by her side, and the first thing Harry had heard was Ron trying desperately to wake Hermione up as her blood soaked through the wreckage, turning it crimson and making it's way to the knees of Ron's robes.

The sound of Bellatrix Lestrange's crackling laugh made Harry look around, raising his wand, which he was glad to still have. Over twenty Death Eaters were in the corridor by this time, and Harry watched as one of them, wearing a mask, levitated what appeared to be a sword taken from a suit of armour. Harry was frozen in fear as the Death Eater made the sword slam into Ron's back, and through to his chest. His blood had begun to slide along the blade, pouring upon the already dead Hermione. His eyes had become unfocused, Harry remembered, and his last rattling breath was heavy with the sound of the irreversible damage done. This image had haunted Harry's nightmares every night since… His best friends…

Harry looked up at Ron and Hermione who wore dreadfully forgiving expressions. He wanted them to hate him as much as the others did, as much as he hated himself. "I didn't even end up facing Voldemort myself." He said in little over a whisper, remorse of their deaths still crashing over him. "I was dragged there by a dozen Death Eaters, seeing all of the fighters who were murdered because of me. Voldemort was the only one still standing… All of this happened because I was so scared of death. All of this happened because I wasn't as loyal as Dumbledore expected. I wasn't as brave as people wanted me to be."

Harry could feel his hands shake and his eyes begin to blur more. Ron and Hermione were silent. "I couldn't kill the snake," He said, his voice shaking, "but I had to let myself die. We had lost the battle even before I was captured. I failed at everything that I had waited so long to finish… This was entirely my fault…"

He broke off here; his heart feeling as though it was about to burst as he watched Lily and Sirius begin to fade away from him without another word. "He was too powerful… I don't know why I didn't just let myself die. I don't know why any of this happened the way it did… I'm the only one who can be blamed…"

Hermione had tears falling down her face now, and even Ron looked shaken. "Harry, this wasn't your fault…" She said, her voice high pitched.

But Harry could feel his blurry eyes begin to spill over as he saw the faces of the hundreds of dead bodies surrounding Voldemort who stood, waiting, in his memory. He was shaking, wishing for death as he held himself responsible for the deaths of his two greatest friends. After all they had been through…

"You both just got together," Harry whispered, "and I took that away… I couldn't defeat him…"

He felt his knees give way, and he put his head in his hands, seeing the faces of Lupin, Tonks, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville, Fred, George, Bill, Fleur and so many others, all of them lifeless and gone forever. He could see himself being dragged across the castle by the Death Eaters, the floor coated in the blood spilt because he wasn't brave enough to face death. He could hear the screams of hundreds of fighters as the giants smashed the walls of the school, killing all the students who had stayed behind to fight against Voldemort.

Harry saw the light being cast by Ron and Hermione begin to fade. He was left sobbing on the floor, hating himself more than he hated anyone else upon this earth. He was the only one to be blamed for this. He had failed at the one, last thing that had been asked of him. All he had wanted, in the end, was to live on past the war with Ron and Hermione. All he had wanted was to find a solution, to keep Voldemort at bay, to defeat him without dying.

He should have realised that he was no match for Voldemort. He should have realised that he had to die, or else every single supporter of his cause would be murdered one by one. He wished he knew a way back there now. He wished that he could have those options presented to him again. He would happily choose death over the regret he felt from the death of so many friends. He couldn't control his shaking and sobbing as he knelt upon this cold stone floor, regretting this fatal and irreversible mistake.

Then, quite suddenly, Harry felt something pressing hard on the back of his neck. It was a wand tip. He froze as he heard the cold and merciless voice of Tom Riddle speak. "… I believe that is my ring."

Harry felt a rush of fear mixed with loathing at the sound of that voice, but the fear seemed to overpower him as he thought of Voldemort. He moved away from Riddle's wand, and turned to face him, taking many paces backwards. Tom summoned the ring nonverbally, his expression still impassive as he examined Harry. He seemed utterly unaffected by Harry's tears. Harry was still shaking with the terror of meeting the dead, and with having to explain his greatest mistake.

Riddle looked at him for a long while, and then he slowly dropped his gaze to the ring in his hand. Harry couldn't read his expression. He wasn't sure how angry Tom was, but he soon realised that he didn't care. Harry could feel his hate for the other boy overrule his fear as he thought about Voldemort. He waited for Riddle to do something, anything, but over a minute passed before he finally spoke.

"I am not a supporter of Gellert Grindelwald." Riddle said softly.

Harry stared at Tom, transfixed with bewilderment. There was a long pause. That was… close to the last thing in the world Harry expected Riddle to say right now. He stared at Tom, and Tom stared back. Harry wondered if this was some sort of joke…

"That's why you hate me, isn't it?" Riddle asked quietly, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "That's also why you hate Dumbledore. It explains everything perfectly."

As Harry watched, still frozen, he saw Riddle's smile broaden.

"You said something about Dumbledore's past a few weeks ago," Riddle said, "So I did a little research and found out that no one other than Gellert Grindelwald stayed in the same village as Dumbledore for a while, Godric's Hallow. So I looked into the past of Grindelwald more, and discovered that the sign upon my ring was the same sign that Grindelwald was said to have left behind when he was expelled from Durmstrang at sixteen. This explains why you took such an easy disliking of me, for one thing… Though I was unaware of this being Grindelwald sign before."

Harry still did not speak. He was scared of disrupting this bizarre plan that Riddle had made in his head, this story that fitted somewhere merely because there was a sign upon a ring. Riddle seemed to take his silence as meaning something, so he carried on talking.

"Grindelwald has been causing destruction all across the world for years now. This also explains why you were so astounded that day, when Slughorn talked about there never having been a Wizarding War yet. There are many people who are in denial about everything that Grindelwald is doing, even while there are mass numbers of people dying each day."

Harry was still crying vaguely, perhaps from shock. All he could do was watch, as Riddle believed that he had worked out some brilliant mystery. Riddle was not smiling anymore at the idea of having solved this; instead he was looking for signs of recognition upon Harry's face. It wasn't hard for Harry to feign more devastation and shock… He wasn't sure if he was faking it, even.

"This also explains why you're a parselmouth," said Riddle, his tone quieter than ever.

There was a hungry look in his eyes as he examined Harry. His gaze was so determined that it reminded Harry of the Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets perfectly. Harry was under the impression that Riddle was only just realising where parselmouth fitted into his story.

"This explains why you're so good at Dark Magic… You were looked after by some sort of Dark Wizards, weren't you? That's how you know about the Unforgivable Curses already. It's a widely known fact that only true dark wizards or the descendants of Salazar Slytherin know Parseltongue. You're not a true heir, as I knew you couldn't be. But _this_ fits."

Harry could barely believe that Riddle was linking him being a parselmouth into this somehow. This was more than he could have hoped for, by far. He knew that Riddle was determined to find an answer to everything, but this was almost too good to be true. The only thing that Harry wished was that he could see how Riddle was going to rationalise the idea of him somehow being a part of a force dedicated to the Dark Arts, intent upon facing Grindelwald… Harry had only leant a little bit about Grindelwald, from the textbooks of History of Magic class. He was scared that Riddle might ask him something he didn't know the answer to… But maybe he'd be lucky.

"Is this ring some sort of creation by Grindelwald?" Riddle asked sharply. "Did you recognise the sign, and know about the magical properties because _they_ taught you about it?"

"Yes…" Harry replied. "There were a lot of items created by Grindelwald … he made a few of those rings…" He didn't know what else to add, so hoped that this was enough. He only lied about there being a few rings to be sure that Riddle didn't over think how his uncle had the ring on the night he killed his father and grandparents. For Riddle knew, Morfin could have been a huge supporter of Grindelwald. He could never know any better, nor care to know.

"I was right…" Said Riddle, his smile coming back slightly. Harry was reminded of the day when Dumbledore visited the eleven-year-old Tom in the orphanage, seeing the inhuman smile appear upon his face. He pushed away the thought, concentrating on Riddle's words to be sure that he didn't mess up this miraculous theory. "So what is it that the ring does, exactly?"

Harry felt his heart sink as Riddle looked at him, expecting an answer. Harry didn't want to stall for a lie, so he told the truth, for once. "It brings back the dead, for a while."

He watched for Tom's reaction, wondering if his curiosity to see the other boy's expression had made him tell the truth. Riddle appeared amazed as he glanced down at the ring again, but then Harry saw a shadow of fear and realisation cross the Heir of Slytherin's face. Harry knew that Tom would never want to bring anyone back. Not when he had been the cause of death to everyone he knew who was no longer alive. Harry felt like smiling at this, glad that this made them opposites, but instead he felt a stab of sorrow, which surprised him. Tom had never known anyone he was actually attached to, never mind his own mother or father, who he doubtlessly despised… Harry blocked that thought from his mind, wondering why it bothered him. He should be glad that the boy he hated so much was suffering…

"He actually made a ring to bring back the dead?" Tom asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes." Harry replied. "He's stronger than anyone could know… Smarter."

Riddle was gazing at Harry again, and the later wondered if Tom was trying to refrain from thinking about the people who were dead to him as he avoided the sight of the ring. "Then all of those people who I saw come from the ring… you lost them? I only caught sight of four of them just before two left…"

"Yeah…" Harry felt a stab of sorrow as he remembered about Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Lily and everyone else… but he tried to ignore that, not wanting to cry again while Riddle was staring at him. He dropped his gaze to the floor. Riddle seemed to see him struggling, so he carried on talking.

"Why are you at Hogwarts?" He asked.

Harry looked up again, glad for a chance to think of a lie, to distract him. "I'm sort of… undercover."

This piece of news seemed to interest Riddle. "Then you lied about what happened at the Ministry?"

"Partly," Harry replied, to be safe.

"Did they not understand who you were? Are they sending you to Hogwarts while they work everything out?"

That was exactly right, now that Harry thought about it, so he felt no need to lie. "Yes. But I don't think they'll work out who I am any time soon. I'm surprised that you worked this out…" He added a bitter note to the last sentence, for good measure, and to block the fact that he was quite content with this theory.

"Your name isn't Jonathan Smith, is it?" Riddle asked after a short pause.

Harry didn't reply to this, but Tom didn't appear to care about that. He took Harry's silence as a 'yes'.

"I should have realised before." Riddle carried on. "John Smith is just about the most obvious cover name…"

"I needed it to keep the Ministry at bay." Harry invented quickly. Upon hearing his own voice, he wondered whether he was annoyed at the idea of making such an obvious mistake. He felt almost as if that admitted defeat to Tom, suggesting that he couldn't always lie correctly.

"Oh, of course…" Riddle said quietly, contemplating Harry's words. "Such a common name could make you mistaken for another person, or else keep the Ministry busy with going back over all their work again. They could have hundreds of files under that name…"

Harry felt content with this being a good plan, but also felt as though he was being childish. Yet he didn't really care. He felt as though he had accomplished something brilliant as Riddle completely believed this new lie.

"Are you even English?" Tom asked.

Harry contemplated this question for a second… but decided that he shouldn't lie this time, seeing as Riddle already knew more than one language, known by the book resting on his bed. "No, I'm English. I've been to many countries, but originally England is where I was born."

Riddle seemed to want to ask Harry questions about the fictional dark wizards who brought him up after this, but he refrained form doing so. Then Harry wondered if he had just preformed some form of Legilimency, as he knew that Riddle had thought of this… A weak attempt of Legilimency, but Legilimency nevertheless. Tom surveyed him for a long moment before turning away for the first time, heading for his bed.

"I'm glad that I finally have the answers, but it's late. We should go to bed." He said.

"Yeah…" Said Harry, glad that the day was coming to an end at this. He reached his bed before he remembered that he needed to ask one more thing. Turning around to face Riddle he asked, "You won't tell anyone about this, will you?"

Riddle smiled faintly. "All I care about is knowing the truth… So it wouldn't be fair if I told the others, who are rather far behind on learning all there is to know about you."

From this Harry took that Riddle wasn't one to share secrets as such, for he didn't care about anyone enough to want to, and he wasn't foolish enough to find amusement in taunting the Death Eaters or anyone else with what he knew – not in this context. Harry knew that Tom was going to bask in the glory of having solved the mystery for a while, and forget about it all when he became bored of it.

The only thing that Riddle couldn't forget, perhaps, was the odd reaction both boys had with the other when their skin touched… Harry wished he hadn't remembered about this, and made more effort to avoid looking at Riddle who changed into his pyjamas across the room. Maybe Riddle would forget about that… Though Harry wasn't sure how much more luck would be given to him. He tried to put the thought completely out of his mind as he got into his bed and closed the curtains surrounding it.

He was glad that one thing at least had been settled; Riddle was completely sure that Harry was some fighter against Gellert Grindelwald, adopted, for lack of a better term, by a group of dark wizards who taught him Parseltongue, Occlumency, Legilimency, the Unforgivable Curses and a whole number of other pieces of Dark Magic. This thought was almost comical for Harry, but he didn't truly have the will to even smile at this.

As near darkness surrounded him (the only light in the room being cast by Tom's beside lamp, which never did seem to be switched off), the faces of all the people from Harry's past seemed to appear before his eyes. Harry felt the weight of guilt press upon him as he tried to close his eyes for sleep. With the use of the ring, and the sight of his four most loyal relatives and friends, Harry felt as though everything from his nightmares, and from his past, had become more real. He rested against his pillow, and opened his eyes again, seeing his greatest mistake play like film before his eyes, from which tears were dropping silently. He had a feeling that it would be hours yet again before he actually fell asleep…


	13. Wands

A few days had passed since Harry had used The Resurrection Stone, yet each one seemed to go by at a cruelly slow pace, giving Harry many hours a day in which he craved to have more things to do. He had taken up reading every newspaper article and book dedicated to talking about the current and past life of Gellert Grindelwald, but that and Legilimency alone wasn't enough to keep him busy for every waking hour of the day.

He could have taken up more subjects to read about, but he couldn't think of anything interesting to study. He only read about his current out of school subjects because he had to. At times Harry worried if perhaps it was only things relating to the Dark Arts that interested him… but he constantly dismissed that foolish thought, knowing that he had never enjoyed reading anyway. He just had to find subjects urgent and important enough to shock his brain into being interested.

It was early afternoon as Harry made his way reluctantly down to the Slytherin Common Room. He hoped, as he always did, that Riddle would be busy in some other part of the castle, perhaps talking to the Astronomy teacher about homework, or else doing something vaguely along those lines. Even though Tom was the only other Slytherin besides Harry who had decided to stay over the winter holidays, Harry rarely had the Common Room to himself. It would be easier for him to endure the slow paced Christmas holidays if only he could daydream in the deserted Common Room when he wasn't reading.

Any of the other Death Eaters would be a relief in exchange for Riddle. Harry knew well that they too would have had hundreds of questions, or else would have wanted nothing less than to play card games endlessly, but that was better than having a constant reminder of Voldemort for Harry. A reminder who, furthermore, asked questions with nonexistent answers, questions that were mislead… yet having Riddle convinced that he had cracked a close to impossible mystery was a great consolation. Harry no longer had to endure being suspected as a lair so very persistently. He merely had to lie more often.

As Harry entered the Common Room, he saw Riddle sitting at his usual table, reading a book by the fireplace. Harry was vaguely temped to turn away from the other Slytherin and leave, but he knew that Riddle had probably already heard him. Not to mention he wasn't supposed to hate Tom anymore. Harry was glad, suddenly, that he had been reading so much Legilimency as of late…

"Hello, Jonathan." Said Riddle pleasantly, looking up from his book only as Harry sat down opposite the other boy. Tom hadn't yet asked Harry what his real name was, so Harry guessed (or at least hoped) that Riddle and himself were still not intimate enough for such questions to come up. Harry was merely a follower, so knowing about his secrets seemed like enough to satisfy Riddle for the moment. Perhaps he already knew Harry's real name, even, and was reserving the knowledge in the act of proving that he wasn't going to talk about anything he had discovered. Harry wasn't really bothered to discover an answer.

"Hello, Tom." Harry replied, seeing that the taller boy was holding another ancient volume on the Dark Arts. Harry wondered how Riddle hadn't read everything about the Dark Arts there was to read in the library already, for he definitely read faster than Harry did, and almost as often. Yet perhaps Riddle could convince the librarian, if not the teachers, to let him into the restricted section when he pleased.

"I'm glad that you came back to the Common Room early," Riddle said, surveying Harry delicately, as he always did. "I have a question for you."

Harry was glad to see that these words didn't make him nervous, for once. He was more confident with his lies and stories. "Do you?"

"Yes. I was wondering what you might be able to tell me concerning how much you know about the Dark Arts?" Tom's tone was as light as ever, but Harry thought he heard a note of burning curiosity behind his mask of impassiveness. "It's merely that I want to understand how much you know already about the subject. It wouldn't do well to continue going over what you already know…"

"Oh…" Harry said, trying to decide upon the ratio of truth and lies. "Well, I only really learnt the basics, then things like Legilimency, Occlumency and Parseltongue, which obviously took quite a while for me to learn."

"I would have assumed that you were past the basics…" Riddle frowned, but he looked content with this answer. "Yet I suppose this is a good thing. It means you have a lot of potential in advancing some of the pieces of knowledge that even my strongest of friends have had some trouble with."

Harry was a little annoyed with these words. He shouldn't have any potential in being able to learn a lot about the Dark Arts… he shouldn't be good at any of this. He hated the whole subject, and was refusing to believe that he had any sort of power worthy of becoming a Dark Wizard…

He wondered, then, whether Riddle had been worrying about him knowing everything about Dark Magic – more than even Tom knew. The idea was foolish in Harry's mind, but not completely impossible, had he really been raised by a force going against the wishes of Gellert Grindelwald. Tom continued talking past Harry's silence, and the later listened.

"Can you tell me more about the ways in which you have put the Dark Arts to use out of school life?" Tom asked carefully. "I know that I cannot conceal the fact that though my friends and I know a lot about the subject, it is rare that we get into situations important enough to use our full skills, so I'd naturally like to know what you have done… Did you use the Unforgivable Curses before you came to Hogwarts, for instance?"

Harry thought about this for a second, searching for memories of his own experience with the Dark Arts whilst trying to work out what would be a normal amount of information to give. "Yeah, I've used the Unforgivable Curses. But not when I could help it. They're more of a, er, fallback for me… There are better pieces of magic. Less obvious or illegal ones."

Tom smiled faintly at this, knowing more than anyone else about what context was preferable for the Unforgivables. "You seemed shocked with your own use of the Cruciatus Curse." He commented.

"I've never used it on someone who I don't have a personal problem with." Said Harry quickly, yet calmly. "I was never… brought up to use it against people who haven't harmed anyone, or who don't really deserve it."

Riddle seemed to understand this explanation, which Harry was relieved to see. "What of the Imperious Curse?" He asked.

"I don't mind that curse." Harry admitted. "It's really useful when you want to force someone to do something without it being traced back to you. It's simple, but very effective." Out of all of the Unforgivable Curses, the Imperious Curse was the easiest to accept for Harry. He thought of it as the best way to die, when only thinking of those three curses. At least it would be a blissfully calm event…

"And the Killing Curse?" Tom asked.

As Harry looked at the other boy for a minute. He thought he could see the same odd form of hunger in his eyes, and he reflected that it only seemed to be in accordance to talk of power, ability and skill that Tom had that look. Harry could barely believe that the other boy was so obsessed with power… yet it wasn't surprising, him being Voldemort and all. Harry thought back to the question he was supposed to be answering. "I've never had to use the Killing Curse… not yet anyway."

Riddle smiled as if he had expected Harry to give that answer, but as Harry watched, it appeared that Tom held a slight look of disappointment in his nearly impassive eyes. Harry wondered whether Tom had been hoping that it wasn't only him who was twisted enough to commit murder so early in life. Harry was glad to know that he was stronger than Tom in senses of morality, even if Tom might take this to mean he was weaker in power.

"Have _you_ even used the unforgivable Curses outside of Hogwarts?" Harry asked, vaguely keen to hear what Riddle might answer to such a direct question. He would never ask this normally, but since they were already on the subject, it only seemed fair.

"No." Riddle lied. "For although I came of the age to use magic outside of school last year, I stayed at Hogwarts over the summer. I've never had the chance."

Harry wasn't sure why, but it was always slightly amusing for him to watch Riddle lie so simply. It almost made him feel less alone when he watched another cover up their true past with the simple use of correct words and impassive faces. He wondered if Riddle ever became nervous about such questions, as Harry often did. Even if Harry could never actually see the hidden emotions of the other boy, he knew that Tom must feel _something_. Riddle would later reflect upon the memories normal people would see now, Harry knew, as Tom was likely to be using Occlumency at this time, thus delaying and blocking all thought. Harry had nodded at the beginning of the silence that fell after Tom's words, so he waited patiently for Riddle to speak again.

"Well, that's about all I wanted to ask." Tom said. He stood up. "Since it's already eight O'clock, I believe I have to go and visit Professor Slughorn."

Harry was glad of this fact. "Oh, alright."

"I'll be back at around nine." Riddle said, placing the book he was reading upon a table where a lamp rested. "I daresay you'll be alright here… Unless you want to come?"

It wasn't unusual for Tom to visit Slughorn with a Death Eater for company – especially one already in the Slug Club – but Harry wasn't one to wish for any more time spent with the older Slytherin. "Er, no thanks." Harry replied. "I want to get some more reading done."

"Just as well." Riddle commented, unsurprised as he turned to go. "Goodbye, then."

"Bye." Harry echoed.

He waited for Tom to completely leave the Common Room before feeling relieved, and relaxing a little more where he sat. Now he had a little over an hour to do nothing but think, which always seemed to lead him somewhere, if only towards understanding a part of Legilimency better with time.

As Harry thought about it, he supposed that it would probably do him good to read up upon the theory of some more basics of the Dark Arts. It wouldn't do well on his part to be lacking knowledge in some obvious part of the subject. He felt as though luck had set him back on the right path with tricking Riddle, so he was determined to keep everything in order. As much as he hated the idea, he had to do it, to be safe. It wasn't that he liked the Dark Arts; it was merely that importance was indeed pushing this subject upon his path.

Harry sighed. He didn't know how he was able to keep up with the things that Riddle taught him. He never wanted to torture any of the other Death Eaters or learn how to cause smoke to surround a person in their more terrible memories, but he could still do it all. He just _could_, and that wasn't a good enough reason for him.

He contemplated whether he was supposed to be a Dark Wizard, somehow. Yet that didn't make sense when taking into consideration the fact that he hated to cause people pain. He felt sick with himself after every poisoning lesson with the Death Eaters. He felt as though he was a monster. It wasn't in a gesture of vain self-importance that he wondered why he was good at Dark Magic, either. He could never betray the memories of his true friends and family so much as to take pride in catching onto the skill so well. It made him worry. It was more of a curse upon him than a blessing. It was a mistake…

Harry withdrew his wand from his pocket, examining it. It almost always surprised him to see that he no longer held the Holly and Phoenix feather wand, but instead Draco's Hawthorn unicorn hair one. Harry contemplated, at times, whether this was the reason for his sudden success at the Dark Arts. Perhaps because Draco was born into such a dark family, and perhaps because this wand had doubtlessly preformed Dark Magic before, Harry was able to catch onto the subject…

It was a good wand… very good. Harry refused to accept the idea that it was perhaps even better than his Phoenix feather wand had been. His old wand was superior to any other wand Harry could know… he truly believed that. It was the wand that chooses the Wizard, so the Phoenix wand had to have been better, for Harry. Maybe Draco's wand was just good for the Dark Arts… yet could that have leaked into Harry being good in class, too?

Harry contemplated the history of the wand vaguely. A lot of bad things had followed it. It was with this that Draco fixed the vanishing cabinet in the room of requirement, which was the first true crime in Harry's mind; past all the petty tricks committed while Draco was a kid. This had been the cause of all the Death Eaters to swarm into the school that night, when Harry and Dumbledore had been away in search of the locket. Harry felt a stab of hatred mixed with sorrow as he thought of this…

Even though it had been on that night that Dumbledore died, it didn't feel that way to Harry. It felt to him as if Dumbledore had never truly died. He had always been on that portrait in the Headmaster's office, for one thing, ruling through Snape as he had always ruled though the people in power, whether they had been Dippet now or the Ministers of Magic to come in the current future. Even with Grindelwald, perhaps. Dumbledore had ruled through others…

He had never really died in Harry's mind, or at least not now. All those months spent camping with Ron and Hermione had made him feel as though his old headmaster had, really been purged from this earth, but after seeing the memories that Snape had left, and with visiting Dumbledore almost weekly now that Harry was back in school, Harry felt as though Dumbledore had returned from the dead… Just like another twisted wizard he had known…

Harry continued to look down at the wand in his hands. He thought of the moment when he and Dumbledore had landed on the top of the Astronomy Tower, a little while after Draco had released the Death Eaters into the school. Harry had believed that Dumbledore was mistaken about Snape, especially as Snape killed Dumbledore. Yet that had been just another lie. A plan.

But before that, Harry reminded himself. He was supposed to be thinking about Draco's wand… He wasn't sure why thinking about the history of this wand interested him, but it helped him waste time, so he did not care. Draco had overpowered Dumbledore so easily, merely because Dumbledore had wanted to freeze Harry. A heroic gesture, supposedly, but in the end an act of suicide.

Also, Harry remembered, a way to get rid of the Elder wand. Yet that hadn't worked… Voldemort still killed Snape in the Battle of Hogwarts. It was a wise plan, Harry was sure, to give Snape the wand without anyone noticing, elegantly passing on the power in hopes that his best spy would never be suspected. The greatest flaw of the plan, however, was that Voldemort was seeking the Elder Wand more than Dumbledore could guess, and knew that Snape had to be the rightful owner, having disarmed Dumbledore, and killed him…

But no, Draco had disarmed Dumbledore. Snape had merely killed him. Dumbledore had been defeated simply. What had he expected Harry to do had he not been invisible and immovable, Harry did not know. He probably knew that Harry would have saved him, being unaware of whom he really was. So Draco had set up the death of the greatest Wizard in all of history. Harry laughed quietly and humourlessly to himself. The wand that rested in his hands had defeated the Elder Wand because of an old fool's fragile plans…

Harry paused… Draco had disarmed Dumbledore. Draco had set up the death. He had overruled the Elder Wand… Did that make Draco the master of the Elder wand? No… No, that was impossible… Snape had killed Dumbledore. Snape was the owner…

Yet Voldemort had believed that simply stealing the wand from Dumbledore's grave would work. He had believed that setting Nagini upon Snape would make him the master of the Elder Wand, so the rules of the Elder Wand were evidently complex… Harry's mind raced over the possibilities.

It was supposed to be the easiest Deathly Hallow to trace, and it had managed to never be hidden or lost even after all these years. There had to have been wizards unknowingly bequeathed this Deathly Hallow, or else the existence of the wand could be buried away as easily as Dumbledore had perhaps wanted, inside his coffin. It wouldn't be a Deathly Hallow, to help one overcome death, if the object itself could disappear and die with confusion…

Harry had taken this wand from Draco's very hands. Harry's heart was beating quickly as he stared at the wand in disbelief. It would explain how he was acceptable at the Dark Arts. Now that Harry thought about it, it made total sense. This was what defined the difference between him learning something like Legilimency compared to learning the Cruciatus Curse. It had to be simply because of his wand that he was good at everything that wasn't completely psychological at this time. It was taking him months to learn Legilimency… He knew that this could affect him a little bit mater in life, if ever he needed to be stronger mentally, but this wand was the greatest thing he could never hope to obtain through chance and coincidence.

Harry felt a wild happiness come over him. He had an unbeatable wand. He now owned two of the Deathly Hallows, the Elder Wand and the cloak. They were the two most powerful of three objects. Harry felt himself smile for the first time in what felt like forever. As his happiness became even stronger his heart swelled with joy. With this he could do everything he had ever wish to do. He could defeat anyone upon this earth who he wished to defeat, including Voldemort, because in his hands he held –

Harry stopped. In his hands he held Draco Malfoy's wand, made by Ollivander, and bought in Diagon Alley. He felt the smile slide from his face, his previously eager eyes now disappointed in realisation. He didn't have the Elder Wand. The Elder Wand was in Voldemort's hands in 1998, or else in Grindelwald's at the time where Harry rested. Harry only had the ability to use the wand, having disarmed Draco after Draco disarmed Dumbledore. Harry had a useless power.

Disappointment swirled inside Harry, making him feel terribly sorrowful. That one glorious minute of being the master of two Deathly Hallows felt long gone to him. Now that he thought about it, it wasn't as though he could have gotten The Resurrection Stone from Riddle, anyway. The ring was a sacred and divine object to the Dark Lord, his first Horcruxes. The chances of Harry even holding that ring again were very, very slim. Yet it wasn't as though Harry really wanted the stone for what it would do, it was merely that it completed the collection of Hallows. Using it once had been enough for him…

As Harry sat and thought about the Hallows, he felt empty. When he had thought about gaining a second Hallow, he had felt as though he accomplished the first thing for months. He had felt as though there was some hope… Now he felt that he was lacking preparation for the future. As Harry thought about it more, he knew, somehow, that he wanted the Deathly Hallows. He was already supposed to be the master of the Elder Wand… Did that not make it some form of a fate for him? A quest?

If he could, miraculously, obtain power over the other two seemingly impossibly protected Hallows, he could be a master of death. And who on this earth had a better change of defeating Voldemort other than another immortal? Harry could steal the objects from both Dumbledore and Voldemort. Dumbledore would be easy. It was only a year until this time where Dumbledore would defeat Grindelwald. Harry could use the cloak, and simply sneak back into the school if he wanted to. If he could somehow make a replica… If he could find a way to tricking Dumbledore into thinking he still had the wand…

Yet even if Harry stole the wand and left nothing, Dumbledore was likely to go on doing everything he had always done without the use of the Elder Wand. He had defeated the wand in the duel, and it wasn't as though he did that with _Expelliarmus_. It was supposed to have been one of the most amazing duels ever witnessed, so Harry didn't feel as if it would do much harm for him to steal the wand after the fall of Grindelwald.

Harry would need to think over an exact plan in the time it would take for him to get the chance to steal the wand, but for the moment these ideas satisfied him. Even if it mean he had to trick Dumbledore into believing he still had the unbeatable wand when he was really only performing magic on confidence, Harry didn't care. It would be a sweet success of revenge over the old fool if he could trick him like this…

Taking the ring from Riddle, however, seemed trickier. Harry wondered for a vague second whether he should perhaps leave out the ring and just keep the wand and the cloak… but he wanted the set, to be sure that he was the complete master of death. He wouldn't want to see any of the people who had died again… expect Ron and Hermione, Perhaps. Maybe Ron and Hermione would stay with him forever, if The Resurrection Stone were really his. That would be amazing… like they were alive again…

It would be close to impossible to steal the ring after Riddle really became Voldemort, and decided to hide the ring in the Gaunt House in the future. Harry would be a fool to wait that long. He would have to steal it at a good time… and that depended on how long Harry wanted to be around the Death Eaters.

He wanted to learn about Riddle as much as he could, to understand Voldemort in the future, but he couldn't get very far with that if he stole the stone early. Yet… perhaps if he stole it and was never suspected of stealing it, he could get away, and still be a part of the Death Eaters. He was already an Occlumens by accident, so Riddle reading his mind wasn't a problem.

But there was still the problem of time… If Harry were to steal the ring completely, right now, then Dumbledore wouldn't be able to find it so many years later, at the Gaunt House. Dumbledore wouldn't take it to Hogwarts, kill the Horcrux, injure his hand, have a year to live, tell Snape to kill him instead of having Draco do it and tell Snape that Harry had to die. Then Harry couldn't be here at all… so he would have to be careful. He would have to give the ring back to Voldemort at some point, or else wait until Dumbledore stole it and broke it before he was to take it from himself in the future… past… He would need to think about it very, very carefully, in fact.

With the Elder Wand and the cloak alone, Harry would be insuring himself complete safety until he was to get the ring, to defeat Voldemort. He felt as though this was the answer to how he was supposed to pull this off. This was the reason he was here, to be a master of death. It wasn't a choice between Horcruxes or Hallows, as he had thought so long ago, but rather a balance of both, to obtain the power and knowledge needed to do what he was chosen to do. He would die trying, if he had to… But maybe if he had all of the Deathly Hallows he could even avoid death. Maybe with the Deathly Hallows, everything would end how it was supposed to.


	14. A Series of Answers

"Are you alright, Jonathan?" Riddle asked.

Harry looked up to see Tom surveying him carefully. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine… I was just thinking…"

In truth Harry had been daydreaming about the Deathly Hallows, as well as contemplating if not actually having the Elder Wand meant that he could blame nothing for his abilities in the Dark Arts. He realised, then, that he must have been staring at the ring, which rested upon Tom's right hand, as usual… He tried to organise his expression into one that was more impassive. Riddle examined him for a moment longer, before speaking.

"You seem rather distracted." Riddle commented.

"Yeah… Er, I suppose I'm just tired." Harry almost lied.

Riddle nodded, looking back to the book in his lap for a second. "Yes. This holiday always seems to waste a lot of energy…"

Harry watched Tom for a moment, and decided to carry on this conversation, considering he didn't want to read, and was intent upon pulling himself away from daydreaming. "You don't like Christmas either, then?"

Riddle gave a weak smile, which seemed to fall away quickly. "No. I generally try to ignore the whole affair."

It was Christmas Eve for Harry and Tom, and the Slytherin Common Room was even colder than it usual was due to the slight blizzard going on outside the castle walls. It was nearing nine O'clock, and Hogwarts was silent if not for the winds and snow that howled against the windows in the upper floors. "I don't blame you." Harry replied. "So do you spend all your Christmases alone here?"

"Whenever I can. It's far easier to endure when not the in the presence of those who actually take something from the lies of joy."

"But it's impossible to avoid someone like Slughorn, I'm guessing."

"That guess would be correct." Tom stated.

"Don't the others ever try to stay over the holiday?" Harry asked, referring to the Death Eaters.

"Oh, they try. But I have long learnt that their offers are not out of generosity or actual wishes for more of my company, which is only more reason past my own desire to not be with any of them at this time of year."

"Er, then I suppose it's better if I –"

"No, I don't mind your company." Riddle replied, as if he had read Harry's shielded mind, or perhaps his expression. "For you probably hate this celebration almost as much as I, and regard it with much of the same distaste."

Harry nodded slightly in exchange for an actual comment. He was sure that Riddle had different reasons than him for hating the season, for it wasn't actually the idea of Christmas that Harry hated, more the memories it forced him to involuntarily recollect.

There was a pause, as Riddle appeared to contemplate a few thoughts. "How is it that your parents really died, Jonathan?" He asked. His tone was even more delicate than usual, and his expression displayed nothing but musing curiosity.

"I didn't lie about them being murdered, if that's what you mean." Harry said, not at all intent upon looking away from boy who was to take the lives of his parents as he said this. His expression was blank.

"No, I didn't suppose that that was a lie." Riddle replied without hesitation. "I was merely wondering whether it was directly related to the fact that you were brought up to hate Grindelwald…"

Harry had already thought about this question. Via research he had worked out that since Grindelwald was over 25 by the time Harry was supposed to be born, in 1927 (Tom being born in December, 1926) it wouldn't be abnormal for Grindelwald to have killed people by this time. There had been theories of undocumented deaths perhaps caused by Grindelwald even this soon, which were not investigated very well due to the fact that by the time of people linking Gellert to the murders, more important events had occurred, worse deaths, and fear of his raising power.

"Yeah… it was directly linked." Harry said. He wasn't sure why, but it was more satisfying to him to replace Gellert Grindelwald for Voldemort whenever Tom asked him questions relating to his past, which in truth hadn't been very often so far. What was more, Harry didn't want to give any more made up and distant people credit for his replacement of the Dark Lord… It was almost as if he could fit his own life perfectly into one that was possible to lie about in this time. On a lesser scale, what Grindelwald was doing was remarkably close to what Voldemort had done in Harry's memory.

As Harry looked up and Tom, he tried to read the older boy's expression, to see whether there were any interesting signs upon it. Yet it was always rare to see true emotion in Tom. Harry almost wanted to see Riddle bask in the glory of having still murdered someone earlier than Grindelwald had, even if that was an irrational thing to look for… But as Harry dwelt upon it, he supposed that Grindelwald and Riddle had both been the same age when they first murdered. Sixteen… Tom for his father, Gellert for Dumbledore's sister – perhaps.

"How old were you?" Tom asked quietly.

"A year old." Harry replied truthfully.

"That's remarkably young." Riddle commented. "Who was it that took you after your parents died?"

Harry wasn't foolish enough to suppose that there were witches and wizards fighting against Grindelwald so soon, but he made up a story that could explain his half–fictional past even when taking this into consideration. "I was put into a wizarding orphanage once my parents were both murdered. My father died first, in Germany, and my mother managed to bring me to England before she was tracked down too. She arranged my life even at the expense of dying… Friends of my parents managed to find me, but couldn't actually adopt me until I was eleven, in fear of being tracked by Grindelwald even after all those years. After that, I lived in a small wizarding community."

"Who were against Grindelwald, I am sure?" Riddle suggested.

"Yes." Harry replied.

"How many of them are there?" Riddle asked. "Did they have more children in their organisation, or were they too small to get away with it?

"We were quite powerful, and had a decent amount of people." Harry said, avoiding Riddle's eyes as he told the truth. "But I don't think there are very many of us anymore… As for children joining, it was unusual for anyone to spend their whole life in training, because it was only a few years ago that the group was really formed. Most of the younger members joined at fifteen and onwards, because of family members in the group or else from sheer personal choice. It varied a lot. I personally wasn't aloud to learn any magic to help with fighting until I was fifteen."

"So your foster parents weren't planning on making you fight for your whole life?"

"No." Harry replied. "They told me the truth about my parents' death once they were far enough away from the orphanage's ears to talk about how they actually knew me, but they didn't expect Grindelwald to be anything more than a murderer, I don't think. When they heard about people forming a resistance group when things got worse, they hesitated for a long time. But all three of us wanted to do something about it all. I was old enough to convince them that we needed to do this…"

Harry watched Riddle's expression, and saw that he appeared interested in this tale. Harry was glad of this, because it was evident that there was not a seed of doubt placed inside Riddle's head about this story while he was interested. Perhaps it was because Tom had dreamt about being a Dark Wizard, thus seeing wars as a great reality, or maybe it was because Harry had actually witnessed a war, thus wasn't lying as much as he could be, which helped Tom sense his sincerity.

"But your foster parents and everyone in their organisation were Dark Wizards?"

"Partially… but closer to Grey Wizards. Or at least when we began. We were all willing to do what we had to do to bring down Grindelwald, because most of us had lost friends and family. We had no choice but to fight fire with fire with time… I'd say we were a pretty dark shade of grey, towards the end."

"But you're willing to turn into a darker wizard one day?" Riddle suggested.

"I don't suppose I have a choice, because I'm not going to back down so soon…" With saying these words, he felt a pang of hatred towards the boy sitting next to him, and avoided looking at Riddle. "It's the only way I can ever really understand what it is that he does, to know who he is…"

Now that Harry thought about it, it was probably abnormal of him to even be having this conversation with Riddle. They weren't friends, and Harry didn't have to spill these secrets… Yet he supposed that Tom _was_ supposed to be his leader, as he was for all of the other Death Eaters to be. Harry knew that it must have been because of all the lies that he told Tom the story of his past this easily; to clarify the facts after Riddle discovered the huge secret. Harry hoped that this wasn't a form of a mistake… but it wasn't as though he was telling pieces of information that weren't generally required from the questions asked. Also, Riddle was probably used to learning whole stories from people without the teller of stories having a second thought.

"You believe you will be his downfall, or a great help towards it?" Riddle asked. "There are many enemies of Grindelwald already, I am sure…"

"I don't think I will be the exact person to murder him… but I'll try my hardest to manage it, or at least set it up." Harry replied.

"What will you do after that?" Tom asked, as if this all wasn't a seemingly impossible task.

"I don't care what happens to me after that…"

"You won't continue killing Dark Wizards?"

"He's my top priority, and I can't see anyone exceeding him even after he's gone. I doubt I'll be in any good condition to take down more Dark Wizards after that time. He's the only person I want to kill, or make suffer in prison for the rest of his life. He's the only person I have something against, because he managed to kill everyone I've ever known… I don't see it happening again, so he's my only target."

"So you don't actually hate other Dark Wizards?"

"I have no reasons left to despise anyone I don't hate already." Harry replied.

Riddle paused for only a moment, contemplating his next question. "Do you believe you will become a Dark Wizard one day?" He asked quietly.

"Probably." Harry replied. "Though I don't imagine living for very long after the death of Grindelwald. I don't really have anything to go on for, unless everything works out better than it looks like it could now."

Tom's expression was still impassive, so Harry generally gave up trying to work out what all these questions were really for. He supposed that it was likely to merely satisfy Riddle's curiosity, to give him different things to think about concerning Harry. "Are they all gone? The people you knew before, I mean." Tom asked.

"I can never really know for sure… Well, I know that some of them are gone, because I saw them leave the world of the living, but I'm not sure if every single one of us is dead. I can image a few surviving… I can't exactly go looking for them now, though."

Riddle seemed to have reached much of the same conclusions, for he nodded in understanding. "How was it that you survived, exactly?"

Harry felt a stab of sorrow as he thought about the real explanation to how he survived, but he thought of a lie in replacement for reflecting on the past. "Just from luck, I suppose. Timing. Though I'm not really sure if it's considered luck by this point… just chance."

"What happened in the actual battle?" Riddle asked. "Was Grindelwald there? Furthermore, how did they get rid of the bodies, and not let any Ministry across Europe know about it?" He seemed awfully interested now, as if he would be able to gain a lot of useful information from it all. Harry felt vaguely annoyed by these questions.

"I can't tell you that." Harry replied in a voice close to a monotone. "I'm not stupid enough to trust people with exact details."

Riddle seemed to notice his mistake now. "Oh, no, I didn't mean to offend." He said quickly. "It's just that this is a rather interesting tale."

"It wasn't exactly interesting at the time…" Harry replied, not caring whether he was being rude to Riddle.

Tom paused for a long moment, choosing what he was to say next carefully. His tone was softer, less eager in the attempt of learning more. "Sorry, I shouldn't have been so direct… Yet you've told me this much…"

"What I've told you isn't anywhere near being a dangerous amount." Harry replied, half making up an explanation that would seem realistic. "If you told someone everything you know about me already, no one would believe you. I could just be lying to those who don't know about what appears when I used your ring… And you wouldn't be able to use the ring as evidence either, because if you were careless enough to tell someone about it, people who know about Grindelwald – in a good or bad way – would suspect you of being a supporter."

Silence fell after Harry's words. Riddle's expression was impassive, but Harry sensed that the other boy was shocked by these words. After a long minute, Riddle spoke again. "But then why not tell me more, knowing I can't tell anyone what I already know? If all the evidence I have is useless –"

"– Then I don't have to worry about you saying anything. If I told you more now, there's more risk of you gaining evidence. I'm willing to tell you the basic parts of my past… but nothing more."

Riddle appeared to contemplate this for another minute. Harry waited patiently for his words. "So what's the full story behind this ring?" He asked, changing the subject.

Harry paused, thinking. "It can bring back the dead, as I already told you… but it was first invented to create Inferi."

This seemed to amaze Riddle a little. "Yet you were merely calling the dead when you used it."

"The only people who can use it to create Inferi are the people who know about the magic needed to bring back the dead fully. For someone like me, it's just to call the dead. I don't know enough about it to put it to its full use. But as you can imagine, this is a lot more effective than just killing the amount of people needed to create an army, if you know what you're doing…"

Riddle looked down at his ring for a second, as he spoke next. "So it's full use is well hidden. That was a smart move… Who is it that holds these rings, initially?"

"Initially, it's only those closest to Grindelwald that have these…"

Riddle looked up at Harry as the later said this, and Harry thought he saw a sign of surprise on Riddle's face.

"I thought that you had a copy." Harry lied. He was intent upon making Tom feel a little anxious with his words. "Because it was a rather famous statement by people who admired Grindelwald, to have an item with his sign on it. The rings are usually well hidden by the public, so I was surprised… But then I found out that it was a real ring."

Riddle did not help fuel the conversation here, almost as if he was dreading the question Harry wanted to ask, to make him feel anxious. Harry knew the answer to his next question, but he was still interested in the lies.

"How did you manage to get the ring you have?"

Riddle hesitated. Harry almost smiled, glad that he was in control of making someone create a story, for once. Tom dropped his gaze to the ring on his hand as he thought, and Harry patiently waited. About twenty solid seconds passed before Riddle spoke. "I stole it from a wizard… my uncle. That was over a year ago, now. He said it was an heirloom, though I'm now supposing that this was a ruse to refrain from speaking about where it really came from."

Harry remained impassive, but in truth this reply surprised him greatly. He had thought that Riddle would lie, and make up a story about having had the ring forever… Though maybe there was no point in lying right now, because it wasn't as though Harry should be able to trace Tom's bloodline. Even when Harry knew that Tom was a parselmouth, he shouldn't know about Marvolo. He wondered for a second whether the truth had been told because Harry had been telling apparent truth…

"You met your uncle?" Harry asked.

"Yes." Tom replied.

Harry paused for a second, wondering whether he should ask about how Tom managed that without having left his orphanage or Hogwarts for a while… but he refrained from asking that. Instead he decided he wanted to hear what Tom had to say about what happened in his life earlier on. "Can you tell me more about your past?"

"There's nothing to tell about my past, really." Riddle replied. "You already know that I was born in a muggle orphanage, and I must admit that little else of any real interest happened besides that."

"Come on, there must be something interesting to talk about." Harry replied, pushing Riddle into giving him more information that he already knew. "Anything. I don't care what it is. It's not fair if you learn everything about my life while I get to learn nothing about yours."

The prospect of Tom telling Harry about his past was an amusing thought for the later, even if he roughly knew about everything that he was likely to be told. He wondered just how much Tom would tell a stranger about himself this late in his school years.

"What is it that you want to know?" Asked Riddle, his tone completely unamused. This question told Harry that Tom wasn't likely to offer up information without being directly forced to.

"How old were you when you found out about magic?" Harry asked.

"I didn't know about it fully until I was eleven, when a teacher from Hogwarts came to visit me, offering a placement at the school." Riddle replied.

"What about when you first used magic?"

"I'm guessing that I've been using magic since before I can remember, for I have no memoires of not being treated differently because of my abilities… By the time I was seven, I could control it fully, I remember. I put it to more interesting uses then…" Riddle's expression was close to that of a dog enduring the company of a younger and very annoying puppy. Harry wondered why Tom was bothering to explain the answers to the questions Harry had. Perhaps he wanted to be sure that he could ask Harry more questions later on…

"That's pretty early for using magic." Harry commented.

"When did you first use it?" Tom asked, before Harry could think of another question.

"The first time I remember using it was when I was about seven. Though it was expected, so I don't really have any particularly strong memories." Harry lied. In truth, he had been much the same as Tom with being confused by the use of magical abilities. Yet he had learnt to hope that nothing unusual would happen, instead of finding out how to control magic for good use. He had feared being punished for using his uncontrollable power in any way… "Did you go to a Muggle school when you were younger?" Harry asked, having never had the answer to such a question.

"Three schools, actually." Tom replied. "I was expelled from two of them for using magic against the other students. Though, of course, it wasn't explained as magic…"

Harry was rather surprised that Riddle had told him this so willingly, yet he was also somehow glad to hear actual pieces of Tom's past that he didn't already know. He supposed that being expelled for cruelty towards Muggle's wasn't a bad thing in Tom's mind. "But you have to be one of the best students at Hogwarts, now." Harry stated.

"I enjoy being at Hogwarts. Here I'm aloud to use magic, so I am free, thus happy to refrain from harming other people so blatantly." Riddle replied. "Did you never go to a wizarding school before Hogwarts?" He asked.

"No," Harry replied, "My foster parents decided to teach me at home instead."

"Why?" Tom asked curiously, slyly turning the conversation back towards Harry's life.

"I'm not sure. Maybe they were scared about me staying somewhere so public. They were pretty talented though, so were able to teach me most of what I know."

"But how was it that the community you later joined remained hidden even with many members?"

"The Fidelius Charm was the main thing that kept us protected. We had a headquarters, and were able to live our lives normally with it, most people visiting it every few days or so. My foster parents and I stayed there most of the time, because somewhere so safe was what we had at our own house anyway."

"So you all must have been generally powerful…"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

Riddle seemed to want to ask something else, but he fell silent instead. Perhaps he felt he would be pushing his luck if he asked anything after this. The two boys looked at each other for a moment, and Harry suddenly felt as though Riddle was looking for something in his expression as he examined him. He decided to carry on the conversation.

"Was it with parseltongue that you convince all of your friends that learning the Dark Arts from you was a good idea?" Harry asked.

"Partially. Though most of them knew of my power from what they had seen in class." Tom replied, still examining Harry. "Why did your foster parents teach you parseltongue? You had to have learnt it before you were fifteen, surely…"

"I learnt it when I was eleven." Harry decided, knowing that it was easier for younger people to learn new languages. "I suppose that they felt it would just be useful – especially for keeping secrets between us. Obviously it's generally hard for people to detect the language being spoken even right before their eyes, if they don't already know about it. They dabbled a lot in the Dark Arts when they were younger."

Riddle seemed to think this answer was believable, for he nodded and didn't press the subject. In fact, he didn't actually reply anything at all, which made Harry worry a little. Tom appeared to be thinking about something more important to him than learning more about Harry's past, as he surveyed Harry. The later decided to keep Riddle talking.

"Don't you have any more questions?" Harry asked. He wanted to hear what Riddle was thinking, if it was related to his past.

"Just one at the moment…" Riddle replied quietly.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure if I should ask." Riddle said, just as delicately as before.

"Why not?"

"I don't believe you have a valid answer for it."

Harry felt slightly nervous at this. "There's no question without an answer…" He stated.

"I don't believe that rule applies here." Tom responded.

Harry paused. Had he overseen some sort of plot hole in his stories? Or else was Riddle about to ask a question that didn't have a valid answer at all, because the only possible explanation available lead to a dead end? "Tell me what it is, I'm sure there's an answer…" Yet Harry wasn't sure whether he really wanted to hear this question. Not if Tom was so sure that this was so important.

"You truly want to know my question?" Tom asked, not smiling.

"Yes." Harry replied.

Riddle examined Harry's expression carefully again, as though he was still looking for something he couldn't yet see upon the other boy's face. Harry waited the long minute it took for Riddle to speak, feeling anxious with every painful second of silence as Tom and him sat upon the green couch in the empty Slytherin Common Room. "Tell me…" Said Riddle slowly. "What is this?"

As Riddle asked this, Harry felt Tom's hand rest upon his own, causing the same echoing sensation to appear on the surface of his skin. He was in half a mind to pull his hand away, but was also tempted to see what would happen if he allowed Tom's hand to stay there. To see what would happen if he allowed Tom to test this strange reaction more…

Riddle was examining Harry's expression even more intently, waiting for him to speak. Harry was lost for a minute, staring into Tom's dark grey eyes before he found the voice to speak. "I don't know what this is…" Harry said quietly, in response to Tom's initial question.

A few seconds passed, where the two boys stared at each other, but Harry pulled his hand away from Tom's. He dropped his gaze from the taller boy, and stood up. "It's late. I should probably go to bed…"

Riddle continued to look up at Harry from where he sat, but Harry didn't meet his eyes. He turned away.

"Er, well goodnight then…" Harry said, before he began to walk away.

He didn't hear Tom reply.


	15. Christmas

"Yes, wonderful, wonderful memories of the students who've passed through this castle," Slughorn carried on, picking up his goblet and taking another generous swig of mead. The occupants of the single table placed in the centre of the great hall listened to the professor, who spoke to the room at large. Tom Riddle was amongst the only people paying their fullest attention to what was said, while Harry, who sat far away from the other Slytherin, was perhaps the single person most distant in measures of interest. "Christmas brings back the best memories of my old students. The finest always manage to send in generous gifts, or letters to refresh the blissful memories. How good it is to know how many students I've influenced and encouraged into the jobs they have today!"

Slughorn gave a gruff laugh. The Astronomy teacher, who was the next to speak, made no hesitation to have her voice heard in response to this. "Now, now, Horace, you can't go taking _all_ the credit for the successful students who made it into your good books! Astronomy, for one, is a very important subject –"

"Oh, naturally, naturally!" Slughorn interrupted, attempting to take back some harsh meaning in his words. It seemed to work, for as Harry looked up, he found that none of the teachers took any offence from what was said. All of the professors, and even some students, were smiling, easily humoured by what Harry considered an unimportant and tedious conversation. "I meant only to comment that _this_ is what draws so many to the lure of teaching!"

"I wouldn't say the pleasure of viewing one's accomplishments in the lives of this school's students is the _only_ reason for taking on the job," Dumbledore stated calmly, having been conversing with the other teachers since the beginning of the meal. "I myself find that the thrill of passing on ancient skills is a bountiful reward in itself – even if the students taught do not become famous, or what we might consider otherwise 'successful'. To work here for the pure sake of preserving knowledge is very satisfying. Yet the full list of reasons to become a teacher at Hogwarts must, to make things rationally explained, vary with every new witch or wizard willing to take on the profession."

Slughorn smiled as he spoke next. "But of course, of course! I shall have to trust you again, Albus, with rationalizing my ramblings." He laughed, and took another merry drink. "With more reply to all that you said: I would have to claim the pleasure of influencing and helping the minds of so many young witches and wizards as one of my top reasons for keeping this old job then. One never can go wrong in their profession after helping to make an effect on younger generations."

There was a general murmur of approval at Slughorn's words, but Harry barely heard it. He was distracted with carefully lifting his eyes to look at Tom, who sat across from him and to the far right. Tom himself was busy with listening to Slughorn, so Harry's analyzing stare went unnoticed. He was wondering how often it was that Slughorn talked about what an influence he was, as a professor, to younger generations in the presence of Riddle, and he also wondered how early it was that Tom decided that this piece of knowledge was rather valuable to him.

The only thing that stopped Harry from worrying about the idea of Tom teaching one day was knowing that Dumbledore, who sat so calmly at this time, doubtlessly saw through the school's current best student, in much the same way that he saw through anyone else who hadn't known Occlumency before. As much as Harry despised the Transfiguration teacher, his will to tread upon and fight against Dark Wizards was a useful disposition for Harry's situation. It was a hypocritical gesture in means of how much ill Dumbledore himself has done to the world through manipulation, yet Harry wasn't complaining now.

When Harry dropped his eyes to his plate once again, he saw that his barely touched meal had been replaced with dessert. He was glad to know that this meant the feast was almost over, and he listened again to what was being said around the table.

Ten minutes later, Harry made his way out of the Great Hall amongst the first to depart from the still chatting teachers. He had no intention of returning to the Slytherin Common Room this early in the evening, so instead he made his way slowly past the heavily decorated Entrance Hall, and up the marble staircase he knew so well from his true years at Hogwarts. He headed down a random corridor and walked at a calm pace, in no hurry to be anywhere, for he had nowhere at all to be besides deeply lost in thought.

He could barely believe that the years spent with Ron and Hermione at Hogwarts had actually existed for him. It all seemed like some distant and extremely vivid dream, followed closely by nightmares fuelled by guilt and realisation. Yet that was his only past, the only array of memories to remind him who he truly was… He felt as though it all belonged to someone else, someone who had made better choices than him, and who had not ended up in the middle of a random period of time for no reason that could be clearly seen so soon. His mind drifted to think about all the golden days spent with his two best friends, reflecting upon the seemingly endless memories that seemed to cloud his yearning mind…

After some time, perhaps a few minutes or perhaps an hour later, Harry found himself wandering to a part of the school where a few empty classrooms and sitting rooms were positioned. After teetering on the edge of decision for a few moments, he decided to head into one of the sitting rooms, for though he had no books to read, he could at least stay somewhere quiet and comfortable while he wasted a few hours. He had been forced to leave all his stolen volumes in the Common Room due to the fact that taking books with himself into the Christmas Feast would have made his plead for solitude rather obvious. He wasn't sure if he was in the mood for reading anyway.

Harry walked into the sitting room, and closed the door quietly behind him. It was only when he was about halfway across the room that he noticed how cold it was. He looked up, expected to see a window or two open, and instead saw that a glass door leading to an outside balcony had been left unclosed. He stopped walking, seeing now that a silhouette of a boy sitting upon a bench could be clearly seen through the panes of glass ahead of him.

The silhouette sat formally, and apparently not consciously so (for he rested without knowing that anyone was currently resting their eyes open him). He held a cigarette in his hand, its end luminous and its smoke painting twists and curls of shadow against the marginally lighter sky, as he faced entirely away from the door, his back to Harry and his eyes perhaps taking in the fine view of the grounds from where he sat. Harry didn't have to see the boy ahead of him properly to know that it was Riddle.

He hesitated; very keen upon the idea turning and walking away… yet he wasn't sure if that was the wise thing to do. He had a nagging suspicion that Tom might already have heard him, and thus knew exactly who had just walked in the room. Harry wondered why Tom wasn't conversing with Slughorn at this time, or else reading in the doubtlessly empty Common Room. Harry had been trying to avoid Tom for the whole day, wishing to be alone and away from questions in general… He had only gone to the feast because people would worry if he were that blatantly out of sight. Harry wondered why Tom wasn't doing something that didn't interfere with his will to be unseen.

Then a thought struck him. Perhaps Tom had been avoiding everyone as much as he, Harry, had been for the majority of the day. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about this theory… it would explain why Tom was here, at least… Now that Harry cared to take a second of reflection, Tom had good reason for wanting to be as alone as he was on this day. Tom had close to as much to reflect upon on this terrible holiday as Harry had… Excluding all the death, anyway.

Before Harry could remember deciding upon it, he found himself walking towards the balcony. He pulled the already ajar door open and stepped onto the securely placed stone that overlooked the grounds, walking calmly over to the bench where Riddle sat. Once he was seated, he could see Tom far more clearly than before, with his cigarette held lightly and his expression impassive as he surveyed Harry. They paused for a moment, Harry waiting for Tom to speak first.

"Good evening," he began.

"I think you mean 'Merry Christmas'," Harry corrected him.

Tom seemed to understand he was joking, for he laughed – humourlessly – and seemed to relax slightly. "I don't think I could endure another forced conversation based around this season of wishfully impractical 'happiness'. Slughorn was terrible enough as it is…"

Harry was glad to know that Tom hated the season as much as he now did. It made it slightly easier to talk to the older Slytherin when they shared a common hate. "Slughorn must be worse for you," Harry stated. "He generally ignores my existence, so I suppose I got off easily."

"Yes," Tom commented, "and I'm rather close to being envious of that fact." He took a drag from his cigarette, savouring the taste for a moment, before looking up again and noticing Harry watching him. "Would you like one?" he suddenly asked.

Harry was in no mood to refuse such a tempting offer. "Sure."

Tom handed him one, and Harry lit it in silence. It tasted wonderful at this moment…

"What are you doing up here alone?" Harry asked, guessing that Tom was waiting for him to speak.

"Mostly to get away from Slughorn. The Common Room for one is not safe from his determined search, and would be a poor place to hide. Thus I decided to go somewhere that would take a while to find," Tom said. "Yet this seems a failed plan, if you managed to find me."

"I wasn't looking for you," Harry assessed quickly, realising that randomly finding Tom here might look a little too convenient.

Tom surveyed Harry, and the latter waited to see what would happen, hoping that Tom wouldn't be too annoyed or disbelieving with the idea of such a coincidence. He seemed to either believe or not care about the quick explanation, however, for he looked away from Harry after some time, to view the still darkening sky. "Even so, I care very little about your company, as I've explained."

"Yeah…" Harry wasn't sure what he felt about Tom's reply, so he decided against elaborating upon the subject. He took another drag of his cigarette, causing a silence. "So what does he normally talk to you about? Slughorn, I mean."

Tom did not look back at Harry as he spoke. "Nothing and everything all at once, to be honest. Most of the time he manages to talk for hours by sharing stories of his ex–pupils and so on. Yet with Christmas, it becomes worse… Let us merely say he likes to take advantage of my free time. I believe he's under the illusion that his company is something of a relief to me."

It was odd for Harry to secretly understand everything Tom said about having to endure the presence of Slughorn, as he sat with the other boy in this dim light. He had spent the majority of his sixth year at Hogwarts planning Quidditch practices and so on to clash with any Slug Club meetings, and he had gone home for Christmas instead of allowing himself to be in the presence of the Professor with such a perfect opportunity for talking… Harry wondered, for a vague moment, whether Riddle and himself were close in levels of importance to Slughorn's eyes, when measuring the height of the Professor's adoration for the two _finely_ collected pieces to his collection…

"Doesn't he ever go away for Christmas?" Harry inquired.

"He used to, but as of late he hasn't seemed too fond of accepting any invitations to leave the school," Riddle responded, in what was close to a monotone. "But most of the other teachers have somewhere else to be, so I am ever so slightly less busy. I prefer near solitude."

"I don't blame you," Harry remarked. "It's easier to be away from other people. Especially when they can't think of any reasons for you to dislike the season…" He felt as though those words had somehow slipped out, but he didn't actually care enough to want to take them back. Tom turned to look at him now.

The two boys looked at each other for a moment, before Harry dropped his gaze, disliking the sight of young Voldemort as he thought of his friends. He occupied himself with his cigarette as Riddle contemplated something. "Jonathan… when was it, exactly, when the battle you fought finished? I ask only because I know it must have been quite recently. If you had learnt about the Dark Arts from only the age of fifteen onwards…"

Harry was a little irritated at these words, for he was not in the mood to speak of any form of his pasts, but he hid this emotion. He supposed that he didn't have much of a choice but to answer this, even when it forced him to think about the details of his pasts. If he wanted his tale to seem honest, he had to give some pacific and honest pieces of information. "It was recently… less than a year ago."

Riddle remained impassive. Harry wondered why he had asked this at all, and worried if maybe he was trying to work out the validity of the timing. From all the information Harry could gather, Grindelwald wasn't supposed to have been anywhere specific at this time. He was probably where he normally was, when not making public appearances, planning and so on. Yet perhaps Riddle had another piece of information to contradict this…

If Tom _did_ have more information, however, he didn't voice it now. He continued to examine Harry as carefully as he always did, as though waiting for the moments when the other boy's attempts at an impassive countenance would fail. Harry was about to start a new conversation, to stop Tom from thinking over things too much, when Riddle spoke, his tone was careful.

"Are you sure there is not one person left from the fight, Harry?"

"I'm sure. I saw most of…" Harry stopped. A heavy silence fell, as he realised, now, that Tom had used his real name. He looked up at the other boy, fearful and confused. Riddle couldn't possibly know his name… they had never talked about it, Tom had never asked. Harry tried to remain impassive as his mind raced. The blood drained from his face, and he hoped that Tom wouldn't see that in this lighting. Where or when would Harry have ever said or written his own name?

Riddle read this silence, and perhaps Harry's expression, as an answer to something. "So your name _is_ Harry?"

These words were like poison. Harry was frozen in shock as he continued to try and understand what had just happened. Riddle smiled faintly.

"That girl – the one you brought back with the ring – said your name. She was the first person I heard speak properly, so I thought perhaps she was addressing the other boy… You proved otherwise."

Relieved though Harry was that this was all that had happened, he became slightly annoyed at this. He struggled with words for a minute. "Even if that is my name–"

"Oh, I don't doubt it's your name now," Tom interrupted. "No one with a true identity would have been so shocked to hear someone call them another name… though I suppose that no one with a true identity would be addressed by their old friends with anything unusual in the first place." Riddle smiled again at his own words, and Harry could tell he was enjoying this.

"This isn't a game," Harry almost scowled in response, worrying a little bit about how else Riddle could gather information without him knowing.

"No, it's never a game…" Riddle mused, still smirking. Harry's worry seemed to satisfy Tom. "It's a quest."

Harry stared at Riddle in disbelief, his expression slightly fretful.

"I'm joking," Riddle stated, after a pause.

Harry dearly hoped he was. "You can't just use that name," Harry said, without the slightest idea how he was supposed to make Tom forget this and move on.

"I shan't use the name lightly," Tom assured him, "and no one else will discover it after me – not by my fault, anyway. If I could keep you from knowing I knew of the name for this long, I believe your secret is safe."

Harry doubted very highly that a link to his true identity in the hands of young Voldemort meant he was 'safe'. His mind continued scanning through conversations he had had with the older Slytherin, making him feel paranoid as he searched for times when he could have let information equally as important slip. Even if he understood how Tom had learnt about his name, he had to be sure…

"Don't you trust me?" Tom asked, noting Harry's worry.

Harry lifted his eyes to look up at the Heir of Slytherin, and felt as though he had slipped into a comical version of a nightmare. The chances of him trusting Tom were very, very slim. They were pure enemies, and Harry wouldn't let himself forget that. Riddle seemed to take as much from Harry's expression, for the slight smirk upon his lips fell away. Harry realised he had cast the other boy a rather scathing glare. Another silence fell.

"I don't trust anyone," Harry said, in an attempt to dismiss his reaction. He remembered that he wasn't supposed to hate Tom…

"Yes," Tom said, his voice delicate. "I should have guessed as much…"

Harry felt as though this wasn't just a meaningless response as he heard Tom speak, which this made him slightly confused. He only hoped that his reaction to Tom's question hadn't disrupted his fictional past…

As neither of them spoke, Harry felt as though Tom was thinking over his stories again. The peculiar thing was that he didn't think of this in a paranoid light… He wondered for a second if he was getting any better at Legilimency as the two boys looked at each other. Another minute passed in silence.

"I don't suppose it really matters," Harry said, unsure why he chose his words as such as he tore his gaze away from Tom. He tried to think of a new conversation to begin, but he could think of nothing.

"No, I don't suppose it does. Trust is a dangerous thing…" Riddle seemed to be reflecting upon a thought or memory as Harry watched him stare blankly at the view ahead of them. Just as soon as Harry contemplated what his thoughts might be, though, Tom looked down, and put out what remained of his cigarette. Harry brought his own cigarette to his mouth, having nothing yet to say.

When he looked up at Tom again, he found the other boy searching for something in his eyes. Harry waited for Tom to speak, and finally he did.

"You're a complex person," Tom stated.

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked.

"Many things," Tom responded, his voice still delicate. "To begin, you read people well from all that I've seen, and your past – though seemingly unbelievable – appears to have much honesty embedded into it's telling… I am, in truth, quite surprised to find that I believe you. With your personality and mental state seeming more than fitting for such a tale, I cannot claim that very much of what you say is lies – and the lies that can be seen only appear to cover a truth that cannot be told lightly… I suppose, in short, I am intrigued."

Harry's heart sank slightly at these words, even if he was glad to hear that Tom openly believed his tale – or at least most of it. It annoyed him that Tom was so interested in his story. He wished that Tom would disregard him, and forget what he knew about this almost made-up past. In full honesty, Harry wasn't sure how long he could last telling lies after lies if Tom wouldn't stop being so interested…

"You can trust me, you know," Tom said softly, his voice only slightly audible over the whisper of the wind.

Harry didn't really see how this was related to anything… In fact, these words confused him quite a bit. This seemed a blatant attempt to suggest that he confide in Tom. He tried to think about how Tom might see his situation, and how he might rationalize the idea that Harry still disliked him. "Why should I trust you?" Harry asked, careful not to ask Tom exactly why he was saying this at all, in case the answer was obvious.

"Well… I already know about your past, and since I am willing to accept your wishes to never tell another person what I know, I don't see why you remain reluctant to tell me more, to trust me."

Harry felt himself become irked by these words. Why should this make him trust Riddle? Even if he _didn't_ hate the other boy as much as he did, Tom didn't deserve more answers than he could work out. Harry tried to get rid of his anger as he thought of a reply, but traces of his true emotion couldn't seem to leave his voice, which was cold. "I don't trust anyone because it's a mislead idea. I'm not going to make that same mistake again."

"I'm not a part of this war against Grindelwald," Tom reminded him. To Harry's great surprise, there was a sound of actual emotion in Riddle's words, yet Harry couldn't quite make out what it was. "I don't care to give others information and I don't care to do anything against you with what I might learn."

Harry paused. He tried harder to think about what this whole story might look like from Tom's view, but it was difficult. Harry took Tom actually being the cause of all his terror out of notice, and thought about Grindelwald replacing him. He thought about the way in which Tom discovered his cover story, and the information Harry had given since that time. Tom would doubtlessly be assuming that the war had caused Harry to insolate himself… but then, why would Tom care at all? If this was all for the purpose of figuring Harry out, as his Death Eater, Tom was being rather persistent with it. Even from guessing Tom's point of view, Harry couldn't work out what was going on in the other boy's head.

"Then what _do_ you care about?" Harry asked. "If you don't want to tell anyone, and don't want to hurt me with what you know, why else does it matter? You've already figured out my past… Why would me trusting you change anything?"

Riddle hesitated, staring at Harry. This question had apparently never crossed his mind before, and for the first time Harry could remember, Riddle didn't have an answer at hand. All seemed suddenly quiet as the pause lingered on, and Harry was close to amusing that Tom would reply nothing at all. Yet Tom did speak, finally, his tone no longer exasperated with explaining why Harry should trust him. He was quieter again. "It's merely that there are many unanswered questions that surround you…"

Harry took in these words, dropping his gaze from the other boy only when he found that the answer disappointed him. He occupied himself with putting out his cigarette as he thought in confusion. It wasn't as though anything else could have been expected from Tom's answer… In fact, not knowing what he had expected confused Harry more. He put the thought out of his head after seeing he couldn't find a valid answer as to why he was disappointed, and he looked up again. Tom was searching for something in his expression once more.

But as Harry gazed back this time, he felt as though Tom might have found what he was looking for. Riddle was scanning him with much determination, as though what he was waiting for had just appeared and disappeared again. Harry looked back into Tom's dark grey eyes, wondering what was going on in his mind as a silence fell.

"I feel… as though much good can come from this trust," Tom elaborated slowly, his voice quieter than ever. "I've never trusted anyone in my life, yet I feel as though there's… something different here."

Harry contemplated these words, finding that he wasn't against what Tom said. He gazed at the handsome boy, unsure why his mind was suddenly going blank. He didn't appear to realise what he was getting himself into with even thinking about agreeing with Tom's words…

"Will you trust me?" Tom asked, his eyes displaying an emotion that Harry felt mirrored his own.

"I don't know…" he replied, in full honesty.

Tom thought this over. "Will you try?" His voice was little over a whisper.

For an unknown reason, Harry wasn't surprised when he felt Tom's hand suddenly enclose around his own, their eyes never looking away. What was more, Harry had no intention of pulling away this time. He stared into Tom's eyes, feeling his hand echo Tom's simple touch. "I'll try…"

Tom examined Harry for a long moment after this, apparently wanting to be absolutely sure that they had the same intentions before he did anything more. He watched Harry's expression, and then, slowly at first, moved closer to him from where they sat. Harry was disoriented as he watched the other boy close the distance between them. He felt sick with anticipation and excitement even before Tom's lips were less than an inch away from his own, his breath heavy with evident yet controlled desire. Harry's head was spinning, as Tom's lips pressed against his own.

Harry couldn't move with the wave of emotion that came over him. He could feel his breath begin to quicken as Tom moved his lips, kissing him softly once, and again, and again, until he replied. When Harry did respond, Tom responded more, pushing his lips against Harry's with progressively more force, until he was confident enough to lick Harry's lips. Harry could barely comprehend what was happening as his body's needs strongly overpowered that of his fuzzy mind. He could feel Tom's every touch echo against him as if he were hallow… He opened his mouth, allowing Tom's tongue to slide inside.

Tom's breath was rough against Harry's now, as he lost more composure. He kissed Harry deeply, allowing the other boy to see to see just how much he wanted this. Yet it wasn't long before both boys could take no more, thus had to pull away. Tom lingered inches away from Harry, yearning, as Harry yearned, to continue, but knowing that their lungs needed more air, and their control couldn't last much longer.

After what felt like forever to Harry, Tom pulled away enough to look into his eyes. Harry looked back up at him, his thoughts coming together more easily now that his desire to kiss the boy in front of him had been fulfilled. He wanted to kiss Tom again, to become lost in his existence, yet the thoughts that flooded back to him didn't seem to allow him to. Harry, so recently burning with emotion, now felt the freezing temperature of the falling snow around him. Tom's usually pale pace was now flushed with colour, as he looked down at Harry, waiting to see what might happen next. He looked concerned, guessing Harry's new evaluation of the situation.

Harry stared back, wondering what on earth had just come over him. He had kissed Riddle. Tom Riddle. All the terrible things he knew Tom truly was suddenly washed over him, memories of his murdered friends and family, memories of the fear he had lived in for years because of this boy. It all came flooding back to him to suddenly; he was almost completely frozen in shock. Tom had ruined his entire life, had ruined the lives of hundreds – no, thousands – of others. Harry could barely believe that even past all of this, the presence of the boy next to him wasn't as easily hated as it once was…


	16. A Confirmation

Harry lay in the darkness, thinking. It was morning, perhaps eight O'clock, and the dormitory was perfectly silent. He knew this meant that the only other Slytherin student in the school must had awoken even earlier than he had, but he was still careful to show any obvious signs of being awake so soon. Only darkness was visible to his eyes; the curtains surrounding his four-poster bed were drawn while the room itself was as shadowy as ever. He lay very still, contemplating the day.

He didn't want to get up. He knew that Tom was doubtlessly waiting for him, somewhere. Waiting to talk to Harry so he could understand why he had walked away without a word the night before. Harry knew that Tom probably already had a valid theory to this question, but that didn't make him dread the day ahead any less. An explanation would still be needed. A confirmation. Harry regretted deeply that he hadn't thrown a few words of explanation before leaving the other boy the previous night. Any sound of remark would have made his thoughts clear, and would have allowed Harry to avoid Tom completely for the rest of the holiday without either of them being unsure of what Harry thought to be the only truth.

They could never be together – this was all Harry knew for sure. He hated Riddle for who he was, and for whom he would become. He despised everything about him as a person, and he wanted to stay around the older boy only under the goal of one day seeking powerful revenge for all of the murders Voldemort would commit. There was not one single trait about Riddle's personality or even his very being that Harry didn't want dead. Yet this didn't work accordingly to the rather strong attraction Harry felt towards him. This didn't work accordingly to the idea that he really _did_ want to share secrets with Tom, and tell him all about himself – even if that meant constantly lying about his real past. He wanted to learn about Tom, and see that odd and very rare side of him that tells Harry the truth, and tells Harry how he actually feels…

Harry decided to get up, knowing that he was getting nowhere with thinking about this. He had to actually do something about it – and now, for he didn't trust himself to dwell too long on the whole idea. He needed to go and tell Tom that they were never going to be anything more than… master and follower. Harry couldn't bring himself to suggest that they were even so much as friends. Harry got dressed, thinking about what on earth he was going to say to Tom.

Harry made his way through the Common Room, glad to see that Tom wasn't anywhere to be seen. He headed for the corridor. The castle seemed eerily empty as he walked, his footsteps echoing loudly against the walls the ceiling. Even though Harry had spent the last two weeks seeing so few students in the nearly vacated school, he felt more alone all of the sudden. He wondered if this was to do with the grounds, as he reached the upper floors, which were covered in snow thicker than ever before. Everything seemed far too quiet.

Riddle also wasn't in the Great Hall when Harry sat down for breakfast, and the latter was again grateful of this. He took it as a silent message to say that their next conversation was preferably not one to be held in the watchful sight of the teachers and students of the school. Harry stayed at the breakfast table for around half an hour before giving up his weak appetite as a lost cause, and heading for the library, where he guessed Tom could be. He wanted to get this explanation over with.

The weather was indeed gloomy, and it could be seen easily from the fourth floor. Snow was beginning to fall again outside the tall windows of the vast Library, and the few ignited torches around were little or no consolation to making the room appear lighter whilst eager shadows and dark books lingered all around. Barely a student was in sight as Harry scanned the room, so it wasn't long before his eyes fell upon a boy sitting at a table, reading a heavy volume with his back partially turned towards Harry. The latter recognised this as Riddle, and made his way slowly towards the desk where he sat.

He hesitated a few meters away, but soon decided to take a chair. Tom seemed to be expecting him, for it was with no surprise that he looked to see who was there. In fact, it was perhaps with as little expression as possible when Tom surveyed Harry, his countenance very well composed. Harry mentally complemented this fact, whilst reluctantly musing that this meant Riddle has purposely chosen to not withhold his true expressions the day before. Harry was extremely annoyed that he found the boy ahead of him even more handsome than he had a few days ago as he examined Tom's expression – or lack thereof. He dropped his gaze after a few seconds, wondering how he was going to begin this.

"Good morning," Tom started.

"Good morning…"

Tom didn't break the silence again as Harry struggled for words. All of the excuses he had thought about giving before seemed to have been wiped from his mind at the sight of Tom, and he tried hard to remember some of them. Yet even with an excuse, he barely knew where to begin.

"Look, I don't really know what happened last night, but I have to explain that I'm not – not really like that…" Harry hadn't the slightest clue if this unclear explanation of a twisted truth would really work, but he tried it anyway, knowing that the real statement of 'I know you're a murderer and I know you'll one day kill all of my family and my friends' was completely out of the question. If Tom would assume from this that he, Harry, simply didn't approve of the idea of being homosexual, Tom would be wrong – for in truth Harry didn't really care about that enough to be strictly against it – yet it seemed like it could be a good enough excuse for now.

Riddle surveyed Harry for a moment, pondering a reply. His expression never changed, and his voice was close to a monotone as he spoke. "I'm generally not 'like that' either." If anything, he sounded irritated to Harry's ears.

Harry wondered why the completely lack of sympathetic emotion in Tom's voice made him feel dejected. "Well… can we just forget it then?"

"I suppose," Riddle replied.

"Good…" Yet this didn't feel like the ending to their conversation to Harry, who was somehow reluctant to move away from the table. He waited for a minute, not having anything else to add, but feeling as though there was much not being said.

"Was there something else that you wanted?" Riddle inquired.

"No," Harry replied on instinct. Then a question came to him. "Except… why did you do that at all?" He wasn't fully sure why his stomach leapt with nerves at this question, but he didn't dwell upon the idea too determinedly. He looked into Tom's eyes, trying to see his almost nonexistent expression.

Riddle had paused for a few seconds, but it appeared to Harry as though this was in annoyance rather than the act of choosing his words carefully. "I was mistaken," he settled, "intrigued by the seemingly unexplainable occurrence of… whatever it is that happens when people come in physical contact with you."

"That happens to you too?" Harry asked quickly, before he could help it. He had never received any confirmation before that this wasn't some strange exaggeration his mind made in the act of liking Riddle. Yet he wasn't sure if this was a good thing, when he heard his own words.

Riddle averted his eyes from Harry, appearing to care very little about whether or not Harry shared this unwanted similarity. "It's insignificant," he declared.

Harry himself didn't quite agree with this statement. He paused, thinking as Tom examined the book in front of him vaguely. "So… you have an explanation then?"

"No," Tom replied, never looking up, "merely a lack of interest. Thus, if you don't mind, I shall move onto more important things."

"Right," Harry said, still detecting that same annoyance from the other boy. He watched Tom for a moment more, and then stood up. "Well… I'll see you later then."

Tom didn't say a word.

Harry left, feeling oddly empty as he walked from the library, and along a nondescript corridor. That seemed easier than he could have foreseen, and less dramatic by far… Had he expected some sort of fight? A negotiation more challenging? Yet how could he have, when he wanted so badly to insure that he wouldn't have to endure the close company of the other boy for any amount of time greater than strictly necessary? No, he couldn't have expected anything more… He was merely surprised. Relieved.

But Tom's total and utter lack of plausible emotion bothered him. It made him realise that everything that had happened between them could have been a total lie, a complete misunderstanding on his part. He knew he really shouldn't care about this at all, but it just seemed… dismaying. Tom was a good actor, Harry knew, so who was to say that this all wasn't some scheme, to learn about Harry's past, gone slightly off centre? Riddle could have cared nothing at all when emotions began to mix in the careful structure of his plan, and when an event completely unexpected occurred. He could have decided to drop his plan, which was fine with Harry… excluding the fact that he himself couldn't ignore what had happened quite as simply.

Riddle wouldn't even need a harmful or blatant reason to learn more about the war in Harry's past. This all made sense in Harry's head now, and he didn't see himself as being at all paranoid as these thoughts came crashing over him. The determination Tom felt to seek answers was most likely a strong enough motivation for all of those events to occur around, but Harry shouldn't care – he really shouldn't care. He knew extremely well who Riddle was, and what he would become. No good could possibly arise from fulfilling his wish to somehow be with the other boy… and it wasn't as though Tom even liked him back, evidently. There was absolutely nothing to him.

Harry didn't know what was wrong with him, in the end. How could he possibly allow himself to even contemplate the idea of this? He was right to explain to Tom that this wasn't a possible relationship, but it had somehow made the thoughts that swirled inside his head worse. Maybe he just needed a few days to forget it all, and to decide upon why it was the most terrible idea.

He tried to push the thought away, determined to forget what it felt like when Tom's hand rested upon his own, and what it felt like when his lips were close enough to kiss…

January arrived, bringing with it the anticipated parade of students back in the castle for the start of term. Harry was glad of their presence, but not because he particularly enjoyed the company of any of the students themselves. They were merely a new cause of separation for Riddle and himself, to give them all the more reason to not converse or endure the empty company of one another. Harry barely knew how he made it through the last few days of the holiday, dreading the idea of being alone with Riddle due to a mix of thoughts, opinions and emotions.

The Death Eaters seemed generally pleased about the break in the school year, and Harry felt more distant to them than ever before while they took no notice of the change of relation between Riddle and himself, assuming that Christmas had passed simply for them and thus moving on to talk about their own holidays.

Harry's slowly descending mood went unnoticed, perhaps due to the fact that he had been much the same before the beginning of the holidays. He wondered if that had ever really changed, when he took a moment to dwell upon the idea. It _had_ felt good to explain small pieces of his past – be it from his real or fictional one – but in the end it was doubtlessly better that he had a full excuse to give Riddle no more information at all about himself. Trust was a dangerous thing, as Riddle had suggested…

It was lunchtime, the first day of the new term, as Harry sat with Riddle and the Death Eaters at the Slytherin table. The hall was packed with students, and the general air was cheerful and animated as the noise level escalated dramatically from how it had been throughout the holiday. The Death Eaters were talking and joking amongst themselves as Harry and Riddle sat silently. Riddle still seemed to be in a bad mood, and Harry wondered if this was because his plan to seek information had failed so suddenly. Harry glanced at Tom, who sat with the Death Eaters distancing Harry and himself, but he didn't have time to dwell upon any thoughts relating to the other boy, for just then Avery decide the argument he was holding needed Harry's support.

"John, you gotta agree with me on this one," Avery said with a smile, addressing Harry from directly across the table. The latter wasn't quite sure what they were talking about, for he hadn't been listening at all, but Avery didn't hesitate to elaborate his one-sided opinion. "Nancy White is _way_ hotter than Linda Anthony."

"Oh… I never really noticed…" Harry was quite surprised with being dragged into this conversation, as he tried to remember what Linda Anthony and Nancy White actually looked like. He was pretty sure that they were supposed to be in his year…

"White's way too short," Dolohov said to Avery, the latter slightly disappointed that Harry hadn't joined into this conversation keenly.

"But she's blond!" Avery responded. "Not to mention she ain't got a temper half as terrible as Anthony's. I don't think I've ever known anyone as aggressive as her."

"Since when has being aggressive been a _bad_ thing?" Mulciber asked. The others laughed together at this.

"Just because _you_ like people to be – hey, are we going already?" Avery's attention, much like the other Death Eaters', had been swiftly drawn to Riddle, who stood up. It never seemed to take much more than this for Tom to order around his followers. With one movement, they all knew when it was time to go back to classes, or to vacate a room. Harry was glad to know that this meant he wasn't the only one who noticed what Tom did so quickly, even if his reasons for watching the other boy differed from that of the other Death Eaters…

"We're close to the last ones left in the hall," Tom pointed out, "as I assume none of you have yet noticed."

"Oh… No, I didn't notice," Avery admitted, smiling sheepishly. Harry too was quite surprised with this piece of news, but didn't drop his gaze from the other boy for long.

"So to Charms we go," Riddle said quietly, turning away from the Death Eaters as they stood up.

"Nah, I got a free period now," Dolohov voiced.

Riddle looked at Dolohov for a brief moment, but gave no more signs of having heard what he said. The latter took this as a sign to leave Tom's presence, followed by a dozen other Slytherins. Harry, Nott, Avery and Lestrange followed Tom towards the Entrance Hall, and up a flight of stairs that led to Charms.

Riddle guided them into the class, where a few other seventh year students sat waiting for the arrival of the last few people. The Charms teacher, a tall Witch with lank brown hair and a cheerful, attentive personality, had already begun to write the lesson they were learning today on the blackboard. The Death Eaters, Riddle and Harry managed to find a table together as the Professor closed the classroom door with a swish of her wand.

After the class was welcomed back to the new term, and explained the assignment of the day more clearly, the class began. Charms was amongst Harry's least favourite subjects, but not because he had a personal problem with the teacher this time. It was merely that in this class he had no obvious distraction from having to speak to the other Death Eaters. He couldn't pretend to listen to the teacher, for the teacher allowed the class to speak as long as they were still working on what she had asked them to do.

Today the class was supposed to be revising Unbreakable Charms, Flame-Freezing Charms and Severing Charms. Avery, Nott and Lestrange occupied themselves for the first ten minutes of class with stealthily combining these three spells, to see who was the most powerful. Lestrange froze the fire that was placed within Nott's supposedly unbreakable jar, trying hard to make the flame cold enough to not go out, and Avery practiced his Severing Charms a few times before attempting it on the half-finished project. Avery was the most successful, his victory resulting in an explosion as the jar smashed into tens of pieces, shattering all over the table where the five Slytherins boys sat. The Death Eaters all laughed at this, enduring the scolding the Professor gave them without much care.

Beyond this event, the class seemed to decline into a bored state. Nott and Lestrange talked quietly amongst themselves as they tried to perfect their charms, and Avery became distracted completely from his work whilst he looked over at the seventh year girls who sat on the other side of the room. This left Harry and Tom to carry on not talking. When Harry thought about it a little, he was actually quite relieved that Tom was in too much of a bad mood to want to converse with anyone – least of all him. Harry wasn't sure whether he could even have lasted in any amount of conversation with the older boy.

Avery seemed to become bored around this time, so he pulled his eyes away from the students across the room and decided to talk instead. He turned to Harry. "I can't believe you don't agree that White's prettier than Anthony."

Harry looked up at Avery, and then over towards the group of Slytherin girls across the room. "I don't see why it's important," he commented.

"'Course it's important!" Avery exclaimed, as though this had offended him. Harry's eyes – which had been resting upon the blond girl that he guessed was Nancy White – drifted a few inches to the left. Riddle was looking at him from across the table, and Harry recognised the other boy attempting to read his expression as he stared back.

Harry suddenly realised that this situation could be suggesting he had ever noticed Nancy White because she was a girl. He wished he could somehow take back that assumption as he looked at Tom, who was impassive. Yet Harry knew it was only really because he never looked at anyone in the school properly… that had to be the reason. He wondered what Tom was thinking about as they stared at each other. He knew that this was a contradiction in his given reason for not wanting to be with Riddle, and he craved to know what Riddle himself thought about this, or if he even cared at all.

Just then, the bell rang to Harry's slight surprise. Riddle and Harry's eyes fell away from each other, as they both remembered they were in the middle of class. Avery, Nott and Lestrange stoop up amongst the rest of the students, Riddle and Harry soon following. As Tom walked ahead with the beginning of the class, Harry was glad to remember that none of his remaining classes of the day were to be shared with the older boy.

The day passed away without haste, and was soon followed by a few hours of homework from Harry as he struggled with the other seventh years in keeping up with the amount of assignments given out by the teachers. It was around eight O'clock when Harry walked with Avery from the Great Hall. He had spent dinner with the Death Eaters and a silent Riddle as usual, but somehow hadn't managed to get rid of this one last Death Eater, who appeared bored of everyone besides Harry. Harry soon discovered, however, that this was only because Avery had a particular question for him.

"What was with you and Riddle in Charms?" Avery asked.

"What?" Harry asked quickly.

"I couldn't decide what expression you both had," Avery elaborated. "But I suppose you never can tell with Riddle…"

"It was nothing," Harry assured him.

"Yeah, maybe…" Yet Avery didn't sound too convinced. Harry knew they were still about five minutes away from the Common Room, and he really hoped this conversation would change by then. Before he could attempt a new subject, however, Avery carried on talking. "I only mention it 'cause something seems different."

"Really?" Harry asked, his heart racing.

"Yeah," Avery confirmed. He paused for a moment. "What did you do to piss Tom off?"

"Nothing," Harry lied.

"It don't look like nothing," Avery stated.

"Why do you say that?"

"I dunno. It's just, this is the first time I've seen Riddle so annoyed without doing something about it."

"I still don't get what you mean," Harry said. He was very keen to hear about Avery's insights upon this situation, even if Avery himself couldn't come to any conclusions with it all.

"Well, normally when Riddle's pissed off at someone, he don't wait this long begin making them suffer for it. I suppose it was something that happened at Christmas, so this must have been days of waiting so far."

"How do you know all of this?" Harry inquired.

"It's been years, mate. You get to learn these things," Avery explained indifferently. "Not to mention he's been angry with me countless times…"

"And he always does something about it?"

"Unless your some exception, I 'spose so."

Harry thought about this for a minute, not worrying, exactly, but trying to figure it out.

"If I were you, I'd just be prepared," Avery established.

"What will he do, do you think?"

"Depends on what you did to him."

Harry didn't reply to this. Would Tom really care enough about it to want to get back at him? It wasn't the same as a Death Eater annoying him, as they do daily. This was more personal than that. Tom was in a bad mood, Harry knew, but he wasn't sure if he trusted Avery's judgement of just how bad Riddle's mood was. If it mattered enough to Tom, most of that annoyance could probably be the result of sadness somewhere, and sadness would be the result of liking Harry too much to want vengeance, which suggested no revenge would come. Yet anger could also be shielded by embarrassment, and thus resulting in a much less wanted outcome…

"Hey, where are you going?" Harry asked. "The Common Room's the other way."

"I thought we were going to the headquarters? There's another meeting now. Dolohov told me."

Harry hesitated, not quite liking the idea of a Death Eater meeting so soon. He didn't want to be in the presence of Tom, least of all when he had to learn the Dark Arts directly from him. "Erm, I left something back at the Common Room. I'll catch up with you in a minute, yeah?"

"Sure," Avery agreed, unconcerned.

Avery turned away, and Harry did the same, in the opposite direction. His invisibility cloak had been resting in the pocket of his robes all evening, and he was glad to finally have a reason to use it again…


	17. Give & Take

Two weeks into the beginning of term, Harry found himself sitting with the Death Eaters in the room mostly referred to as "The Headquarters". He sat quietly, reading a series of newspapers embedded in an ancient volume as the other Slytherins talked around him. However, his interest in the article within his hands – telling humours of the war led by Grindelwald – was faltering as he listened on and off to what the Death Eaters talked about.

He didn't join in their conversation, for he was not oblivious to the fact that the Death Eaters cast him curious glances each time the Dart Arts classes themselves were mentioned. Harry had been missing most of the private lessons for a fortnight now, and he wasn't truly sure if he wanted to get out of that habit. Even when it gave him a bad reputation amongst his fellow Slytherins, he was quite content with not being here. It was only after quite a bit of struggle in blocking off thoughts that Harry could manage walking into another one of Riddle's meetings, and in his opinion the effort was not at all worth the pay. He still hated the Dark Arts as much as he always had.

Riddle sat on the end of the table made of shining black marble, rather far away from Harry, as usual. He was busy occupying himself by watching and listening to his Death Eaters, occasionally joining in conversation, but mostly seeing the talk progress. His Death Eaters were all very good in the Dark Arts, Harry knew, and wondered whether or not Riddle was satisfied with what he had been able to teach them all so far. After a moment of dwelling upon this thought, however, Harry decided to stay away from the subject of Tom. He distracted himself with the Death Eater's talk instead.

"I still ain't trusting you on this one," Avery replied to something another had said.

"Come on, Fiendfyre is the _perfect_ way to get rid of Muggles," Mulciber stated, as if this were some sort of obvious fact to a perfect plan. "They wouldn't be able to stop it. Even Wizards have trouble with it sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Avery asked, bewildered. "Wizards have trouble with it _all_ the time! That's why it's banned. If you let that loose on a whole group of Muggles, it'd end up getting back at Wizards in no time, mate!"

"But it'd kill them alright," Mulciber stated defensively.

"You suggest this idea as if you're able to perform the spell properly," Lestrange's drawling voice called from across the table, aimed towards Mulciber. "I don't think the day of you causing a fire to burn down an entire Muggle city will come any time soon. I'd be surprised if you could even cause a _house _fire – and we all know that would only succeed with you handling a packet of Muggle matches and a bottle of oil."

"Shut up," Mulciber retorted, becoming embarrassed as the Death Eaters broke out in laughter.

"But we _did_ only learn that spell this year, to be fair," Nott added.

"Which means it's going to be another seven years before he learns how to perform it," Avery taunted with a smile.

"_Ten_ years, if you ask me," Dolohov added.

"Hark who's talking!" Avery exclaimed.

"What?" Dolohov asked.

"Well, you ain't any better than Mulciber is at the Dark Arts."

"Yeah I am!" Dolohov said with complete confidence.

"They're both the same," Lestrange stated in a bored tone.

"Nah, mate, Mulciber's our Imperius Curse specialist, so he's way better than Dolohov," Avery reminded him.

"That ain't fair!" Dolohov complained, "I've learnt loads of stuff!"

"You're not of any _real_ use though," Nott remarked.

"Oh, come on! Why you defending Mulciber now? You were making fun of him only a minute ago!"

"He may not be able to start Fiendfyre, but _he_ at least knows a few things." Nott was smiling along with the Death Eaters, apparently enjoying this chance to tease Dolohov.

"You're all assholes, you know that?" Dolohov said, "and Hippogriffs!"

"Hippogriffs?"

"I think he means _'hypocrites'_," Lestrange observed. The other Death Eaters laughed more at this.

"Oi, what time is it now?" Avery asked when the laughter died down. "We must have been here for hours already."

"It's nearly eleven," Nott said, checking his watch. He turned to the head of the table to face Riddle. "Should we go back to the Common Room?"

Riddle looked up, having been submerged in thought vaguely before this. "If you wish."

"Good. I have to finish that Potions essay…" Nott replied, talking more to himself than anyone else as he stood up. The other Death Eaters soon followed him, along with Harry. The latter was just turning to leave the room, when he heard a voice call his name. It was Riddle, who had remained seated.

"Not you, Jonathan. I wish to speak with you."

A few of the Death Eaters also turned when they heard these words. Harry, who was both annoyed and nervous, caught Avery, who stood in front of him, wearing an expression that said 'I told you so'. Harry knew this was referring to their conversation of Riddle's revenge, and it didn't help. The Death Eaters slowly began walking from the room again, while Harry remained standing where he was.

The last Death Eater to leave closed the door firmly behind him. This left the room awfully quiet, as Harry remained as impassive as he could under Riddle's stare.

"Come here," Riddle said, standing up.

Harry hesitated, before slowly making his way towards the other boy. He stopped at around two meters away. "Yeah?"

"I have something for you," Riddle explained, watching Harry's expression before smiling faintly, "and it isn't any form of revenge for a nonexistent crime, as Avery seems to think."

Harry was relieved, though confused with this. He wondered what else Riddle could have for him, and he was still cautious with the idea that the older boy could be lying. But Tom only held out his hand. When Harry looked down, he saw Marvolo's gold and black ring resting in Tom's palm. He stared at it for a moment, bewildered, before looking up again.

Riddle read his confused expression simply, seeing he needed to confirm that this was indeed a gift. "Take it," he said.

Harry looked down at the ring again, frozen. This was the Resurrection stone… and was also very likely to be a Horcrux. Why on earth would Riddle ever want to give this ring to Harry? It was supposed to be sacred to him, one of many items to ensure immortality, and he was just handing it away. It seemed a rather careless action, especially for someone like Riddle. "Why are you giving me this?" Harry asked.

"You seem rather distant," Tom explained. "Thus easily inclined to not join in meetings with my friends and I."

"You're giving me this ring because I ditched Dark Arts meetings? That doesn't seem very logical."

"I'd rather avoid a larger scene. My friends – as I'm not blind to notice – feel your absence is rather eerie, and I wouldn't want them to begin thinking that you are some exception to the rule that my group of friends never declines in numbers… only increases."

"So this is just to force me into being one of your followers forever then?" Harry said angrily, glaring up at Tom.

"You're a useful student," Tom replied calmly, ignoring the rest of what Harry suggested, "and rather powerful in the Dark Arts. Not only does it draw unwanted attention when I apparently allow you to continue missing these meetings, but my friends are already rather curious to know what has changed over the last few weeks, and their curiosity is not something that can be settled easily. I am sure you have seen all of this in their minds, as I have. They already expect me to yell at you at the very least for attempting separation from my group, but I don't believe that is necessary here… So this is my alternative option."

"What for? So I feel guilty enough with this to never want to go away, so I owe you something?" Harry wasn't sure why this annoyed him so much; all he knew was that he hated the idea of being bribed against his own free will. "I'm not going to take this just so you don't have to worry about what your _followers_ think."

Riddle was silent for a minute, letting Harry's tone of anger hang in the air as he thought. "No," he replied delicately. "I merely thought this might ease some of what is distracting you."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, unconvinced.

"Yes. This ring is – as I have taken from your previous explanations – a way to bring back everyone that you have lost… I thought it might help you to concentrate if it was in your possession, so you can use it at will."

These words surprised Harry, who fell into a stunned silence. That thought hadn't occurred to him in the slightest. He had been too concerned with the chance of revenge to contemplate what use the ring in itself was to him. Tom was giving it to him because he knew how much Harry dwelt upon the memories of his friends. He was actually taking Harry's adversity into consideration. Harry was bewildered that Tom would do something so considerate merely because he didn't want Harry to go away, as a Death Eater. It made Harry feel sorrowful, somehow, that he expected only the worst in the other boy. He wasn't sure why this struck him so suddenly. It should have been obvious.

Tom was giving him the only portal on this earth that Harry knew of to the world of the dead. He was… almost repaying the deaths that he would one day commit. This was all Harry could see it as he looked at the ring now, his lungs oddly compressed in desolation. What else would Harry have as a reason to hate the other boy now, if the murders he had suffered through were taken out of consideration? Tom had never actually done anything cruel to Harry, when not counting the future. Tom was taking back his murders with giving Harry this ring. It was a token of forgiveness for a crime not yet committed.

Harry wondered how Tom could possibly allow a Horcrux of his to be given away so simply… before he remembered something. Voldemort had given more than one Horcrux to his followers. Both Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy had been deemed loyal enough to hold Hufflepuff's Cup and the Diary. Perhaps Harry's lie about Grindelwald making the ring had put Tom off the idea of it, and he was handing it to Harry now because he was supposed to have connections with Gellert. Harry could easily imagine the disappointment the other boy felt when he discovered that his precious ring, stolen with such care, wasn't actually an item from the great Salazar Slytherin himself. It made sense.

As a Deathly Hallow, this was also a weapon that could one day be used in bringing down Voldemort… but Harry wasn't in any fit state to contemplate how he felt about this now. The silence was still ongoing, but Harry couldn't think of what he wanted to do or say yet. It was a few more moments before Riddle spoke.

"Take it," he said again.

Harry met Tom's eyes once more, but he didn't want to do anything past this. His mind was still trying to work out everything about this situation. Tom soon decided to merely push the object on Harry. Harry was somehow surprised with the echoes of Tom's touch again, as the taller boy clasped Harry's hands around the ring with his own… yet Tom was quick to retract his hands.

"I can't accept this," Harry managed after a moment, feeling somehow empty as he stood apart from Tom again. "I… I have nothing to give you."

"Assurance of you returning to my meetings as often as any of my other friends will be a fine enough repayment."

But Harry didn't feel like this was enough. He looked at the ring in his hands again. It was awfully cold, which made him think about Slytherin's Locket somewhere in the back of his minds yet he could barely feel this as he became submerged in deep thought. He felt as though this was a truce to the war Riddle never knew actually existed, and would exist. Harry held the lives (or rather, deaths) of everyone he had never known within his hands. He felt a great sadness fill him with the thought of perhaps seeing his friends once again. He looked up at Tom, not knowing how he could express his gratitude.

Harry examined Tom's handsome face and tried to think, yet something seemed to be preventing him from deciding upon a reply to all of this. Tom was watching him, his dark grey eyes traveling carefully over his features as the silence carried on. Harry had no more reason to hate the other boy as determinedly as he had for the last few weeks and before, but he had no way of telling Riddle just what this meant to him, and how it made him feel. Tom examined him carefully, his eyes as impassive as Harry had always known them from this far away…

Before Harry could remember making the decision, he stepped forward, and began kissing Riddle. His whole body became a storm of emotion the second his lips came in contact with Tom's once again, and he was utterly disoriented when he felt Tom kissing him back just as passionately as he could hope, if not more due to the surprise and excitement from the sudden impulse. Harry had wanted this for weeks on end, no matter how much he had tried to deny the idea when it resurfaced in his mind, and he could barely believe that this was happening again. He wanted nothing more than to have Riddle this close to him forever, his every touch making Harry's craving deepen at an alarming rate.

Harry's hands were running through Tom's hair, as Tom's hands slid along Harry's waist, and up his back, pulling Harry closer to him. Harry could feel Tom's breath rough against his own as their kiss deepened, their tongues interweaving with each other as their minds became clouded. This kiss was perhaps even more powerful than the last one had been. Harry could feel Tom's body so close to his own in their fervent embrace, and though there did come a time when neither boy could take the lack of air and overdose of desire, Harry and Tom only pulled away as much as strictly necessary. They rested with their foreheads placed together, panting for breath.

Harry wasn't sure how much time passed before they parted; yet it felt like forever or, perhaps, no time at all to him. He didn't really want to think about what kissing Tom again really meant, and how he was going to keep this up for the future. All Harry really wanted to do was kiss Tom again, and for the rest of the night, then decide upon his life afterwards. He wanted to stay here forever, in Tom's arms, and never go away. But before he could even catch his breath back, Riddle spoke.

"Tell me you won't walk away again this time," he said in little over a whisper. Harry could feel Tom protectively holding him, his eyes closed, as Harry's were. "All you ever do is walk away…"

Harry knew these words were true, and he suddenly felt slightly bad because of it. "I won't this time," he replied honestly, allowing his hands to slide from Tom's hair, and onto his shoulders. Harry realised now that he must have put Marvolo's ring in his pocket, which was wise.

"And after we leave this room?"

Harry leant forwards to kiss Tom softly, the act making him dizzy again. "Not unless you want me to."

Tom backed away from Harry a little, allowing enough room for the two boys to look at each other. When Harry viewed Tom's face again, he saw it was slightly flushed with colour, and more handsome than Harry had ever seen it. Tom extracted one of his hands from behind Harry to lightly hold the latter's chin, examining him more closely than he had ever been able to before. Harry looked up into the dark grey eyes ahead of him, seeing past Tom's normally impassive countenance. He looked as willing as Harry felt to carry on kissing, yet somehow both boys knew that now was the time to speak. "I never want you to go away."

Harry wasn't sure why these words entranced him so simply, but it made him feel great happiness to hear Tom say this. Harry smiled vaguely; examining Tom's masterfully designed face. Tom smiled back down at him, his eyes displaying an inner emotion that Harry felt mirrored his own. After a moment of thought, dwelling upon this whole situation, Harry asked, "How are we going to stay like this?"

Riddle's smile faded away. Harry gave him a minute to dwell upon the situation. "I suppose… we live with not telling anyone yet," Tom began, "for it is evident that very few people are equipped to accept our situation."

Harry suddenly regretted greatly that Tom and he were not in the 90s; where it was acceptable for people to be gay… well, more acceptable. It was still nowhere near as accepted as it should be, in Harry's mind. Harry could imagine the sort of opinions the Death Eaters or even Slughorn had on such matters. Beyond all of this, Harry was at least grateful that he had Tom, even if he barely knew how or why on Tom's part.

"It will only be a few months before we leave Hogwarts, anyway," Tom remarked.

Harry looked up with slight surprise, only remembering now that his days to the school were limited. It would be about five or six months before graduation, and that seemed like an awfully short amount of time to Harry now. He wasn't sure how he felt to Tom suggesting they stay together beyond school so quickly. He decided to postpone that particular thought, not wanting to decide upon anything yet. "How are we going to last until then?"

Tom smiled softly, before leaning in to kiss Harry again. "We'll be careful," he said quietly.

Harry kissed Tom back with more persistence, but he could sense that Tom didn't feel this was the ending of their conversation. After a moment of a quiet embrace, Harry pulled away again. "I can't wear this ring or anything, you know."

"Why not?" Tom asked.

Harry removed one of his hands from Tom's shoulder to reach into his pocket, extracting Marvolo's gold and black ring. "It's too much of your trademark. The others, more than anyone else in the school, will see you gave it to me."

Tom looked a little confused to this, and for once Harry read his expression.

"You never thought of this before?"

"No," Tom replied. "I wasn't exactly… thinking straightly."

"Literally?" Harry asked, with a smile.

It took Tom a second to see the joke. He smiled. "Quite." After somewhat of a pause, he seemed to think of a plan in accordance to the ring. "I suppose we'll merely have to deem the ring as your own while I still wear it. It's the best I can do for now."

This was still more than suitable to Harry. "That sounds great." There was another moment where they both took in the other's appearance, before a thought struck Harry. "Tom… why don't you want to bring back your mother with this ring?"

This question had been running through Harry's mind on and off for the last few weeks. He couldn't understand how Tom could _not_ want his mother back. His father was understandable, because Tom had removed him from this earth himself, but his mother was an entirely new story. Harry would do anything to call his own parents back… it tore Harry apart to think about his father, who he knew would never visit him. But Tom's mother would doubtlessly return.

Tom's expression, which was previously somewhat gratified, became suddenly dejected and more impassive. It took him a few minutes of looking down at Harry before he decided that he cared about the emerald-eyed boy enough to find some form of an explanation. "I generally try to forget about what happened in my early past. I wouldn't… know what to do with visiting my mother, or any more of my family."

This made slight sense to Harry, though it still seemed so different to his own perception on visiting his past again. He decided to push the thought away from his mind, and to not press the subject. Before he could breech a new topic, however, Tom spoke again.

"Why were there only four people who returned to you?" he asked.

Harry hesitated. How much should he lie here? If he lied incorrectly, Tom might be able to assume that he had only had four relatives and friends killed, which wasn't a very smart thing to risk… he decided to go with truth. "Most of them blame me, I suppose… and I'm not surprised. I don't even know how I lived. I sometimes wish that I was just with them instead."

Tom examined Harry again, and nodded in response. He looked like he wanted to ask Harry more about the battle, but he refrained from doing so, knowing that it was perhaps too upfront. Harry was glad that this meant he could avoid the subject for the next week or so. After a few more moments, Tom spoke again, "Why did you tell me that you didn't want to be with me a few weeks ago?"

Harry was a little surprised at this, and tried to think of an answer. "I suppose I was just scared," he almost lied. "A lot of people around me seem to die… I just didn't want to make a mistake."

Riddle smiled faintly, and Harry wondered if he was reflecting on the fact that he himself could never die, being immortal. "I'm glad you don't think this is a mistake, after all."

Harry smiled. "Me too."

"It'll be quite a challenge to tell no one of this, you know," Tom stated, perhaps to change the subject.

"It's worth it, though," Harry replied.

Tom smiled softly again, his eyes upon Harry's lips. "Yes, entirely worth it."

"What do you think they'd do?" Harry asked. "If they found out, I mean."

Tom's expression was blank. "I'm not sure."

This made Harry feel slightly nervous. He wondered whether Tom was lying or not with his answer of not knowing. But maybe the reaction of the people at Hogwarts, and the world, at this time was so strong that it was very unheard of that any person owned up to the fact of being homosexual. Harry wanted to know what would happen, though, so he could prepare for the worst… But he pushed the thought out of his mind instead.

They gazed at one another for a minute more. Harry paused, and then moved his right hand to touch Tom's face. He watched as Tom closed his eyes, opening them again slowly as desire washed over him. Harry leant in to kiss him again, becoming satisfied when Tom replied to him with yearning. Harry pressed himself closer to Tom again, the latter holding Harry close without hesitancy. Harry allowed himself to become lost in the existence of the other boy, wanting to postpone thought.

He wasn't at all sure about how this was going to end. Somehow, in his mind, some sort of separation had come between Tom and the Voldemort in Harry's past. All those years of suffering in fear and anxiety seemed like some distant dream as Harry held onto Tom, tasting, touching and becoming entirely disoriented in his presence. The only thing that Harry could possibly hope for now was that this would somehow last. If his current view on the boy in his arms were somehow delusional, which seemed impossible now, Harry hoped that there would be some way to be sure that he could still stay with Tom.


	18. The Power of a Mind

Saturday morning dawned late, bringing with it the expected lack of sunlight to Hogwarts. Looming above the castle was a mass of thick, grey cloud; sinking downwards in the center due to a countless measure of snow, ready to fall on the already coated grounds of the school. Down in the Slytherin Common Room, however, none of this could be seen. In fact, it didn't even appear to be daytime at all. The lake, which had frozen in the early weeks of January, remained with its encrustation of ice meters thick, casting an eerie shadow to be seen through every high-set window that the Common Room and dormitories had to offer.

A little less than a week had passed since the day Tom gave Harry the Resurrection Stone, and everything seemed far calmer than Harry had ever known it to be. It almost felt to him as though some sort of standstill had come over his life, since some portion of his worry had been taken away. He knew that he would still have to explain much about his past to Tom in a few weeks, yet this felt like a very long time away from where he was. Everything felt so… relaxed, and yet somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, he wasn't at all sure if this was a good thing.

Harry was currently in the Slytherin dormitory, pretending to search his trunk while Avery and Lestrange got ready to leave the room, talking excessively about Quidditch. There was supposed to be a match of Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin the following day, although Harry himself was for once entirely uninterested in the sport. Tom, who was reading another ancient volume on his bed, would be the only person left with Harry in the room if Avery and Lestrange vacated the dormitories.

Time seemed to be playing a rather cruel game with Harry. Whenever he wished that time would move on – as he had non-stop for the last few months on his life – everything seemed still and sluggish, while whenever he wanted anything to last, such as the little time he could spend with Tom each day, time would escape his notice without a backwards glance. Harry and Tom could only spend a little under an hour alone with each other each day, and Harry wanted to remember every second of it. That single hour in a day was the only thing he ever looked forward too, so he hoped that the weekends, at least, would avail with a little less interference from teachers and students.

After some time, the remaining Death Eaters left the dormitory, as Harry had hoped they would. He looked up as soon as the door closed behind them, to see Tom already walking towards him. Harry stood up from where he sat, watching a shadow of a smile appear upon Tom's lips.

"Good morning," Tom said, leaning against one of the posts of Harry's bed.

"Morning," Harry replied, moving closer to him.

Harry was a little under a meter away, before he stopped, knowing that it was still too early to risk coming too close to Tom. Tom seemed to guess that much from his distance, for he appeared unconcerned. "So, how shall we spend the day?"

"I dunno," Harry replied. "I suppose we'll have to be with the others mostly?"

"I don't think we need to spend the _whole_ day with them," Tom stated, smiling as he examined Harry's expression. "We could always lie separately that we have other things to do…"

Harry smiled too. "That sounds alright."

Tom paused, thinking, before straightening up from where he lent, and slowly making his way towards Harry. "Of course, this still leaves us with the question of where we go when not dining and so on with my friends."

Harry watched as Tom moved ever closer, his mind becoming progressively more lightheaded with each of the other boy's steps. "That doesn't really matter, I suppose."

Tom was only a few inches away when he raised his right hand to caress the side of Harry's face, causing his eyes to close. "No, I don't suppose it does," Tom whispered, before kissing Harry.

Harry wasn't sure if he would ever get over this, as he felt Tom's lips press softly against his own. This feeling of conversing, of responding to the other boy in slow but impassioned progress, was all that seemed to matter to Harry anymore. Even now he could barely believe the attraction he felt, as their embrace became more immersing. He could feel Tom turn his head smoothly; taking in Harry's every touch as he found new angles from which to kiss him.

Tom's hand slid along Harry's jaw, then delicately drawing designs along his neck, where he knew his touch would be the most effective. Harry moved his hands to hold Tom's waist, slowly moving his body closer to the other boy's. Tom was biting Harry's lip in careful passion, his hands sliding up Harry's neck again, so he could run his fingers through his hair. Harry could feel his breath become continuously less composed as Tom kissed him again, his lips eager and encouraging…

Then, the door to the dormitory opened. Tom moved away from Harry with quicker reflexes than the latter could ever have expected, which left Harry standing where he was, bewildered for the few seconds it took for him to see Nott on the other side of the room. Harry and Tom stood frozen, watching the new arrival.

Nott didn't seem to have noticed anything. He spent a few seconds walking over to his bed, which was next to Harry's, and rummaging in his school bag before he looked up, suddenly aware of the lack of conversation. It was only after viewing Tom and Harry's expressions – or lack thereof – that he realised he had walked in on something important.

Harry dearly hoped that Nott wouldn't assume or work out that they had been kissing. He stood a few meters away, still silent as thoughts crossed his mind. Harry tried to keep his breath visibly even as he craved to know what Nott was thinking. It would both mess up time, perhaps, and cause Tom to leave if something even this simple happened. Harry tried to remain impassive as he watched the young Death Eater, no one saying anything for a moment, in fear of miscommunication. Tom was the first to speak.

"What are you doing back in the Dormitory?"

"I'm just grabbing some parchment and a quill," Nott replied quickly. "Avery and I are having a bet and we need to write it down, so he doesn't cheat this time."

Nott seemed a little uncomfortable with talking to either of his fellow Slytherins, and Harry wanted badly to know what was going on in his head. Nott's eyes were darting from Tom to Harry on and off, until they finally rested upon Harry for a few solid seconds.

It was then, without warning, that Harry read a mind for the first time. He was more than bewildered when Nott's voice suddenly rang through his head in a way he couldn't quite explain even to himself. He felt as though it was just Nott talking aloud as he heard the Death Eater's thoughts… yet it also felt to Harry as though he was gathering this information much like a child beginning to read.

**(**… interrupted some important conversation that I wasn't supposed to hear,**) **Nott thought to himself as he looked at Harry. **(**Jonathan even looks pale. Riddle probably hasn't finished lecturing him on how he's not supposed to miss our meetings. I wonder why he did something so mindless, anyway…**)**

Nott looked back at Riddle after this, breaking most of the connection Harry had into his mind. Harry was completely taken aback with this whole situation, and he remained completely silent. His mind raced to think about what could have changed in order to make him a Legilimens all of the sudden. He was glad that Tom wasn't looking at him as he reviewed this situation, for he knew he was probably doing a rather poor job at remaining expressionless.

Was it just because Harry had wanted to hear Nott's thoughts so much? Now that he thought about it, Harry wasn't sure whether he had ever really wanted to hear someone's mind lately. Except for perhaps Tom's mind, though Occlumency shielded him. It seemed somehow simple to Harry, even though it had been months since he began learning this piece of magic… A few seconds passed beyond this point, when Nott spoke to Tom again.

"It's only a bet on Quidditch this time, nothing to do with anything that could get us in trouble." Harry took from this that the Death Eaters had somewhat of a history in getting caught with dares and bets that easily break school rules under the watchful eyes of the Professors.

Riddle only nodded slowly to this, which was a cue for Nott to continue his search. Harry stood in silence for a few seconds, not meeting Tom's eyes as he turned to look at him again. He decided to not remain in the room any longer, in case his expression of bewilderment was blatant, so he made to leave.

"_Stay,"_ Tom hissed.

Harry turned to look back at the taller boy, surprised that he would make such an obvious statement, but Tom's expression suggested that this would pass the notice of Nott. Harry turned back to look at the Death Eater, and saw that he hadn't looked up. Then Harry understood… it was Parseltongue.

"Tell Avery to stop wasting everyone's time with these childish bets, won't you?" Tom asked Nott, who had by now found his quill and parchment.

"I don't think anyone can stop his obsession with gambling," Nott commented, "but I'll tell him anyway."

Tom smiled faintly, saying nothing.

"Well, I'll be going then," Nott said with a faint smile.

"We'll meet you later on, I am sure," Tom replied.

Nott turned to leave, closing the door firmly behind him when he left.

Tom paused for around twenty seconds, before saying, "That was a needless interruption."

"At least he didn't notice anything," Harry replied, watching Tom. He knew he could never see into Tom's head, like he did with Nott a moment ago, but he wondered whether he could be able to read Tom's expression more clearly now. Tom couldn't be perfectly unreadable forever, and if Harry could just understand his emotions well when his composure was less strong…

"He was close to noticing," Tom replied quietly, as his eyes averted from Harry's as he reflected upon what had happened. "We should be more careful."

Harry felt slightly disappointed with this. He had been hoping that Tom would declare this an unlucky event, and would move on… yet he understood the importance of this claim. "Yeah… maybe we should."

Tom looked up at Harry again. They gazed at each other for few moments. "We should go to breakfast," Tom said, "as the others doubtlessly have."

Harry nodded, giving no further reply.

Tom extended his hand to hold Harry's. "This doesn't effect anything, " he reassured with a slight smile. "We merely have to refrain from kissing in the dormitories so visibly."

Harry looked up into Tom's dark grey eyes, allowing himself to smile softly back while Tom pulled him carefully towards the exit of the dormitories. Tom's hand fell away from Harry's slowly when they opened the door to leave the room, making their way through the Common Room and along the corridors that would lead them to the upper floors of the castle yet again.

When they arrived in the Great Hall, Harry saw the usual cluster of Death Eaters sitting at the end of the Slytherin table. He followed Tom towards them all, sitting next to him due to lack of other seats. The Death Eaters carried on their conversations, a few of them saying hello to the new arrivals as they ate their breakfast. Harry pulled a plate of toast towards him, thinking vaguely about the day ahead. It was a few minutes before the voices of the Death Eaters caught his attention.

"Only a few bombs, but they landed right on London," Dolohov said, talking to five or six of the other Death Eaters who sat closest to him.

"What's interesting about that?" Lestrange asked snidely. "If I wanted to be recited the Muggle news, I don't believe I'd be sitting at this table."

"Well, obviously the _Daily Prophet_ hasn't just added the boring Muggle stuff in it," Dolohov replied indignantly. "There's a point. They're saying that even though only about five Muggle bombs fell, there was a massive line of buildings blown to pieces."

"So?"

"So it weren't the Muggles that did it!" Dolohov said, pointing down to the newspaper in his hands. "The Ministry of Magic even got alerted about a mass of magic used at the exact spot where the explosion was."

The Death Eaters around Dolohov fall into a stunned silence after this. Harry looked up slowly, his own mind thinking over this story as he heard Avery speak.

"So… this was a Wizard attack?"

Dolohov nodded, breaking into a grin after a few seconds.

"But, who would want to go and attack all them Muggles? How many died?"

"I don't know, it's just says here that – hey, what you doing?"

Harry had grabbed the Daily Prophet, and was now staring down at a picture of a continuously burning Muggle building in the centre of London. His heart was racing, as he looked at the headline above the photo, printed in handsome black ink.

22nd of January 1945.

_**Wizards to be Blamed for Muggle Killings? **_

_In the early hours of this morning, reports came flooding into the Ministry of Magic about Muggle London undergoing a small surprise attack by the German air force – the first bombing London has seen since the Baby Blitz of 1944. But this intelligence came with a shocking twist; it has been rumoured that these bombs (dropped upon a line of factories that rest above part of an important yet protected section of the Ministry's_ _Improper Use of Magic Office) were neither created nor dropped by the German Muggles… (See page 7) _

Harry tore open the paper, ignoring the other Death Eaters, who seemed to have a second newspaper at hand anyway. It wasn't hard for Harry to find the article he needed, for it took up nearly an entire page. He began to read where he left off, his mouth suddenly very dry.

… _Whether British or not, one cannot be sure, but it is clear that the attacker's motivation lies in tormenting England. British Muggles have naturally decided to blame their German foes, as the Ministry of Magic itself is still in clear panic to understand how and why monitors of the_ _Department of Magical Law Enforcement received complaints of a rapid escalation of magical energy detected at the scene of the attack._

"_All we know is that this wasn't the work of the Muggles," a worker at the Improper Use of Magic Office, Armando Fields, tells us, "which helps us to narrow down who in the world could have done this. No matter the attacker, we should be able to track them down soon." Yet so far there has been no success in discovering whom this was, for it is unclear what the intentions of the aggressor really were._

_This leaves the Wizarding World with very little fact about the whole affair. Critics upon the situation asked whether this means British Wizards will have to fight back, to which the Minister of Magic herself replied, "Without a clear statement of why the attacker helped the Germans, and without facts telling us if the German Ministry for Magic itself was a part of this, no one can truly be sure."_

Harry stopped reading at this point, allowing his thoughts to come together. He felt as though his stomach had been twisted into a hundred knots as he stared down at the paper. He knew that Grindelwald was related to this. Hadn't he read something about this in his History of Magic lessons so many years ago? Harry felt as though he had. Somewhere in the back of his mind this story was very familiar…

This had some relation to the Wizarding War that was going to break out in less than a year, lead by Grindelwald. Harry felt sick when he slowly realised that he couldn't remember anymore about this part of history. He wished more than anything that he had been listening in class, so he could know whether Grindelwald had attacked so soon…

Then, another article caught his eye. On the page next to the one Harry had been reading rested a picture of the Witch Harry knew to be the Minister of Magic, walking through a crowed of busy Ministry workers and eager reporters. Above her picture read the title:

_**Department of International Magical Cooperation Officially Rejects Hungarian**_ _**& German Offers for Joint Ministry Units.**_

Harry stared, slow memories coming back to him at this point. Hadn't… hadn't Grindelwald influenced this particular offer, and hadn't he pushed this idea on the British Ministry for something close to a year before receiving an official response? The Minister of Magic had plainly refused the offer, Harry knew, and her refusal hadn't gone well. Harry hastened to read the article.

_Throughout the year we have given reports upon the offer made by various European countries to the British Ministry of Magic, suggesting the formation of various Departments in many Ministries (beginning with Britain, Hungary_ _and Germany) to enforce a new, partly-united government. This offer was suggested under the hope of overcoming various difficulties that many Ministries currently have in the field of keeping Magical Creatures in count, tracking down Dark Wizards, etc. _

_The head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation released a statement in the late hours of yesterday evening, saying "The British Ministry of Magic has given the propose plenty of thought over the last few months, but we've officially decided that we are in no ideal position to accept this plan lightly. There are many difficulties to all of this, and Britain has no current wish to become a joint unit with any other Ministry." _

Harry felt sick, knowing that this could be related to Grindelwald, who had himself and his followers placed in many different Ministries throughout Europe, as Harry had definitely learnt from History of Magic. He wondered whether anyone else knew this, or if anyone would work this all out before the war…

Harry could physically feel the pressure that this one realisation set upon him. It was now, while he sat in the Great Hall with the Death Eaters and Tom, that he would have to begin making his lies seem as real as possible. He could see a thousand holes in the story of his past now, and he wasn't ready to face any of them. He didn't know what he would do if Tom suspected him of inventing his own past, of playing him as a fool for this long. Yet Harry's stories were all half-truths… all he needed was to give his sincere accounts of the past if asked, whilst somehow making them fit into the doings of Grindelwald… He wasn't ready for this.

Harry could sense Tom looking at him. Tom had been reading the articles Harry read, watching over his shoulder. When he looked up, Harry saw that Tom's countenance was blank, but he understood that Tom comprehended how this article related to Grindelwald. They looked at each other for a moment, listening vaguely to the Death Eaters who had become bored with waiting to see their reactions to the main article in the _Prophet_.

"Can I have a word with you, Jonathan?" Tom asked, his expression never changing. Harry understood he was only saying this for the Death Eaters.

"Sure," Harry replied, trying to remain impassive as many of the Death Eaters turned to see what Tom could possibly want with talking to 'Jonathan' yet again.

Harry followed Tom out of the Great Hall, across the Entrance Hall and down a stone staircase that lead to the dungeons. They walked for a little under a minute before Tom found an empty classroom, and Harry followed him inside. When the door was closed behind them, Tom turned to look at Harry. He paused for a minute, finding his words.

"That attack on London… Grindelwald was a part of it, wasn't he?"

Somehow, hearing these words from Tom was the worst thing of all to Harry, who dropped his gaze. "I don't know if it was him," he replied honestly, "but a lot of things suggest it was."

"Germany," Tom began, "that have to be among some of the main countries he's managed to get power over."

Harry said nothing, allowing Tom to carry on with his theories.

"His name suggest as much – with his Hungarian first name, 'Gellert', and his German last name, 'Grindelwald'. There was also that article about–"

"The Hungarian and German Ministries wanting to share joint units with other countries, most of all with Britain," Harry finished.

"Hungary has been an ally of Germany since the First World War," Tom remarked.

"Which means that the Minister's refusal could have provoked the attack on London."

"He's wisely using the Muggle War as the excuse as his own personal reply to the British Ministry," Tom said. "The Muggles aren't thinking twice about where the explosion came from, yet the whole Wizarding World know about the magical power was put into it."

"It was right above a part of the Ministry, as well." Harry added, the worry audible in his voice. "As if the Minister needed any more signs to understand what this was all about."

Tom was watching Harry's expression. There was a short pause at this point where Tom's thoughts lingered on. "He's going to try and take over Britain, isn't he?"

Harry paused, his stomach twisted with nerves. "He's already taken over so many other Ministries… so I'm guessing he'll want to infiltrate Britain too."

"It must be simple for him to take advantage of the Muggle war, now that he's inside the other Ministries," Tom suggested. His voice was carefully composed, and Harry wondered what he was feeling. "There was also talk about Magical Creatures and Dark Wizards being tracked by the joint Ministry if England was to join in."

"Making it possible to get Magical Creatures and Dark Wizards out of sight if you're in power," Harry confirmed. "He could have had people and beings doing his biding all over Europe and England without anyone noticing…" Harry hated the parallels the work of Grindelwald drew with Voldemort, but he tried not to think about that too much. He had to tell himself over and over again that he wasn't actually linked in this war… Well, he wouldn't have to fight in it, anyway.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry wondered how much Tom admired Grindelwald for his success, and how much he hated it for being related to Harry, and being related to taking over England. Tom's next words interrupted Harry's thoughts, "But the Minister ought to know about all of this?"

"I hope so," Harry replied. "She has to know about some of it, at least. She would be a fool to miss the connection; if it is that she knows or has theories about what's happening in most of the Ministries across Europe."

"Oh, I don't doubt she has theories," Tom replied. "There has been a lot of whispering about the work of Grindelwald, even if most of the world is in denial."

Harry thought back to an article he had read, dated back to 1942. There was a huge scene in the centre of France where a man was shouting about Grindelwald's organization and power before he was Apparated away by a group of seven figures cloaked in black material. The main newspapers, such as the Daily Prophet, didn't post much more than a short article about the said man having suffered a blow to the head, saying that the French hospitals were not aware of his existence before they came to get him, 'Apparating him to where professionals would examine him for injury'. In truth, he was an ex-associate of Grindelwald, who had realized just how far Gellert was going to take his anti-Muggle messages. This was one of many peculiar accounts relating to Grindelwald.

As Harry was thinking about this, Tom had been watching him. After what seemed like a long pause to Harry, Tom asked, "What will you do if he comes to England?"

Harry dwelt upon this thought for a moment, taking his apparent suffering and his entire past into consideration. "If he comes to England, then… I suppose I see how close he ends up coming to me again. Then, if I can manage it, I'll kill him myself."

Tom looked as though he wanted to ask something else past this, but he held his tongue. After another pause, he said, "We should go back to the others."

"Yeah," Harry replied. When he said no more, Tom slowly made his way towards the exit, and Harry followed. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long day, as his time of blissfulness was already over…


	19. Confide & Conceal

Harry watched as the Death Eaters conversed around him in the dimly lit Headquarters, talking of unimportant things yet again as they relaxed from an evening of training in the Dark Arts. Harry had fallen into the habit of looking up at the other students and teachers at Hogwarts far more often over the last few days, because he simply couldn't get over how bizarre it was to finally have access to almost everybody's mind. He still wasn't perfect at Legilimency, but he knew that he was getting better, slowly.

He practiced an impassive countenance as he viewed the faces and minds of the students around the table, knowing that Tom, so sat besides him, cast him glances every now and then, and would thus be curious if he saw or worked out how amazed Harry was with the new ability to access thought. What Harry was interested in most of all at this time was what the Death Eaters thought about the sudden close friendship between Tom and himself, which hadn't seemed to escape their notice. Harry could only ever read someone's mind when they made total eye contact with him, but that gesture normally came with a wave of new thoughts from the particular Death Eater being watched, relating to Harry, and thus relating to their theories on why Tom suddenly favoured him.

None of their guesses were ever close to the truth, but it intrigued Harry nevertheless to know what it was, exactly, that they each thought. Even their abstract thoughts interested him, their worries about the day and their vague memories of the past. He could finally understand everything about the people around him, besides Tom. A lot of the Death Eaters seemed to assume that his and Tom's new amity was only because Harry was quite good at the Dark Arts, yet a few of them took the recent event of Harry having nearly drifted away from this group into consideration, which resulted in far more interesting ponderings.

Avery was under the impression that Tom had recently sought revenge upon Harry as predicted, and after several acts of evil and much negotiation, Tom had forced or blackmailed Harry into being a proper Death Eater. Avery didn't take his assumptions much past this, for he told himself that the exact details were probably going to stay between Harry and Tom, and he didn't want to get too involved. He contemplated asking Harry a little about it sometimes, but the close relation between Harry and Tom made him hesitant to launch this small plan.

Nott and Lestrange seemed to have talked about this matter together quite a bit, for they both shared the same suspicion in their minds, suggesting that Harry was getting extra lessons in the Dark Arts in exchange for remaining at Tom's side as a Death Eater. Nott and Lestrange were both rather ambitious in their success for the Dark Arts, and Harry was sure that they liked nothing better than being some of the best Death Eaters. They hated the idea of Harry being close to Tom, but not out of jealousy, exactly, merely caution.

Dolohov didn't really seem to care, or else wondered if Harry was ever going to be a teacher of the Dark Arts, like Tom one day. Mulciber was with a few of the other Death Eaters in being satisfied that Harry couldn't succeed in leaving this group, and he was otherwise wondering if Harry could possibly become better than him with the Imperius Curse. He was sure, after some thought, that this would be impossible, because he liked to cause people pain far more than anyone else here possibly could…

Harry was currently listening in on a conversation being held about the different Hogwarts houses. Harry had become used to the Death Eaters sneering at Gryffindors for hours on end, but this one conversation caught his interest more than usual, perhaps because he was faintly bored. Avery, Lestrange and Mulciber were talking to a seventh year boy with the surname Rosier, who was from Ravenclaw. They were discussing the way in which houses were chosen.

"You _must_ want to be a Slytherin, though," Avery persisted, as if this was a known fact. Rosier had just finished wording what it was like being a Ravenclaw. "You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Well, of course I do want to be a Slytherin _sometimes_, but my intelligence still surpasses my sense of ambition," Rosier claimed, as the two Ravenclaw boys besides him nodded. "There's no rule saying that only Slytherins can enjoy learning the Dark Arts, anyway. Many of you convince me at times that being a part of this house would have been somewhat of a more interesting choice, but I still enjoy being a Ravenclaw."

"But you ain't here because you want to live up to what your house has been known for," Mulciber reminded him.

"I'm here because I'm interested in the Magic that is taught," Rosier replied, perhaps trying to push away Mulciber's assumptions. "This is the only place where I can get such an accurate overview of the Dark Arts, and the only place where I can practice it until my skills are satisfactory."

"What about you?" Mulciber asked of a Hufflepuff sitting a few seats away from Rosier.

"Hufflepuffs are loyal and hard working, what else do you need?" the boy responded, before turning back to his own conversation.

Mulciber smirked slightly at this, before saying, "Which gives all the houses in except Gryffindor reasons to be useful the world."

"Courage won't get them anywhere," Avery agreed, "except for working at the Ministry, maybe, and that's not exactly going to be much use in the end."

"We can't say _all_ of them are useless, though," Lestrange commented. "Don't you remember Gibbon?"

"Oh," said Mulciber, "I nearly forgot about him."

"Gibbon was different, though," said Avery. "He hated Gryffindor even before he joined us. Didn't he ask the Hat to be sorted into the house just to annoy his parents?"

"So he said, but I never believed it," Rosier commented.

"But he _did_ loose many Quidditch matches against Slytherin on purpose, just to enrage the other Gryffindors," Lestrange reminded them all.

"I remember that!" Avery exclaimed. "Didn't he start throwing goals in his own team's hoop in one match? The look on the Gryffindors' faces was priceless."

"That's what they get for being narcissistic bastards, I suppose…"

Harry stopped listening soon after this, for he didn't really care to hear the low opinions on Gryffindors from the other Death Eaters. He turned to look at Tom, who hadn't joined into any of the conversations that he listened to either. Tom was generally inexpressive, until he observed Harry watching him. They looked at each other for a moment, wordlessly agreeing upon how they craved for the Death Eaters to leave the headquarters, giving them a chance to be alone, together, again…

The Death Eaters didn't leave until around forty-five minutes later, some of them having left earlier, and some of them, such as Nott, Dolohov and Rosier, only leaving when they decided that the people who were gone would be holding more interesting conversations in the House Common Rooms. When the last student closed the door behind them, the two remaining Slytherin boys gazed at one another, savouring the knowledge that they had time ahead of them to spend at will.

Tom reached out his hand to intertwine his fingers with Harry's own, examining his countenance as he did so. As Harry viewed Tom's expression, he could sense that the grey-eyed boy wanted to talk about Grindelwald again. Harry had been trying lightly to postpone all conversation relating to this very subject, and he felt a little concerned with knowing that he could have to talk about this again now, so Tom could be sure that he understood everything Harry thought about the situation. Harry waited for Tom to speak.

"There haven't been any articles in the news lately that could be related to Grindelwald, from what I've seen," he began.

"I know," Harry said, dropping his gaze from Tom as he spoke. "I just hope it'll stay that way."

Tom paused after this, perhaps because he was keen to start this conversation without annoying Harry in any way. "I noticed that you started reading the newspapers from the Death Eaters, which you never did previously… Did you not expect him to attempt an attack on England at all?"

"Not so soon," Harry replied, "and definitely not so quietly."

"Do you think he will make a grander introduction?" Tom asked, his tone quiet and careful.

"I'm not sure," Harry said. "If he does, I want to make sure that I know of everything relating to him in the news beforehand."

If Grindelwald did indeed decide he was confident enough in his followers to launch a well-publicised and full attack upon Britain, Harry dearly hoped that it wouldn't be any time in the near future. He wasn't sure if he could research every rumour and truth about Grindelwald any sooner than over the next month, and the only way he could ever stop the pressure that came with this comprehension was by scanning the newspapers each day, to remind him when he found nothing that he had another day at least to learn more. He wasn't at all confident that he could lie about this completely off the top of his head.

"How powerful is he?" Tom asked quietly after somewhat of a pause, as though it wasn't important.

"I don't even know," Harry answered in truth. "Powerful enough to threaten all of Europe, and to control and kill as many people as he has, too."

"In magic, is he powerful? Or is it merely the protection he has built around him that helps him survive such an endeavour?"

"A mix of both, I think," Harry decided.

"How many people actually follow him, or is it unknown? Does he get the Ministries involved in his attacks?"

Harry suddenly felt as though these questions were a little too straightforward, but he pushed the thought out of his mind so as to find an answer. "No one can know for sure. He had quite a few people when I knew about him, but since then they could have grown in numbers a lot, or even shrunk."

"And they stay near him most of the time?"

"Yeah."

"Does he let many people join him?"

Harry paused. "I don't know…"

Tom gave a hum of understanding before falling into a silence, which made the room rather quiet. Harry wondered what Tom could be thinking about, as he examined his handsome and expressionless face. He wondered why Tom was mute after all of these questions, which he had surely been burning to ask. The only thing he could have learnt about this conversation so far was how powerful Harry supposed Grindelwald was at this time. Harry could see no use in this knowledge… until a thought struck him.

Could Tom possibly be trying to suss out the strength, intention and determination of Grindelwald through Harry so he could work out exactly what he would one day have to exceed? Harry was frozen with this one thought, knowing that it was perfectly possible… How long ago could it have been since Tom worked out the power of Gellert Grindelwald? Long ago enough, Harry was suddenly sure, for Tom to begin idolizing the Dark Wizard. Could Tom be contemplating the idea of joining Grindelwald, even? If Grindelwald wasn't going to be defeated in the next year, Harry was sure that Tom would be more than willing to join him – with his Death Eaters – to help this anti-Muggle organization, even if it meant using Harry's information along the way.

From all that Harry knew of the first Wizard War, Voldemort's motives had been almost parallel to that of Grindelwald from the start. They both despised Muggles and Mudbloods, wanted Wizards to rule over the world, and hoped to one day be the leader of all that they improved. They also both wished for immortality, yet Tom was far more successful in such an aspiration. Who was to say that Tom wasn't planning on learning how to become a Dark Wizard so soon?

Harry found himself becoming aggravated as he looked at Tom, whose eyes were averted to the table in front of them as he thought. All of these questions could just be to know about Grindelwald more, to use Harry in setting the standards… Tom only looked up when he felt Harry's hand leave his own.

"Why do you care how powerful he is?" Harry asked, his voice displaying no set emotion.

Tom was impassive as he watched Harry, trying to work out why he was asking this. "I'm merely curious," he stated carefully.

Harry surveyed Tom carefully at this, trying to work out whether he was lying or not. He didn't want to believe that Tom would play to his emotions just to get select information, yet it fitted his character well. Harry could see no other reason for the questions, and couldn't even remember why Tom would have started this conversation at all if not to gain information.

Something in Harry expression seemed to help Tom in working out what he was feeling after a while, for he added carefully, "I only care so I can understand how much of a threat he is."

Harry perceived these words incorrectly from worry. "What, so you can know how much power someone needs to have to take over an entire country? So you can know how to put that power to use for the best effect?"

Tom appeared a little stunned with this, but his will to be understood soon overruled all other emotion, "I was merely trying to understand what threat he puts upon the whole of England, and –"

"Caring what threat he puts upon England doesn't make up for half of those questions," Harry interrupted, the anger clearly audible in his voice.

For the first time Tom looked somewhat annoyed. "I was _also_ attempting to work out what threat he puts upon you alone!"

Harry fell silent. His mind raced to think back over the conversation, and he shortly realised that this too was a perfectly plausible intention for Tom to have. It took Harry by sheer surprise. He didn't know what to reply to this, and he was still in half a mind to not believe the other boy. Tom glared at Harry for a moment, before elaborating his meaning.

"A few days ago you said you'd try to kill Grindelwald if ever he came to England and crossed your own path," Tom reminded him, his voice now quieter ad calmer than before, "but I am aware of the fact that having the ambition to rid someone so powerful from this earth isn't a prospect that should be wished for without a plan, and without an accurate understanding of who is around him, what power he has and what will happen to you if anyone worked out who murdered him. You would make yourself a lot of enemies with this one kill… I was worried that you would run away from the school at the first mention of him definitely being in the country, and do this unprepared before I could work out what you thought and planned in advance."

This also made complete sense, and Harry felt somewhat guilty about lashing out at Tom. These words soon lead Harry to think about the murders that Tom had already committed on his father and grandparents. From what Harry knew, that event hadn't been planned at all… unless Tom had gone to Little Hangleton in the hope of murdering the Gaunts alone, and had changed his intention at the last minute. Harry wondered how much thought he had put into the idea, and he also wondered whether Tom would pretend to be against the suggestion of murder as a whole at this time, to appear innocent of his own crimes. Although… it sounded to Harry as though Tom could even be planning to help if he really did want to kill Grindelwald so much.

"I would never join Grindelwald," Tom said, helping Harry's lack for words.

"I know," Harry replied, not at all sure whether he believed Tom on this or not, "I was just being paranoid…"

"I don't think so," Tom observed. Harry looked up at him again slowly. "With teaching my friends all that I know in the Dark Arts, and with holding opinions as strong as my own upon the Muggle population in the world, I can see how you would fear the idea of me perhaps wishing to join the power of Grindelwald. Even my friends, on occasion, think that I could be raising some form of an army, as you have no doubt seen."

Harry hesitated to think about this, not knowing whether it was supposed to be a confession or an explanation on what Harry could have seen in the situation, so Tom could apologise for the confusion. If it was the later, Harry wondered why a simple 'sorry' couldn't do. "So… you're definitely _not_ trying to raise an army trained in the Dark Arts then?"

"My own interests lie in studying the Dark Arts to extreme extents, before perhaps moving onto teaching, as I believe I've already told you. I, of course, will make quite a few drastic choices along the way to pushing the boundaries of magic, but my interest in despising the Muggles won't be very prominent. Not when there are so many other Wizards out there who can get themselves killed for the same opinions that I have, at this age… After a time, I might get into politics and so on, yet I can't imagine that happening in the near future."

Harry wondered how much Tom was lying here, or if he was telling the complete truth. If he really did want to do nothing more in life than push the boundaries of the Dark Arts and share his knowledge with the world, Harry had to admit that his plans didn't seem quite as ill intended as one would expect. Tom seemed to take his silence as a cue to carry on explaining his own thoughts.

"Grindelwald is merely another example to watch, as he attempts the challenge of supporting Wizard power and bringing down the Muggles. He is someone who we can examine in bringing the world to its knees for a short while, but he won't be much more successful than anyone else from the endless parade of people with the same flawed plans. He's doing well in convincing most of the world that he doesn't truly exist, I must own, but my own power and skills will never be given to any Wizard such as him, for I am not the type to follow a leader… Especially not one who has caused so much pain to you personally."

Harry gazed at Tom, and couldn't help be inclined towards believing that he was telling the truth. He was overjoyed to know that Tom cared about him enough to hate Grindelwald, and never want to follow someone such as him, but he couldn't help but dwell upon the knowledge that Tom would become just like Grindelwald one day. Harry didn't know how to tell Tom about his gratitude alone after these thoughts, and his harsh assumptions only minutes ago. Tom carried on talking, perhaps reading the emotion upon Harry's face.

"Grindelwald is strong," he said, "and doubtlessly in a position of a large amount of power, but there is still much he can be brought down by."

"Like what?" Harry asked. He was glad of a slight change in conversation, and was curious to know if Tom's theories would be close to what would really happen.

"Killing Wizards so carelessly will get him nowhere, to begin an endless list of flaws," Tom replied quietly. "To spill so much Magical blood when he is not even in full power seems a rather foolish thing to do… He has, evidently, gained more enemies than supporters in a very short space of time. If he cannot even _pretend_ to have sincere concerns for some of the people he's fighting for and against, he won't get very far. He is in no position to become a ruler of England if he leaves such bloody trails."

Harry was curious to know just how much Tom looked into the History of Dark Wizards, even if he did not initially plan on being one himself. His guesses for the downfall of Grindelwald were quite accurate, except for the fact that it wasn't since taking over Ministries that Gellert created his greatest enemy. Harry supposed that the murder Dumbledore's sister, Ariana, was amongst some of Grindelwald's first mistakes, to be followed by many repeats of the same thing… "So you think that he's going to be defeated soon?" Harry asked.

"Not _soon,_ exactly," Tom replied, "merely in the next five to ten years or so… perhaps less. I'm sure he'll cause much havoc, and perhaps take away even more lives than he already has, and he will certainly be very well known if he does manage to take over Britain for a time, but his determination to do everything so quickly, to kill people for just being there, will make it rather easy for his enemies to bring him down."

"You make the idea of him causing terror in random places around the Wizarding and Muggle world seem like nothing," Harry commented, his tone inexpressive.

Tom examined Harry's expression at this, perhaps trying to make sure that he hadn't offended Harry's apparent and true suffering from Wizarding Wars. "It won't be a bearable time, as I am not blind to understand," he said softly, "but it won't be quite as bad for you personally, this time… As long as you don't seek mirthless revenge upon him the day reports claim he is upon English soil, anyway."

"It's still a war," Harry said, not sure why he was drawing Tom's attention to this idea.

"Indeed," Tom replied, "and I don't look forward to it. If we can be spared the suffering from an unwise Wizard's sightless endeavour, I would be relieved and glad to know that the world won't be affected in a way that could be avoided had the leader of the anti-Muggle association been somewhat more intelligent."

At this, Harry wondered what on earth the First Wizarding War lead by Voldemort must have been like. It would, obviously, have been before Voldemort's thirteen years of suffering in the realm between life and death… so perhaps Riddle had been relatively saner. He could have been more careful in his choices, when he first began leading his own army of Death Eaters to try and take over the Wizarding World. From what Harry knew by becoming closer to him, Tom's abilities to work out the ways of other people and to learn from the mistakes of others would doubtlessly take him far in the first war.

Perhaps in the second war Voldemort had merely become a little too determined in his wish to kill Harry, thus he couldn't work upon his other plans. As Harry grew, so did the possibilities of him being Voldemort's downfall, which seemed enough to drive anyone more insane than ever before. Tom's top priority was to remain immortal – perhaps to be sure that he could look into the Dark Arts no matter what at first – so the idea that he, Harry, could have defeated that rule of security, even when he was so young, was playing to one of Voldemort's biggest fears.

In the course of thinking about this, Tom had become occupied with examining Harry from where he sat. Tom reached out his hand for a second time tonight, and slowly offered for Harry to take it again. Harry accepted, more than happily, weaving his fingers together with Tom's. Tom smiled lightly at this, his eyes travelling Harry's face.

"I'm sorry about accusing you for wanting to join Grindelwald," Harry said after a time.

"I'm not offended," Tom replied. "I should have been more considerate." He paused for a minute, before saying, "I also should have seen this coming before, and made sure you never suspected my questions as being odd at all."

Harry looked up at Tom, and smiled a little at this. "Well, I'm glad I could catch you in your plan at least."

"Which ruins the grand effect for me," Tom replied.

"You could have told me, you know."

"Yes, and I should have."

Harry didn't know what to reply to this, but Tom soon spoke again. "We should go back to the Common Room."

Harry thought about this, wondering if Tom meant these words as they looked at each other. When Tom didn't pull away as Harry leant in and kissed him, Harry supposed that he changed his mind.


	20. Madam Puddifoot's

It was Monday, February the fourteenth. Valentines Day. When Harry arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, prepared for another long day of school, he could hear the students talking with cheerful excitement about what plans they had for the day, and as he walked closer towards the Slytherin table, he caught glimpses of hundreds of couples happily seated together at their own tables. All he could really think to himself, as he tried to avoid looking too determinedly for Tom where the Death Eaters sat, was that he hated this day of the year almost as much as Christmas. It just reminded him of the freedom he could not have. The struggle of relationships in general was bad enough without an annual reminder, in his mind.

He had talked to Tom a few days ago about the idea of Valentines Day, and along with both agreeing upon how much they hated the holidays anyway, they had settled with the procedure of not getting each other anything, to avoid questions. This plan suited Harry just fine, and he felt far less nervous with this in mind as he sat across from Tom on the Slytherin table. Harry looked up at Tom, and they silently communicated their feelings for the day by reading each other's subtle expressions. Dolohov, who was sitting two seats to Tom's right, soon interrupted Harry.

"You got any plans for the day?" he asked.

"No," Harry replied.

"Good, because we're all going to go to Hogsmeade together, and we need an even number. You'll make us have fourteen people."

"Why do you need an even number?" Harry asked curiously.

Dolohov smirked, "It's a surprise."

Dolohov joined another conversation, and Harry didn't think to read his thoughts before his eyes were averted. He turned to Tom. "Are you going?"

"Yes," Tom replied.

"Do you have any clue why it matters how many of us there are?"

"From what I can tell, my friends have some sort of plan … they do this occasionally, and don't inform me so as to be sure that I don't stop them beforehand."

"You never guess?" Harry asked, thinking of Legilimency.

"I can never find an objection," Tom replied, "and I must admit that it is often quite amusing."

Harry wasn't really sure what Tom meant by this, but he also wasn't that bothered now he knew Tom would be there too. He guessed that maybe the Death Eaters were planning on gambling again, and they needed an even number of people to do so. As breakfast ended, the students within the Great Hall piled into the corridors for the lessons that would be held for the first half of the day. The day passed relatively quickly for Harry, who was in no rush to be anywhere.

When lunch too came and passed, Harry found himself walking across the school grounds with a dozen Death Eaters and Tom, heading towards Hogsmeade. It was a relatively sunny day, even if some clouds still hung over of the castle now and then, and when they arrived in the heart of Hogsmeade, sunshine shone happily upon the houses and buildings of the town.

"This seems like a perfect day to ruin someone else's day," Avery laughed as they headed through the streets.

"We aren't ruining no one's day," Mulciber said, smirking, "We're just making our own more enjoyable."

"I dare you to say they when people start to get annoyed," Avery said.

"Nah, I'll hex them if they dare start to get annoyed," Mulciber replied.

A few of the Death Eaters sniggered at this, before Nott said, "They can all leave if they don't like us being there."

"Where are we going, exactly?" Harry asked.

A few of them grinned at this, and Avery replied, "We'll be there in a minute."

Harry was slightly surprised when they passed the Three Broomsticks at this point, and he tried to think where else might be a preferable spot for the company he walked with. He contemplated the Hog's Head, though they were going in the wrong direction for that.

"Here we are," Dolohov said as they turned another corner.

Harry looked up at the street ahead of them, seeing Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop and Dervish & Bangs amongst a few other places. It was only after scanning the scene a few more times that Harry saw another shop, and he suddenly realised that this was exactly where they were heading.

"We're going to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Yup," Dolohov replied. The Death Eaters were all grinning at this point, and a few of them laughed at Harry's reaction.

Harry suddenly understood exactly why they were going here. There was doubtlessly going to be tens of couples crammed into this shop, and none of them would expect over a dozen of the school's most feared students to barge right in there and ruin the day. Harry himself couldn't help but like this idea a little, for he had hated this unbearably tacky tearoom since his fifth year at Hogwarts. He wondered what the Death Eaters had in mind as he smiled a little.

When they walked into the shop, Avery, Nott and Dolohov were leading the way. The Death Eaters were all sniggering quietly whilst viewing the bewildered looks on the faces of all the other students within the room, and Harry saw many conversations stop amongst tables as people turned to look at the new arrivals.

The room was as vulgarly decorated as Harry had ever known it to be, with it's tables and walls decorated in frills and pretty pictures, and with the same plump, golden cherubs throwing pink confetti around the room which Harry remembered only too well. It was also just as cramped and congested as ever, even with many of its tables still free.

Before any of the Death Eaters could decide upon where they were all going to sit, a waitress had walked out from the back room of the shop, and was now staring at Harry, Tom and the Death Eaters. She seemed lost for words for a few minutes, as she watched them all with disapproving eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but only couples are allowed within this shop."

"Don't worry about it," Avery replied, smirking, "we're an even number."

The waitress scanned the laughing Death Eaters again, who had decided, at these words, to divide into pairs. Harry felt someone move to stand besides him, and he looked up to see Tom with a light smile upon his lips. Avery was left alone at the front. "There are seventeen of you," the waitress pointed out.

Avery looked a little surprised at this, and he turned around to look at the people behind him again. "Oh, I forgot about the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs…"

"So either one of you leaves, or you all do," the waitress confirmed, doubtlessly hoping for the last suggestion.

Avery thought about this, before turning around again and moving to stand between Harry and Tom. He put his hands around both of their shoulders, saying, "We're a threesome."

Harry heard the Death Eaters break out into fits of laughter at this, as the waitress appeared completely solemn. "But not one of you are an actual couple–"

"We're in two's, aren't we?" a Death Eater asked.

The waitress seemed annoyed further with this, and she was no doubt about to point out the main mistake in this statement, before she viewed the looks on the faces of the Hogwarts students seated elsewhere in the room. Perhaps she had heard a rumour or two about a particular group of mostly Slytherin boys causing much havoc up at the school, for her own expression changed to one of curious fear as she looked at the new arrivals again.

The Death Eaters took this to mean they had won, and everyone split up to find their own tables. Harry watched a few actual couples leave the store as soon as the Death Eaters moved further into the room, and the waitress looked upon them with great dismay, knowing she was loosing customers with this, and also knowing that she wouldn't be able to throw out the Death Eaters in any simple way. Students had soon vacated an entire corner of the room, where most of the Death Eaters, along with Harry, Tom and Avery, were headed. This left almost everyone to sit in a way that offered conversation for all to join in.

Some of the real couples were frozen with confusion at their tables as they watched the waitress reluctantly walk over to the main corner of the room, holding her quill and parchment to take orders. Avery had stolen a chair from an empty table, and he now sat with little room next to Harry, who was surprised to find this all quite amusing. Tom, on Harry's other side, was watching Mulciber attempt what looked like a vivisection on one of the flying cherubs.

"What do you want to order?" asked the waitress, a little impatiently.

"I dunno," Avery, who was closest to the waitress, said, "what have you got?"

"Well coffee, of course, then cake –"

"Coffee and cake it is!" Avery interrupted.

The waitress closed her eyes for a few moments as if it was a struggle to ignore such a rude gesture. "What kind of cake would you like, sir?"

"Me? I'll have something with chocolate and vanilla in it, and – what do you want Jonathan?"

"I'll have treacle tart, if they have any," Harry replied, smirking.

"You got any of that?" Avery asked the waitress.

"We have every variation of cake known to the Wizarding world, as long as it has been listed within the global glossary of-"

"Lovely," Avery cut across the waitress again. "What do you want, Tom?"

"The same as Jonathan, I suppose," Tom replied.

"What about you Nott, Lestrange?"

"Blackberry for me," Lestrange decided.

"'I'll have one of them cherry bakewell cakes," Nott replied.

Avery then asked eleven more Death Eaters what they would be having, and after a while they each began giving more and more difficult orders. Avery looked around the room a few more times to see whom he had missed, and he spotted Dolohov on the complete opposite side of the room.

"OI, DOLOHOV!" Avery shouted, to the waitress's shock. "WHAT KIND OF CAKE DO YOU WANT?"

This left many of the Death Eaters in fits of laughter again, and Harry himself couldn't help but join in. Dolohov's voice soon drifted across the room, louder than truly needed from a lack of care.

"I WANT A TENTH STRAWBERRY, A TWENTIETH WHITE CHOCOLATE, A FIFTIETH CHERRY, A SEVENTH APPLE AND A FOURTIETH OF NORMAL CHOCOLATE!"

"You cannot order that," the waitress said, her tone cold, "it is mathematically incorrect."

"So?" Avery asked.

"So," said the witch, "you cannot have a cake with one hundred and twenty seven percent of anything out of one hundred!"

"DOLOHOW, DID YOU HEAR THAT? WHAT'RE WE GUNNA DO ABOUT THAT LAST TWENTY-SIX PRECENT?"

"I DUNNO," replied Dolohov. "PUT IT ON THE SIDE, I SUPPOSE!"

"Please, stop _shouting_!" said the witch loudly.

"Hark who's talking," a Death Eater commented from a few tables away.

"We are in a _public teashop_," the witch reminded them, sounding a little hysterical. "There will be no raising of voices here!"

"Dolohov said 'put it on the side', if you didn't catch that," Avery clarified, ignoring everything else she said.

"What?" she snapped.

"Impatient much," a Death Eater mumbled.

"I notice you didn't write it down yet," Avery explained, "He said he wanted a tenth strawberry, a twentieth white choc-"

"I know very well what he said!" the waitress barked, just as annoyed as ever. She had evidently never endured such difficult customers inside her shop before.

"Did you also definitely write down what I changed about my own cake?" Avery asked.

"Yes, sir, I have written down all that you changed about your cake."

"We'll see about that," Avery replied, pretending to glare at the witch.

She turned to leave, and headed straight for the back room of the shop. Avery turned to look at Harry and Tom as if he was surprised with her reaction, "I can tell you for sure that I'm never coming here again." His voice was loud enough to carry across the whole shop. "So _impatient!_"

"How long d'you reckon it will take her to get all of those orders?" Nott asked Avery with a smile.

"Better not take too long," Avery replied, "or I'll have to write to my aunt who works in the Department of Control and Regulation of Magical Bakery to shut down this place."

"The what?"

"You know, the _Department of Control and Regulation of Magical Bakery_ at the Ministry of Magic!" Avery replied in a carrying voice.

"Don't let her hear you say that," Nott said in mock concern.

"Ah, true," Avery returned, "we don't want anyone to know about my aunt. She's basically a Ministry spy. It's a family secret, you know."

"How long have you been planning this?" Harry asked, laughing with the other Death Eaters.

"Well," Nott answered, "we've had the idea of ruining some students' Valentines Day for a long while – we do it almost every year. We got the idea to come _here_ only this week, though. We heard some Gryffindors talk about it, and know it was the perfect place."

Harry heard even more students leaving the teashop, as they had been doing every few minutes. It was especially amusing to watch new people walk in, only to see this ill company. "Don't any of you have girlfriends to spend the day with?" Harry asked.

"Not yet, mate," Avery grinned, "but we will in a few hours."

"For a few hours," a Death Eater Harry didn't recognise added.

A few of them laughed again at this.

"To be more serious, not _all_ of us are here," Avery said, "and my own girlfriend, Nancy White, wants to spend the day with her friends because–"

"Keep dreaming," Mulciber cut in. "Nancy will never be your girlfriend!"

"What?" Avery asked, his tone disbelieving. "I'll have you know she _will_ be my girlfriend soon! Only yesterday she was telling me about–"

"I bet you ten galleons you can't get in her pants by tonight," Mulciber interrupted.

"I'll bet you _twenty_ galleons I can!" Avery replied.

"I'll bet you forty galleons she'll report you to the headmaster of the school," Lestrange said.

"You're on," Avery replied, "and if I win, I'll be richer _and_ will be with the hottest girl in school, and then you'll be sorry!"

Just then, the waitress appeared from the back room of the shop, levitating seventeen cups of coffee and a cake to go along with each. These orders landed upon each table, in front of the Death Eater who had asked for it. The Death Eaters all smiled, and picked up the spoons that came with their coffee.

"Enjoy," the witch said, before turning to leave again.

"Excuse me, miss," said Rosier, who sat a few tables to Harry's left. "I believe this order is incorrect."

The waitress turned back to look at Rosier, her eyes resting upon his Ravenclaw robes for a minute, before she said, "That is impossible."

"I said I wanted cherries."

The waitress looked back down at the parchment on her hands. "It says here that you claimed 'I don't want cherries because they're sour'."

"Exactly," said Rosier.

"I don't follow you," said the witch. "It clearly states here that you didn't want cherries-"

"No," Rosier interrupted, "I said, 'I don't want cherries because they're sour'. By that, I _didn't_ mean; 'I wish for no cherries at all because they are sour in taste'. In fact, cherries aren't sour at all! I meant that I wanted them, and _not_ just because they are sour. Get your facts straight!"

The waitress stared at Rosier. "You wanted cherries, and not because they are sour?"

"Yes," Rosier replied. "I didn't want cherries because they are sour; I wanted them because they are sweet."

"Then you should have made that more clear," the waitress said, still very confused.

"The customer is always right!" Rosier argued. "That sentence made perfect sense!"

The witch seemed very annoyed with this double meaning. "Would you like me to change your order?" she asked unkindly.

"No, thanks. I'll stick with what I've got," Rosier replied. "You've ruined cherries forever for me."

They laughed again as she turned to leave, looking both confused and embarrassed. Harry wondered whether any of the Death Eaters had understood the two meanings of that sentence, yet he wasn't sure if it even mattered for them. He felt Tom's leg brush against his own under the table, and he looked at him for a minute, smiling a little before turning back to the treacle tart in front of him. The Death Eater's carried on talking, their loud voices amongst the only thing to be heard in the progressively emptying shop.

They stayed in the teashop all afternoon, ordering cake after cake, coffee after coffee. Harry could see the Death Eaters becoming progressively more hyper with the amount of sugar they were all eating, and after a few hours groups of the Death Eaters began laughing at nothing at all for large amounts of time. It was around five o'clock when an event occurred that got all seventeen Death Eaters thrown out of the shop.

Avery and Mulciber were arguing, laughing and shouting insults at one another from their tables. Mulciber was taunting Avery about how he could never go out with Nancy White, and Avery was arguing back retorts until he stopped, and picked up a strawberry cheesecake from a random table, lobbing it at Mulciber. It hit him right in the face, and he was just about to pull out his wand before the owner of the shop got involved.

"CLOWNS!" She shouted, "GET OUT OF HERE YOU MUGGLE CLOWNS! I WILL NOT HAVE SUCH FOOLISH CHILDREN IN MY TEA–CHOP! OUT!"

"Tea-chop!" Nott managed through breathless laughter. "Tea… chop…"

She grabbed a broomstick and began beating the Death Eaters out of their seats, until they headed for the door. They were howling with laughter and stumbling away from the owner of the shop as they piled onto the street. When everyone was standing, and the laughter died down a little, someone spoke.

"Oi," Avery said, "who is gunna pay for that if she kicked us all out? We have to have spent at least thirty galleons on cake."

Harry knew that thirty galleons were similar to around one hundred and fifty Muggle pounds. The Death Eaters all looked at each other, contemplating this.

"I say we run," Nott said, laughing.

"Quick then!" Dolohov said, laughing more.

The Death Eaters started walking at a quick pace, running away from the teashop. They made their way along the road that would lead them to the High Street. They continued laughing as they made their way past Gladrags, Zonko's, Honeydukes and the Owl Post Office, heading vaguely back towards the school. They stopped near the end of the street.

"I say we go to The Three Broomsticks!" Lestrange declared.

"Yeah!" agreed the Death Eaters with great enthusiasm.

"I mean, what else can we do with all the extra money we have?" Avery grinned.

So they made their way towards the Wizarding pub, and ordered the _finest_ oak matured mead, butterbeer, firewhisky, gillywater, red currant rum, and even cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella. It was late when as the Death Eaters staggering again inside this shop, this time due to a grand assumption of alcohol instead of a rush of sugar. Some of the Death Eaters had found other groups within the pub to follow back up to Hogwarts, and it was around ten O'clock when Tom quietly offered Harry to retreat to the castle too. Harry accepted; glad to get away from some of the rowdy Death Eaters.

They made their way slowly along the path that would lead up to the school. Neither Tom nor Harry had consumed quite as much sugar and alcohol as the Death Eaters, so they were quite a lot calmer and more focused as they talked to one another. The torches and fires within the school ignited Hogwarts, thus it was easy for the two boys to know their way back up to the castle, even as the night was so dark.

As Harry looked up, he was happy to realise that the sight of the castle looming in the distance in the darkness didn't scare him as much as usual. He knew he could never get over the trauma of the war fought here, but it was a relief to view Hogwarts close to how he had viewed it as a child. Hogwarts was his home, no matter what happened around it.

"I'm surprised they let the students stay in Hogsmeade so late," Harry commented as they walked ever closer to the school.

"It's only the seventh years that can stay out of the school this late," Tom assured him. "They can't really stop us now that we are all of age to do whatever we want to."

Harry dwelt upon this thought for a while, realizing for the first time that he had never really been able to take advantage of the fact that he was now able to use magic and make his own choices even outside of school. When he was on the run with Ron and Hermione, there had been just as many, if not more, regulations and rules placed upon the use of magic and so on, just so they could stay alive… He tried to think of a new subject, to get his mind away from reflecting upon that right now.

"It's been a pretty hilarious day," Harry said, smiling as he glanced at Tom.

Tom smiled too. "My friends never fail to amuse me with such endeavours."

"They do this every year?"

"With a new variation, yes," Tom replied.

"They surprise me with their dedication to accomplish a goal, sometimes," Harry said. They had arrived at the entrance to the castle now.

"That's what being a Slytherin is all about."

They talked more as they made their way down towards the dungeons. Harry was slightly surprised to see how empty the Slytherin Common Room was when they walked past the fictional wall that opened only when the password was given. He had expected a few of the Death Eaters at least to be here. Harry and Tom headed for the dormitories, after Tom's suggestion. There was no one there either, but Harry suddenly wasn't so determined to understand where they could all be…

Harry had walked further into the room than Tom, who closed the door firmly behind them. Tom cast two charms upon the door, and Harry turned around to look at him when he heard this. His mind became foggy as he tried to think about what these spells were for. Tom began to walk towards him slowly. He seemed to understand Harry's confusion for the use of magic here.

"A locking charm, to avoid interruption," Tom said quietly. He was getting closer to Harry, who looked up at the handsome boy, barely daring to think. "An Imperturbable Charm," Tom whispered, as he stood next to Harry, "to avoid eavesdroppers."

Harry stared into Tom's deep, grey eyes, not knowing what he could be planning for the night as a whole. Tom leant forwards and kissed Harry gently. Tom kissed him again and again, slowly, with his soft lips, taking his time, and causing Harry to be the first to use his tongue. Tom allowed the kiss to deepen at this, before he smoothly began to push Harry backwards.

Harry felt one of the posts of his own four-poster bed touch him at this point, and Tom pressed him against it, his every touch leaving Harry breathless. Harry was about to move his hands from Tom's shoulders to feel his thick, dark hair, before he felt Tom pull away slightly from their embrace. Tom kissed Harry on the lips again once, before he moved lower to brush his lips against Harry's chin, and slowly along his jaw.

Harry could feel his excitement build as Tom moved closer to his ear, pressing his body against Harry's as he whispered his name. Harry could feel his own breath become less controlled as Tom kissed the sensitive skin upon his neck. He began to flicker his tongue against Harry, tasting him as his hands pressed against Harry's chest. Harry wanted to groan as Tom bit him lightly, his hands moving up his chest to find his tie.

"Tom…" Harry whispered.

He could hear the need in his own voice, and he felt Tom become even more excited with it. Harry had never experienced any emotion so powerful in his life as he felt Tom kiss his way up his neck again, reaching his ear and whispering, "This is your first time, isn't it?"

Harry could hear his own heart pound in his ears past Tom's whisper. "Yes," he replied, not trusting his voice to be more than a hiss.

Tom gave a hum of what could either have been amusement or desire, Harry wasn't sure. As Tom used his tongue to place Harry's earlobe within his mouth, sucking on it gently, Harry could feel a powerful shiver run up his spine, causing him to give a throaty groan that he couldn't have suppressed even if he wanted to. He heard Tom's breath break out unevenly, before he found Harry's lips again, kissing him with uncontrollable passion…

Then, they heard someone banging on the door to the dormitory. Tom backed away from Harry a little, and stared down into his emerald eyes. They gazed at each other, confused. Whoever was outside banged on the door again, but Harry couldn't hear any voices.

"They can't hear us, and we can't hear them," Tom said quietly, guessing Harry's confusion, "but we both hear the door being moved."

Harry looked up into Tom's dark grey eyes at this. "Do we have to answer it?"

Tom thought about this for a second, but decided it would only cause problems as the noise carried on. "I'm sorry," he said, as he stepped back from Harry more. He threw two counter curses at the door, and Avery stumbled inside.

"Finally!" he said, laughing vaguely as he straightened up to see who was in the room. When he saw only Harry and Tom, he looked a little surprised. "I though you was with a girl or something," he sniggered. "Why'd you lock the door?"

"We didn't, it got stuck," Tom lied.

"Oh," Avery said, nodding at this as though he should have known it before. After a pause he gave a great sigh and said, "I am _tired!_"

Harry and Tom watched in silence as Avery loosened his tie, laughing, and fell onto his bed. "I'm rich, you know," he said vaguely before he fell into complete silence.

Harry and Tom waited a few minutes after this, to be sure that Avery wouldn't wake up. Harry couldn't believe that they had been interrupted again, and he looked at Tom expressionlessly as they stood together, listening to the sounds of Avery falling asleep.

"So much for 'Imperturbable'," Harry commented.

Avery moved a little in his sleep at Harry's voice.

"_Another time,"_ Tom hissed in Parseltongue.

"_Can't we just…"_ Harry began, but he could take this no further.

"_We can't exactly knock him out and lock the door again,"_ Tom said, unsmiling, _"the others will be here soon anyway."_

He read Harry's expression for a minute, before walking forwards and kissing him lightly once more. _"Another time,"_ he hissed.


	21. Amicability

February slowly faded into March, but Harry had no memories of seeing these days pass by. The weather was becoming sunnier and warmer slowly around Hogwarts castle, and many of the students were enjoying the near springtime beauty within the grounds during the free time they had between the long hours of school. Yet this was not so for many of the fifth and seventh years at Hogwartsthe school, who now had cruel amounts of homework to keep them indoors, even with three months until the beginning of their N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s.

Harry struggled with the other seventh years in trying to get all of his work done, even if he didn't truly care about the marks he would receive. To him, school wasn't of any real importance, for he already knew about all the pieces of magic and knowledge that he would need for his own situation … or else he couldn't learn what he really needed to learn from school. He continued his schoolwork only to appear normal to the other Death Eaters and so on. He found no pressure in the task, and thus could almost manage it all.

But so much work meant that there was little time for him to spend each day with Tom. There were moments when Harry even worried that Tom might get sick of their situation, and call the whole thing off, though Harry knew that he was just being paranoid. He understood that Tom couldn't help but become isolated occasionally due to the pressure and annoyance of school. It concerned Harry a little, but Tom was careful to not affect him with his harsh moods. The uncaring Death Eaters were such an easy alternative target, after all.

Harry was currently sitting with Tom in a lounge upon the sixth floor. When not packed with studying students, these rooms were actually quite useful for the two Slytherins to sit and relax in together. They locked the doors, of course, and stayed clear of other windows within the castle that could look upon them sitting together, so it was a basically calm atmosphere. It was rare that they could actually find a free room, but well worth the wait.

Harry sat with his head resting upon Tom's shoulder, their hands interlinked yet again. It was a Friday, and they had had less work than usual to attend to, so after an evening of training in and teaching the Dark Arts with the Death Eaters, Harry and Tom had been able to drift away from the company of the others unnoticed. It was around eight o'clock, and the setting sun had nearly disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving the sky a slowly darkening blue.

They were talking, yet again. They ended up doing this every so often, when they knew they would only crave to get carried away with a continued series of embraces. Yet Harry enjoyed these chances to sit and talk to Tom almost as much as he enjoyed kissing him for however long he could. He liked to hear Tom's opinions on things, and he liked to share his thoughts and feelings with him, to live in the present instead of in the past. Even if the subjects they spoke about were not particularly joyful or optimistic, Harry was somehow content to share his own concern with Tom. It made it easier to endure.

"The others have noticed a change in the news, you know," Tom said quietly.

Harry guessed that Tom was referring to the Death Eaters mainly at this, but perhaps also some of the other students and teachers at Hogwarts. Harry had been watching their minds quite determinedly over the last few weeks, and he too saw their suspicion and contemplation. "I know," he replied, "but I still think it will still be a while before anyone works out what's really happening."

"It could be only a matter on months, if Grindelwald slips," Tom remarked.

"I hope he does slip," Harry replied, making his voice somewhat bitter. The subject of Grindelwald had lately begun to scare him far less, which was a relief.

"Yet it will mean a full war," Tom mused.

"Even so, it will tell the world who's behind this all."

Tom paused for a minute, subconsciously sliding his thumb along some of Harry's fingers within his hand as he thought. "You're going to refrain from hunting down Grindelwald unprepared no matter how soon he reveals himself to the world, aren't you?"

Harry created the illusion of contemplation at this question, remaining silent as he thought of what to reply. He sighed lightly, before saying; "I won't go after him until I'm sure I can defeat him … and that could take years to accomplish. If I'm going to do this, I want to be sure to have a chance of winning."

He had said this just to be safe. In reality, he was never going to go after Grindelwald before Dumbledore would, in a year's time, and he certainly wasn't going to be the one to defeat him. He wasn't foolish enough to change that part of history, no matter how much it would impress, satisfy, or settle the curiosity of Tom. Going after Dumbledore for the Elder Wand after the defeat of Grindelwald, however, was quite a different story…

"I'm glad," Tom replied.

"Why do you ask, though?" Harry questioned.

"Mere clarification," Tom replied.

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Harry listened to the sound of Tom breathing as he resting against him, thinking about the Deathly Hallows. Tom soon spoke again, his tone of quiet curiosity.

"Harry, what exactly did Grindelwald do in his short stay at Godric's Hallow? Did he ever meet the Dumbledores directly?"

Harry was a little surprised with this question, for he had assumed that Tom already knew everything about Grindelwald and Dumbledore … After a few moments of though, however, Harry remembered that there were very few people in the world who had the details about Grindelwald's stay in the Wizarding village. Harry guessed that Tom hadn't been able to find any information on the event because no one had ever thought twice about this collection of Wizards. Tom must have found records of the residents within Godric's Hallow, but little else.

"Yeah, Grindelwald knew the Dumbledores," Harry said, not really knowing where else to begin the explanation he surely had to give.

"Yet Albus Dumbledore's mother died before Grindelwald arrived at the village," Tom said, before Harry could carry on, "and his father was in Azkaban."

"Yes," Harry confirmed.

"Percival Dumbledore was charged for assaults against three Muggle boys, wasn't he?" Tom asked, his tone suggesting he was very interested in this information.

Harry wondered how long Tom had wanted to ask about the Dumbledores. "Yeah," he answered, "but they attacked his daughter first."

Tom appeared a little surprised with this. "They attacked Ariana Dumbledore?"

"So I heard. It was rumoured that Percival didn't want to give up his daughter to St. Mungo's after it, so he didn't mention his purpose to the Ministry. She was completely unstable, and couldn't control her magical abilities. She didn't go to Hogwarts, because of it. She was kept at home her whole life instead." Harry suddenly wondered why he was telling Tom this information before the details that really mattered to him. In his slight pause, Tom asked more questions.

"What did they do to her?"

"I'm not sure," Harry replied. "From what I know, she was just traumatized, and couldn't use magic properly. Kendra Dumbledore looked after her until her death in 1899… I think it was Ariana who accidentally killed her, even though she was only fourteen. That's why Dumbledore stayed at his home even after finishing Hogwarts, to look after her."

"And that was the year he met Grindelwald?" Tom asked.

"Yes," Harry replied. He couldn't decide what tone Tom had, and he wondered what he would be thinking about. He pushed himself up on the couch, so he could view Tom's reaction to his next words. Harry was almost glad to have this chance to repeat the story to someone, to share the information he knew. "Grindelwald was sixteen, and had just been thrown out of Durmstrang. His great aunt lived in Godric's Hallow, so he decided to visit the town. I don't know how he met Dumbledore, but what I do know is that they shared a close friendship."

"What did they do together?" Tom asked.

"They planned what would happen if Wizard were considered superior to Muggles all around the world," said Harry, his tone resentful even without planning it to be. "They began what Grindelwald still carries on doing today, doing everything in his power to keep Muggles – and even some Wizards – beaten down, 'For the Greater Good'."

Tom stared at Harry. There was a long pause after this, where Tom contemplated these words. "How do you know this?" he asked.

Harry had expected this question, for he knew that Tom never believed anything without a verbal explanation, at the very least, to show sincerity. "We managed to get hold of some of the letters that Grindelwald and Dumbledore wrote to each other. Grindelwald's aunt kept them, and one of the people in the organization I was in made it their job to steal and make duplicates of these letters, taking the originals. Their plans were all written down, even some insight to conversations and so on that they had."

Tom looked astounded at this, as he believed Harry's words. "Dumbledore helped Grindelwald? Then why isn't he still with him?"

"Grindelwald killed his sister while trying to fight his brother," Harry said. "Aberforth knew about their plans, and didn't want Albus to leave his sister in her sick condition, to travel the world with Grindelwald. It was said that there was a huge fight… some people are still debating with who definitely killed Ariana."

"I'm surprised more people don't know about this…" Tom mumbled, still thinking over the story.

"No one was exactly keen on sharing the tale," Harry said.

"There's no wonder why you hate Dumbledore so much."

"I just hate the act he's played since the event, and probably before," Harry replied. "It contradicts so much that he is known for…"

"Yet why did Grindelwald share his plans with Dumbledore at all?" Tom asked.

"He probably heard about how powerful Dumbledore was," Harry said, not really concerned with this idea.

"Yes…" Tom replied.

"What?" Harry asked, noticing that Tom's inquisitive tone.

"It merely seems odd that Grindelwald would ever share his plans with another, and odder still that Dumbledore would ignore his sick sister for this boy."

"Well, _I'm_ not surprised Dumbledore would do something like that," Harry commented. "His own self-importance probably made him forget about everyone else."

"One could assume so, yet I am sure that his brother was more than persistent in reminding him about their dear sister. Albus would have been told constantly about what he was doing, and ambition alone couldn't possibly force him to block out every warning."

Harry wasn't at all sure where Tom was going with this, "I thought Slytherins were supposed to believe that ambition is the most important and powerful thing? What makes you think Dumbledore wouldn't act on this idea just as readily?"

"I've seen and experienced more than enough aspiration to know the exact level of it per situation," Tom replied. "At eighteen, and as a Gryffindor, Dumbledore's will to do the right thing should have taken effect far earlier than it did. He lost his mother only months previously to Grindelwald's arrival, so one would think that he would have been closer to his remaining relatives, not further away. Never should he have been careless enough to damage them more."

Tom's knowledge of the ways of people awed Harry at times, and he struggled to think where this could all be leading. He wasn't surprised that Tom was so determined to find an explanation for Dumbledore's actions, yet he was amazed that Tom could make all of these assumptions on the tale of his past alone… "But doesn't knowing about the plans he made with Grindelwald prove how immoral he was anyway? If he could look forward to so many murders, even as a Gryffindor, what does it matter how he treated his family?"

"The fact that Dumbledore was sorted into Gryffindor at age eleven suggests his bravery and tendency for the 'right' choice would be his strongest characteristic. His top marks in classes and special awards from the school also suggest he took pride in his abilities. He wouldn't have done something so immoral for no reason."

"His mother just died," Harry said, disliking the idea of not blaming Dumbledore for his evident evilness, "he could have changes paths."

"If he had changed paths, he would have left his sister in the hands of Aberforth altogether, and moved onto darker subjects without care," Tom stated.

Harry refrained from the impulse to seek another contradiction to Dumbledore's moral senses as he said, "Then why else would Dumbledore and Grindelwald work together, if Dumbledore didn't want to harm the world in revenge?"

"I think they were in love," Tom stated.

Harry stared at Tom in disbelief. There was a pause. He wondered for a minute if Tom was joking. "You think… Dumbledore was gay?"

"Yes," Tom replied. "Think about it, two lonely boys in a town vacated from almost everyone their own ages… Even if Grindelwald used Dumbledore, endearment seems the only plausible explanation for what Dumbledore did."

Harry tried to imagine this, though he had to admit it was a little bit of a struggle. From all the he could remember, now that he put his mind to it, he had never heard of Dumbledore ever having a girlfriend or wife. He would have assumed, if the thought ever crossed his mind that Dumbledore was just too busy for partnerships or something, but this made more sense. If Dumbledore had been in a relationship with Grindelwald, he could have been scarred for life when they fell apart, with the murder of his sister.

Harry also knew that it was extremely unlikely that Tom would draw this parallel between himself and the Transfiguration Professor if he weren't completely confident that it was a plausible explanation. From all that Harry had learnt about Tom before actually meeting him, he despised being similar to anyone, in any way. He couldn't even stand how the barman at the Leaky Cauldron shared his first name, when Dumbledore told him this at age eleven, at the orphanage. Harry was sure that Tom was better at hiding his dislike for connections now, yet he knew it was there, somewhere.

Harry hated to think about Dumbledore in a way that suggests he was pulled into planning with Grindelwald by a force he couldn't help, but he tried not to dwell upon that thought for too long. Dumbledore had still betrayed him personally with refraining from trusting him. He still had plenty of reason to hate the Transfiguration Professor even after this.

"It would explain a few things," Harry said slowly.

"It would make complete sense," Tom replied. "Endearment could probably make him lose consideration for his siblings. His mother dying could have made him somewhat isolated, thus the moment Grindelwald walked into his life – as a new person to whom he shared no past connection – he could have been willing to forgot completely who he was, and what his previous priorities were initially telling him to do."

"It is possible," Harry said. "Though… it seems kind of insane that Dumbledore would have had this whole secret life."

"You've declared that he is secretive before," Tom reminded him, "so this is not surprising."

"I still think he's a hypocrite," Harry added, perhaps speaking more to himself than to Tom.

"In many ways," Tom replied. After this, Harry watched as Tom's expression changed slightly. He seemed to realise another thing about Dumbledore, and his voice was quieter than before as he spoke again. "He's to blame for all of this… everything that has happened to you."

Tom could never know just how true these words were, Harry thought to himself. Harry was surprised that he could blame Dumbledore now even in his fictional past. This was proof of how chance told him about the ill decisions of the Professor. Harry didn't have to fake his expression of new hatred as he thought about the way in which Grindelwald would affect the world, killing thousands. Dumbledore was to be blamed again…

"You don't think he'll join Grindelwald again?" Tom asked.

"I hope he doesn't," Harry replied, dropping his gaze to look at his and Tom's interlinked hands again. "Dumbledore is a powerful Wizard…"

"Yes," Tom replied, saying no more after this. Perhaps he had followed Harry's gaze, for after a while of contemplation, he asked, "Why do you never use the ring?"

Harry looked up at Tom again, a little surprised with this question. He had almost forgotten about the ring… He hoped he hadn't offended Tom in never using it. "I don't know," he replied in full honesty. When Tom examined him curiously for a minute, he added, "There's never any time, I suppose."

Tom nodded slowly at this, but made no further comment.

Harry wondered what on earth Tom could be thinking about. Somehow Harry doubted that he was disappointed with the lack of use of the ring, and after a while he began worrying about the idea of Tom suspecting his lies. He couldn't think of how this would be related, but Tom's hesitancy to elaborate his curiosity scared him a little. He forced his voice into a calm tone as he said, "Why do you ask?"

Tom surveyed him for another long minute. "Harry, you aren't avoiding the people you have lost, are you?" he asked with careful curiosity.

Harry stared at Tom, wondering why he was assuming this. Then he remembered how long ago it must have been since Tom gave him the Resurrection Stone. He didn't believe he was avoiding his dead friends or family … but maybe subconsciously he had begun to forget about them. This thought tore through him with a piercing force, and it took him a minute before he could think this over properly. He couldn't possibly forget about his friends. It was impossible. He thought about them every day, he was sure … he had just been busy for the last couple of weeks, and that explained why he never used the ring. He tried to find an answer to Tom's question.

"Why would I avoid them?"

"There could be many reasons," Tom said. He did not elaborate this statement.

"You avoid your mother," Harry said, as if to remind Tom of something that he couldn't quite explain even to himself.

"So much is true," Tom replied, "yet you brought your friends and family back once already."

Harry didn't know what Tom meant by this conversation at all, and he felt faintly annoyed that he had mentioned anything at all. He gave no comment to these words as he struggled with the idea of letting go of Tom's hand.

"Was that your father, the man who I saw briefly?" Tom asked. His tone was careful, as he sensed how close Harry was to loosing his temper.

"No," Harry replied. As he thought back to where his father really was at this time, he was shocked to find his annoyance with Tom swiftly replaced with sorrow. This emotion came so quickly that Harry felt the familiar prickling sensation in his eyes before he could stop it. He dropped his gaze hastily from Tom. Maybe he _was_ avoiding them, but for a reason…

"He didn't return?" Tom guessed.

Harry attempted a shrug in exchange for verbal confirmation, still averting his eyes from Tom. He wished he actually knew Occlumency, so he could block these thoughts from himself. He wondered if Tom had guessed the situation with his father before. He assumed that he had.

"Why?" Tom asked.

Harry sighed, forcing himself to answer. "I don't know. I'm supposing the dead can talk or communicate with each other or something, so he found out or realized that I was the only person who didn't die. Or else he cared about my mother 'too much', and hated me for putting her in danger and eventually getting her killed…" He trailed away after this, not having anything else to guess about the ways of his father. It was hard for him to believe that after all this time, and after all the events of his life, James Potter couldn't forgive him for his choices.

"That seems rather irrational," Tom commented quietly. He seemed to decide after a minute that he should draw Harry's mind away from this direct subject. "So who was the man I saw?"

"One of the best friends of my father."

"Was he the one of the people who adopted you when you were eleven?"

"Yes," Harry said. The idea of Sirius actually adopting him after all was odd to think of. He still felt bad for Sirius's death, yet thinking about him was easier than thinking about his father. They had shared good times, and Sirius didn't blame him for what happened, after all. "Though he died when I was fifteen…" Harry said. He wasn't sure why he had shared this piece of truth, yet it felt good, somehow. He felt as though it would be wrong to lie or forget about Sirius's death.

Tom squeezed his hand slightly, but made no comment. When Harry looked up again, he saw that Tom was watching him with concern.

"It's getting late," remarked Harry, hoping to start another conversation.

"I don't think we need to go back to the Common Room just yet," Tom replied, still watching Harry. "Staying away from my friends one day a week won't be too hard for them to handle."

"I wish there was somewhere we could be when not with them," Harry said. "These rooms are good, but…" Harry wasn't sure how he wanted to finish this sentence, se he drifted away.

He and Tom gazed at each other perhaps longingly at this, before Tom moved forwards to press his lips gently against Harry's. Harry wished that they were locked within the Slytherin dormitory together again at this, and he kissed Tom back with delicately passionate replies…

"A time will present itself," Tom whispered.


	22. Games of Chance

It was Sunday, the nineteenth of March as Harry and Tom sat with other the Death Eaters at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry was pondering the day ahead of him vaguely as he listened on and off to what the Death Eaters talked about. He knew that he had the expected cruel amount of homework waiting for him to finish today, though in truth he couldn't bring himself to worry about that for long.

He watched as the hundreds of owls flew through the windows of the Great Hall, bringing packages and letters to many of the students at Hogwarts. A few of the Death Eaters received messages from their families, and Avery was brought what appeared to be a package, yet Harry had no interest in watching him open it. He wondered how much time, if any, he would be able to spend with Tom this afternoon…

"Jonathan, do you wish to borrow the newspaper?" Lestrange asked from across the table, breaking Harry's trail of thought.

Harry looked up at Lestrange, surprised that he himself hadn't asked for the paper earlier. "Sure."

Lestrange handed him the newest edition of the Daily Prophet, followed by a quick thanks from Harry.

"Though I must add that there wasn't very much of any true interest in today's edition for me," Lestrange commented. "Maybe you'll have more luck with it."

When Lestrange joined in another conversation, Harry looked down at the newspaper within his hands. The main article was of no interest to him, for it only spoke of broomstick regulations that were or weren't going to be made into official laws, and the other smaller articles around that were just as unimportant, if not more so. Harry opened the paper, and began flipping through it.

After a few minutes, something caught his eye, and he turned his attention to an article that took up about half a page. A picture was displayed above the writing, featuring a photograph of a tall, dark, and plain building, towering over a landscape that was completely immobile if not for the whirling clouds that gliding in the background. Harry recognised this prison the moment he saw it, and his eyes searched to begin the article with haste.

_**Nurmengard Voted Most Successful European Prison of the Decade**_

_Though this piece of news is not entirely unexpected, many Witches and Wizards were shocked to hear that Nurmengard Prison has succeeded all other penal institutions across Europe in maintaining and continuously exceeding its record-breaking measure of holding new convicts. The prison itself, built only seven years ago, has become famous for its rapid success, keeping some of Europe's most well-known and lethal criminals. Nurmengard has exceeded even Azkaban Fortress in its success, though many critics claim that this phenomenon will become less prominent once Nurmengard reaches a fuller capacity. Azkaban – holding almost ten times as many prisoners – has still maintained its own general standard, and has been deemed the second most successful…_

Harry stopped reading at this point, for he could bear no more uncomfortable anxiety that arrived with this article. From what he had learnt about Nurmengard Prison, it was mostly full of the people that revolted against Grindelwald – whether directly or by mere conversation, it didn't even matter. They were captured and imprisoned if they couldn't be killed silently, and thus the prison held a limitless number of inmates…

It was only when Tom pointed to the photo within the paper that Harry realised he had been reading this all over his shoulder. Tom was bringing Harry's attention to the words that were carved over the entrance to the prison: "For the Greater Good". Harry stared at this, wondering how he hadn't noticed it before. Seemingly incomprehensible text could be seen prior and subsequent to this phrase, so he supposed that these words were repeated in many different languages, for the world to see and understand.

Harry turned to look at Tom, seeing concern behind his almost expressionless countenance. Perhaps Tom was watching the anxiety and fear that poured through Harry at this, for they gazed at one another for a few moments in silence. Harry wished he could talk to Tom, to share his opinions on the matter… He knew he really shouldn't be fearful of the mere mention of this prison, but this simplicity made his lies all the more prominent once again. A voice broke their silent communication.

"What you two reading about?" Avery asked, seeing only their impassive expressions.

"Nothing." Harry replied, looking away from Tom.

Avery didn't seem to care very much anyway. "What you doing later today, Jonathan?"

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason really, 'cept some of us are going down to the headquarters to play some cards and so on." He smirked a little, "It's my birthday."

"Er, Happy Birthday," Harry said vaguely, turning to Tom. "Are you going?"

"Perhaps," Tom replied, "for it again never fails to be amusing."

Harry smiled vaguely and turned back to Avery, but then saw that he was occupied with the arrival of Nancy White. Harry guessed they were together now, for the Slytherin girl had been sitting with Avery a lot over the last few weeks. This didn't concern Harry, besides for the fact that where Nancy White went, her friends always followed without hesitation. Sure enough, when Harry looked a little down the table, he saw the four other Slytherin girls from his year sitting at the end of the group of Death Eaters.

Linda Anthony – the blatant leader of the pack – seemed rather disapproving of Nancy's choice for a boyfriend, yet her resolve to appear continuously annoyed never lasted long. Within minutes of arriving at the table, her eyes would wander to find the one boy of interest, who took no interest in her at all. Tom. Her friends would all follow her gaze, even though some of them were perhaps paired with another Death Eater, and Harry would stare back at them inexpressively, watching as they occasionally glanced up him, but never looked away from Tom for very long.

Harry tried not to become annoyed with these loud and giggling students, and the fact that Tom had never once acknowledged their presence helped quite a bit. He decided to follow Tom again today, thus he averted his eyes to watch some of the Death Eaters. After a few moments, Harry looked back at Tom, seeing he was checking his watch. Tom stood up.

"Where are you going?" Nott asked him from a few seats away.

"I have to visit Slughorn," Tom replied, slightly distracted.

"Something about the Slug Club, I'm guessing?"

"Yes," Tom said, "I'll be back later."

He directed his words mostly towards Harry as Nott nodded and became bored of the conversation, and as Tom was about to leave, he made somewhat of an involuntary movement to brush Harry's shoulder with his hand. This half-gesture seemed to go unnoticed, but Harry looked up at the Death Eaters once Tom left just to be sure, reading the minds of whoever glanced his way.

Lestrange was watching him from across the table. Harry was relieved to see that his mind didn't guess any truth… though he seemed to have noticed something odd, nonetheless. He spoke when Harry made eye contact with him for a moment.

"I can't help but observe how Riddle and yourself have become close," Lestrange began.

A few of the Death Eaters turned when hearing these words, glancing towards Harry. No one had yet dared to ask Harry or Tom directly about this change, and many of the Death Eaters were very keen to finally hear an explanation, Harry knew.

"I don't know what you mean," Harry lied easily.

"Well, I'm sure it is harder for you personally to notice anything odd," Lestrange drawled on, "but to put things into perspective, I have to mention that I've never seen Riddle as close to someone as he is with you. Except for maybe with a teacher…"

"We're not very close," Harry stated.

"Not _very_ close, no, but he seems to talk to you quite a lot."

"I'm just interested in what he knows about the Dark Arts," Harry lied.

"You talk about the Dark Arts?"

"Yeah."

"He tells you more about it than us, then?" Lestrange asked abruptly.

Harry suddenly remembered about Lestrange's ambition to be amongst the best Death Eaters in knowing the Dark Arts. He paused for a moment at this thought, contemplating giving Lestrange another lie to feel less disquieted. Yet Harry knew that breaking this lie now could mean revealing the truth, and that was worse than making a Death Eater jealous. "He doesn't tell me more. We just talk about the Dark Arts sometimes."

Lestrange did indeed look concerned with this. He stared at Harry, thinking, as Harry read his mind, **(**This _must_ be why he's so good in the Dark Arts. They talk about it, sure, but they're most likely practicing it when I'm not around… They can't practice in all the time they spend away, because they surely have other things to do, but what about those times when they leave our group together?

**(**Riddle _must_ have bribed Jonathan to stay… then why is he always so comfortable around him? There are no begrudging actions from Tom… He must actually favour this boy for his talent. Jonathan is playing a wise game if he has managed to get Riddle into this happily… But maybe Tom just wants his power that much… He shouldn't be given more attention. It's completely unfair… Why is Jonathan staring at me?**)**

Harry looked away at this point, wondering how this was going to end. He hoped Lestrange would drop the subject out of fear of Tom, at least. It would be tedious if they had to spend time convincing people of another truth, or else making Lestrange forget his jealousy. It was a problem that would be hard to overcome – if it was that Lestrange would get so annoyed as to make a scene.

The rest of breakfast passed without much excitement, and Harry spent the day finishing homework and reading. At dinner, Harry sat with the Death Eaters again in the Great Hall, being careful not to sit next to Tom. Having read all the minds of the Death Eaters by this time, Tom understood without explanation that Harry and he should be distanced for a little while. Yet when Harry read Lestrange's thoughts, he saw that Lestrange only supposed they had talked about his questions together, meaning they had shared another meeting.

After dinner, Avery led the party of Death Eaters down to the headquarters, bringing with him the new set of gambling equipment that his older brother had given him for his birthday. "I only wonder how he got it past my parents," Avery said with a smirk to a few Death Eaters. "My mom and dad hate my gambling addiction. They say I won't get anywhere in life just betting. My older brother, though, understands what I say about it being plenty possible to make a living off of cards. Plus, I've got enough money to help me if I mess up."

A few of the Death Eaters smiled at this as they headed into the headquarters, and Harry watched as they began to divide into pairs before sitting down. He then sensed someone standing besides him. It was Tom, of course. He looked at Tom for a moment, about to remind him that some of the Death Eaters were being sceptical, but Tom guessed what he was going to say. He smiled.

"Lestrange won't stop until he has a verbal confirmation from me, I believe," Tom said quietly, "so whatever we do will fuel his theories. We may as well be a team and defeat them all twice as effectively."

Harry was about to ask what Tom meant by that last comment, before he remembered something. They could both read minds. He felt a smile form upon his lips as he imagined how the Death Eaters would react to their unbeatable team. Tom gazed at him for a second, before leading him to the table. The Death Eaters were cracking jokes as they discussed what game they'd be playing.

They decided, after much debate, to play twenty-one – a game Harry wasn't surprised to remember was actually an adaptation of a Muggle game, or vice versa. The Death Eaters didn't care to learn this, Harry was sure, and they also didn't seem to notice that the cards they played this game with were rather close the Muggle playing cards, but with a larger variety characters instead of numbers.

Instead of Queens and Kings, the Death Eaters had Witches and Wizards, and Jacks were oddly enough Centaurs. Vampires were ten, Werewolves nine, Merpeople eight, Giants seven, Trolls six, Hags five, Banshees four, Goblins three, House–Elves two and finally Gnomes were aces. They also played with thirty-nine cards (instead of the usual fifty-two), which was two thirds of a Muggle deck, thus instead of having four of each suits, the Death Eaters played with only three; wands, swords and clubs.

All of this had been very confusing to Harry at first, but after months of watching the Death Eaters play, he was sure that he would have no trouble in keeping up with the game. Also, his advantage of knowing Legilimency would aid him greatly in understanding how to win, he was more than sure. He glanced at Tom after they were seated, smiling softly as Avery began asking the others what they were going to bet.

"We'll put down ten galleons to start," Avery said, speaking for himself and Dolohov as he pushed his money into the centre of the table.

"We'll do the same," replied Nott and Lestrange. A few others mimicked.

"We'll put in twenty," said Rosier and another Ravenclaw, "for I'm sure we understand the game more than any of you."

"You Ravenclaws are gunna lose all your money with being so wrapped up in your intelligence," Avery replied, smirking. He turned to Tom. "What do you want to bet?"

"I'll bet fifty galleons," Tom said. Avery seemed to have expected as much, and Harry watched as Tom pushed the galleons onto the centre of the table. Avery turned as Mulciber put in his own money too.

"How did you manage to get the money for this game?" Harry asked Tom quietly.

"Mostly from playing cards with the others, actually," Tom replied, smiling slyly. Avery began to deal out the cards across the table. "I made a bet with nonexistent galleons initially and managed to continuously win more and more games since that time. It was far easier than I could expect."

Tom picked up the cards that had been dealt for Harry and himself. They had a Werewolf, worth nine, and a Gnome, worth one or eleven. Tom smiled at this, before looking up at the Death Eaters around the table. Harry followed his gaze, keen to read whichever minds he could.

**(**Awh, fuck,**)** though Mulciber, **(**We ain't gunna win nothing with this. A Banshee and a Goblin…**)**

**(**Well, it is certainly possible to win with an eighteen. But I'm guessing our chances are somewhat thin,**)** mused Lestrange. **(**To the main problem, do we choose another card, or keep what we have?**)** Lestrange turned to Nott, and they talked quietly about their hand.

**(**It must be birthday luck,**) **Avery thought a few seats away from this pair. **(**A Gnome and a Mermaid! That makes nineteen, or nine. No one here will have something that close… but maybe I should take another card to get closer to twenty-one? I mean, it's probably a chance worth taking, and with this luck, I could win…**)**

**(**I still don't know if he's right with not wanting another card,**)** Nott reflected, **(**but I suppose we'll just see in a minute. I don't see why he should be the one to choose…**)**

**(**Now, let's see,**)** thought Rosier, **(**I have a seventeen with no fours used, so blatantly the chances of me being dealt a four now is still three to thirty-nine… but I also have to take fives and threes into consideration, making that nine to thirty–nine. It is obvious that I will never win with this hand alone, though the chance of shooting past twenty–one is rather high…**)**

As more cards were dealt out, Rosier got a nineteen, Avery and Dolohov picked up a troll, making their hand of nineteen turn into a twenty-six, or else a sixteen (much to their disappointment), and Nott and Lestrange – amongst the only ones who kept their original hand – had the same eighteen, which turned out to be one of the best numbers. It was no surprise, as Harry continued with his Legilimens, to see that no one else around the table had anything nearer to twenty–one than Harry and Tom's twenty.

The Death Eaters were not annoyed when Harry and Tom won, merely hopeful that the next round would give them better hands. Yet no matter what hands they received, it seemed that Harry and Tom always knew the exact time to withdraw, keep what they had, pick up more cards and continue placing in more bets. Some of the Death Eaters pondered the possibility of them cheating, Harry saw, yet almost all of them knew – from being on the same team as Tom – that these constant winning streaks had no visible tricks involved.

They all assumed that Tom was merely a mastermind with counting cards, evaluating chance, and reading poker faces, and they supposed that Harry was winning only because of Tom, so they were unconcerned. Rosier seemed convinced that he would be able to defeat Tom at least once this evening, but such determination came with a lot of eye contact with the two winning Slytherins, thus allowing them to read his mind without struggle. Harry found this all quite amusing, as the games carried on.

"_What are the chances of us getting an eight?"_ Harry hissed to Tom, as Tom watched for what cards the Death Eaters all held. They had fallen into the habit of using Parseltongue together, for it was easily masked by the murmurs of the other Death Eaters around the room.

"_There's only one eight being used by the others, and only nine cards left in the deck, thus a two in nine chance of winning. To make matters more fortunate, there are also two sevens and a nine that we have a chance of picking up."_

"_So only four cards can make us lose?"_ Harry asked.

"_Indeed,"_ Tom replied.

"_That sounds like it's a chance worth its reward,"_ Harry hissed; perhaps dangerously close to the other Slytherin.

Tom smiled softly, moving his leg to brush against Harry's own under the table. _"I only ever take chances that have desirable repayments…"_

Harry had to refrain from smirking too much at this as the game moved on. They ended up getting an eight, as they hoped, and they thus won the round easily. They also won the round after this, and the next one, and the next one, and didn't seem to have a chance of losing any time soon. It was after twelve wins in a row that Avery asked everyone if they wanted to play a new game – one that didn't involve teams.

The Death Eaters agreed to this offer more than willingly, and Harry smiled. He wanted to see whether he could defeat Tom himself. He would be the only unreadable person to Tom, while Tom was the only unreadable person to him. It was almost like playing a fair game, except both Harry and Tom could easily count the cards played around them. Their only problem would be the deck, and each other.

They decided to play Poker amongst a seemingly endless list of Wizarding games that Harry had only vaguely heard about before. They played with around seven different types of decks, many of which turned out to be far more complex than usual, whilst still holding more interesting games.

The Death Eaters – after seeing that splitting Harry and Tom's team into two made twice as many problems – now supposed that Harry had either learnt some cheats from Riddle, or was using his own knowledge to manage this continuous battle with Tom. Most of them supposed Tom had taught him something, though. As they became more restless and bored with losing, the Death Eaters began weary conversations.

"Why do you suppose the Gnomes are worth one and eleven?" Mulciber asked as he rested with one hand supporting his head, his elbow upon the table. "They're just useless pests. Why are they worth more than any other card sometimes?"

"Gnomes could bring down entire civilizations, if it was that they had the intelligence to," Rosier said. "They breed quickly, and spread havoc and diseases, so they could – theoretically – take over the world."

Mulciber gave a gruff sneer, "That seems stupid."

"More interesting, to me," Rosier replied distractedly, moving around some of the cards in his hands.

It was only around eleven O'clock when Tom said to the room at large, "Well, I do believe I've now spent more than enough time defeating you all, so I'll be off. I have a rather tedious amount of homework to finish."

The Death Eater's murmurs of false disappointment at these words were ruined by the fact that at least half of them were suddenly beaming. Harry glanced up at Tom, surprised with this sudden decision, until he slowly began to understand why Tom was doing this. They gazed at each other impassively for a minute as the Death Eaters struggled with their smiles, then Tom turned away smoothly, and left room.

"So, it's just you and us then," said Avery to Harry from across the table. "Not to be rude, but this is going to be a _lot_ more interesting without a genius like Tom around."

Harry faked a slight smile at this, but throughout the entire game after this he was distracted with thinking about Tom, and he nearly lost the match. After two more games of winning, one game of coming second and a last game of outright losing, Harry told the others that he was merely too tired to continue playing.

"Well, at least you had the chance to defeat Tom a few times today," Avery replied in a ruse to explain his grin.

"I suppose so," Harry replied. He was about to turn away, before he remembered something. "Erm, how long are you going to stay up playing?"

"I dunno," Avery replied, as he began to deal cards out to the others. "An hour or two, at the least."

"Right," Harry replied. "Well, good luck with the rest of the game."

Avery gave a quick word of thanks, and Harry made his way out of the headquarters, and onto the corridor that lay beyond it. He began walking towards the Slytherin Common Room, his footsteps echoing through the previous silence, and his mind pondering what Tom would be doing at this time. When he found the right corridor, he gave the password to enter the Common Room, which was deserted. He decided to head for the dormitories.

Harry found Tom sitting on his bed when he entered the dormitory. He was holding a cigarette in his hand lightly, and he smiled softly only when he saw that it was Harry who walked in the room. He examined Harry for a moment, slowly bringing the cigarette to his lips and breathing in the fresh smoke as he did so. Harry walked towards him now, feeling his heart rate escalate as he gazed at Tom.

"The others really know how to celebrate," Harry said as he reached the end of Tom's bed.

He watched as Tom put his cigarette out in an ashtray next to his bed. With a wave of his wand, it disappeared, leaving nothing but a few wisps of smoke behind. "It becomes somewhat tedious after a few years," Tom replied, "but they understand by now that I myself will always retreat early."

"You don't think they'll care about me being gone too?" Harry asked, leaning against one of the posts of Tom's bed.

"Not from what I've seen in their heads. But in any case," Tom lifted himself up from where he lay, walking towards Harry, "they don't need to know what it is that you – or we – do when they're not around."

Harry gazed at Tom as he walked ever closer. "Lestrange already thinks we do something secretive together," Harry said, his mind dwelling upon other thoughts more at this.

"Yes," Tom agreed softly, standing only inches away from Harry now. He raised his hand to caress Harry jaw. "He thinks I must be teaching you things in private. In truth, a worthy guess…"

Tom's words were a hiss before he leant forwards to kiss Harry, smiling, and ending their conversation. Harry found himself replying to Tom passionately, fuelled with the knowledge that they had time to be together tonight, for longer than ever before. Tom's hands were running along Harry's waist, urging him closer as Harry ran his fingers through Tom's hair. Harry could taste the fresh cigarette upon Tom as the kiss deepened, which only added to his uncontrollable craving. He could feel both of their excitement build even before Tom forced him backward to rest against one of the posts of his bed.

Tom broke away from their embrace at this, moving his hands to find Harry's shoulders, which he held firmly as they gazed in desire at each other. Harry examined Tom's astonishingly handsome face and dark grey eyes for a moment, before moving forwards to kiss him again. Before he could deepen the kiss, however, Tom began moving his lips to brush against Harry's chin, descending even more soon after.

Harry was becoming lost in the entrancement of Tom's touch as he kissed his neck, planting a thousand kisses upon his skin. He stretched his neck upwards in the waves of longing that crashed over him while Tom's hands found his chest. Harry's breath was becoming uneven as Tom made his way towards his ear. He gasped in desire as he felt Tom sucking on his earlobe again, and a strong shiver ran up his spine.

Tom pressed himself closer to Harry at the sound of his voice, and his mouth soon found Harry's neck again. He bit Harry in lust, causing Harry to let out a groan that he couldn't have suppressed even if he wanted to. He felt Tom's hands claw against his chest before moving upwards to find his tie. Tom began pulling Harry's tie away as his own breath became uneven. He dropped the tie to the floor once it was free, and pushed Harry backwards onto the bed.

They separated slightly when resting upon the bedcovers, Harry lying on his back and Tom kneeling over him on his hands and knees. The sight of Tom leaning over him, with his hair rough and his desire evident was one that Harry couldn't help but enjoy. He was disoriented as he gazed up at Tom, wondering how the night would end… He sat up to kiss Tom again, pushing himself onto the bed more as Tom followed.

When Harry's head reached Tom's pillow, he rested upon his elbows. Tom kissed him more passionately than ever, his hands searching for Harry's shirt. He began undoing each of Harry's buttons from his neck downwards, and Harry moved to lie completely on his back. He began pulling at Tom's tie, only managing to get it away as Tom finished unbuttoning his shirt.

Tom looked down at Harry, examining his thin frame with eager eyes. He then kissed Harry's lips again, and his jaw, and his neck, moving ever lower from this point to kiss his collarbone, flickering his tongue across Harry's skin. Tom moved his hands to touch Harry's chest, his palms pressing against him roughly as Harry let out a groan of aspiration. Tom withdrew his hands, and began moving his lips lower still.

Tom was kissing his chest again and again, and Harry suddenly began to whisper words of Parseltongue to encourage him further. Harry felt his breath become more uneven than ever. Tom paused for a moment, teasing Harry with slow kisses before he licked his chest. Harry hissed in desire again, and Tom continued, kissed him over and over again.

Tom's hands searched for Harry's shirt as he suddenly sat up, leaning over Harry to kiss his lips once more. Tom pulled Harry's shirt off completely, and sat up fully to begin unbuttoning his own, as Harry watched. They gazed at each other for a moment when both shirtless, each taking in the sight of the other. Tom then began to trace designs upon Harry's chest from where he sat, pressing his fingertips and palms against him, until he saw Harry close his eyes.

Tom began moving his hand lower as he leant in to kiss Harry. He moved his lips to bite Harry's neck as his hand found Harry's waistband. Harry's breath came in shudders as Tom began unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers slowly, teasing him softly. But Tom himself was also struggling to keep his composure as he listened to the desire in Harry's voice. He pulled Harry's trousers completely off, and kissed his ear again.

Harry said Tom's name softly as he waited to see what he would do next. He felt Tom's hand slide across his upper body again, before moving lower. Tom's long, thin fingers found the top of Harry's underwear, and began to slide inside. Tom sucked Harry's earlobe as he began to move his hand, causing Harry to cry out louder than ever, thrusting his hips as he completely lost his sense of reality…


	23. Easter

"Why won't they just leave us alone already?" Harry asked, exasperated.

"I've explained this to you before," Tom said calmly. "Lestrange will only stop being this determined in disrupting our supposed 'private lessons in the Dark Arts' when he believes he has ended them for good."

"But they don't even exist!" Harry said. "How are we supposed to make him believe the lessons have stopped if we aren't even having them anyway?"

"If we stop vanishing together, he'll see that we have no time to practise the Dark Arts. Yet being away from them – as we are now – only makes him more suspicious."

"Yet here you are."

"I want to be here," Tom said, smiling slightly. "Which is, I believe, part of the endless circle."

"Why can't we just tell him we're not having private lessons?"

"Because he would first of all wonder how we found about this thought, and second of all be curious as to what we do when we're away, if we're not practicing Dark Magic."

"He sees you always know everything anyway, even if he doesn't understand that we can read minds. I don't see what the danger in telling him is."

"No matter what he supposes, it's unwise to waste the remaining chances we have left before they link our knowledge to the skill of Legilimency."

"Why don't we offer to give him extra lessons then," Harry suggested, "shutting him up?"

"The problem with my friends is that when you give one of them something, the others must have it too. It would waste just as much time, if not more, to give them all more Dark Magic to practice."

"Then what are we going to do?" Harry asked.

"We'll wait," Tom replied.

"Until what?"

Tom smiled, but found no quick answer.

"Why do you keep doing that?" asked Harry.

"Doing what?"

"Why do you smile whenever either of us talks about how long we have to wait?"

"No reason," Tom replied. Harry could tell he was trying not to smile, and was succeeding almost perfectly.

In truth, Harry had only just realized that Tom was indeed smiling each time waiting was mentioned in conversation between them, and it was quite suspicious. He supposed, on reflection, that Tom must have been withholding information.

"You know something, don't you?" Harry inquired.

"Potentially," Tom replied, smirking.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"I've been waiting for you to guess for days."

"Is there a holiday coming up?"

"Yes," Tom replied, smiling more.

"What for?" Harry asked, his tone suddenly eager.

"Easter."

Of course; Easter. How had Harry forgotten about that holiday? He knew it moved around every year, though he really shouldn't have failed to recall it entirely. He soon found that his lack of remembrance didn't truly bother him now. He smiled, before asking, "When does the holiday start?"

"On the sixth," Tom replied, grinning more as he reached out his hand to hold Harry's own. "Easter itself is on the ninth. It's a two week holiday."

Harry realised this meant the holiday was only a week away, and for once since the beginning of the last two weeks he felt relieved of his impatience. They were standing in a deserted part of the castle, far away from where anyone would simply find them, so Harry felt no anxiety as he grinned, and leant in to kiss Tom, ending their conversation.

This one thought helped Harry through the third week of waiting since Avery's Birthday, though he was still rather impatient for the holiday to arrive. He was satisfied to hear that none of the Death Eaters were staying at Hogwarts for Easter, even when Lestrange took a torturously long time to decide upon such a choice, and he was becoming increasingly more cheerful as the days wore on.

Harry hadn't slept much when the day of the Death Eaters leaving dawned, yet he was not at all tired. After a long breakfast, Harry found himself in the Slytherin Common Room, wishing the Death Eaters goodbye vaguely as his heart beat with secret elation. When the room began to clear, Harry made his way slowly towards Tom, who was talking to a few of the Death Eaters. Harry listened to their conversation as he waited for them to leave.

"Well, I guess we won't be seeing you until around two weeks," said Nott, beginning his goodbye.

"Indeed," Tom replied, "and in that time it would be wise of you not to forget searching for the books I requested."

"That won't be a problem," Nott said, blatantly satisfied at the thought of how easy it would be for him to succeed in granting Tom's wish. He was still keen on being one of the best students in the Dark Arts, and Harry was sure Tom only asked for books from him to make him believe he was somehow important. "My granddad doesn't care about his library very much, and anyway, he always seems happy when I take out such difficult books."

Tom nodded, and Nott said goodbye before he turned to leave with Lestrange, who had been hovering over the conversation. Avery, Dolohov and Mulciber also said goodbye to Tom – perhaps whilst trying to show off their loyalty in even this small way – and soon the Common Room was clear of everyone besides Harry and Tom.

They stood in silence for a moment, both of them contemplating how long they should wait before they were safe to be together. They were standing near the back of the Common Room, away from the sight of the main entrance, thus they would hear anyone long before being seen. Tom seemed to notice this before Harry, for he was the first to move, making his way to stand besides him. He entwined his fingers with Harry's own, as he seemed to enjoy doing. Harry felt the desire begin to burn within him even with this simple gesture.

"We're finally alone." Tom commented.

Harry smiled a little at this, gazing into Tom's dark grey eyes. "Three weeks was still a long time to wait."

"Yes, but the glorious thing about time is that it always moves on," Tom said, taking Harry's other hand, "and we're here now."

"Yeah," Harry replied quietly, smiling. "I suppose we are…" He took one of his hands away to touch Tom's handsome face, as he had been craving to do for far too long. With the knowledge of free time ahead came a great satisfaction to Harry, and he savoured this feeling of blissfulness as he gazed at Tom.

His fingers moved to feel Tom's jaw, as the latter closed his eyes slowly in appreciation to his touch. Harry took a step forwards at this, clearing the distance, and kissed Tom. He felt Tom's lips press against his own delicately as he lent forwards, kissing him again, and again, until he soon found Tom moving with more ardour than ever so as to express his desire. Harry replied to him with just as much longing, his craving for the other boy's touch causing him to feel utterly disoriented.

Yet it was only a few minutes later, at the most, before Tom pulled away. Harry looked up at him, wondering why he was stopping. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I have to go to visit Slughorn," Tom said, looking almost as displeased about this as Harry was.

"Why do you have to go now?"

"It's a sort of rule on the first day of any holiday," Tom explained, his voice impassive, perhaps to sound as if it wasn't a bother.

"You'll be back later though?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Tom replied, surveying Harry, before kissing him once more. "He can't keep me there forever."

"Well, he's getting close," Harry remarked.

Tom smiled softly. "I'll make an excuse to leave early today. I should be back by dinnertime."

"Dinnertime?"

"That's early for Slughorn."

"You know, I think I'm going to end up hating Slughorn even more than you already do," Harry said.

"That's probably likely," Tom agreed, "but nothing much can be done about it."

He kissed Harry again once before they said goodbye, and Tom left. Harry was left somewhat bored after this, so he decided to read more books on the Dark Arts to pass the time. It didn't truly help, yet he made some progress in reading, at least. When he arrived in the great hall for dinner, he found that Tom wasn't anywhere to be seen, so he supposed Slughorn had decided they should eat in his office.

Harry hated how much time the Slug Club took from Tom and himself. It was probably the least important after school activity in the whole of Hogwarts, unless success and famous people were of any interest. When Harry thought about it, he knew deep inside that the Slug Club had been vital to some of the things in his past… yet that didn't make him enjoy its current existence any more.

After dinner, he waited in the Common Room for Tom. He sat there for over twenty minutes, before deciding he should return to the dormitory to continue reading, for he was exceedingly restless. Another twenty minutes passed beyond that, before Tom returned from Slughorn's office. Harry stood up when Tom entered the room; glad that Slughorn hadn't kept him any longer. He watched as Tom came towards him, and he could hear his heart beating in his ears when Tom was only a few feet away.

"Finally, Slughorn's meeting ended," Tom said quietly as he stood besides Harry. "Do excuse the fact of my lateness. I enjoyed it as little as you did, if not more. There are only so many times I can ask to leave politely…"

"I don't mind," Harry said. "You're here now, at least."

Tom gave a hum of agreement as he took Harry's hand in his own. "Yet that was quite a lot a time to waste being away from you today…"

Harry smiled softly. "We have two weeks now."

"Yes," Tom agreed, "and we're alone at last…"

They gazed at each other after this, both taking in the other's appearance with silent rapture. Tom decided to kiss Harry, his lips moving slowly, which caused Harry's craving to quickly deepen. Yet he pulled away again after only a few seconds. When Harry opened his eyes, he found Tom examining him. He was about to speak, before Tom moved his right hand to touch Harry's Slytherin tie. Tom continued to look at Harry, as Harry looked back at him. A soft smile appeared on his lips as he began untying the silky material.

When Harry's tie hung loose, Tom began undoing each of the buttons of his shirt, watching for Harry's reaction as his fingers gently caressed his chest. Harry's heart was beating progressively more quickly, and his breath became more uneven every second as Tom moved lower. He was disoriented once more at Tom's touch, as he anticipated what would come next. When his shirt was completely open, Tom pushed it away, his hands sliding down Harry's bare chest. Harry felt a strong wave of desire at this, and he couldn't help but kiss Tom passionately, perhaps as Tom had planned.

As their embrace deepened, Harry pushed Tom towards his bed, feeling for his tie as he did so. He pushed Tom fully backwards, leaning over him and realizing, suddenly, that he enjoyed the feeling of overpowering him. Tom's hands were sliding along Harry's back as he began to undo his tie. Harry unbuttoned Tom's shirt, all the while kissing him, their breath rough as their bodies pressed together. When his shirt was open, Tom sat up to take it off fully; kissing Harry, and pushing him back onto the bed instead.

Tom kissed Harry's neck, causing shivers to run down his spine, and Harry's hands pressed against Tom's chest, clawing it lightly as Tom began flicking his tongue against Harry's skin. Tom moved down towards his collarbone, his teeth lightly biting Harry, who whispered vague words of Parseltongue. He could feel Tom's hands touching his shirtless form. After a moment, he rolled over in a way that left Tom underneath him.

Tom smiled up at Harry softly, and Harry kissed him. Their lips moved against each other in passion before Harry broke away, and made his way lower, like Tom normally did to him. He pressed his lips against Tom's jaw, and Tom seemed to enjoy Harry's touch, for he stretched his neck up, his breath audibly less composed. Harry began licking Tom, his hands travelling along his body feverishly.

Before Harry could move lower, Tom rolled them over again. He hissed Harry's name softly before biting his neck fully, causing Harry to moan softly. Tom's hands were drawing designs down Harry's chest, before they reached his waistband. Harry whispered Tom's name in desire as he began unbuttoning his trousers, beginning the event that Harry had craved to happen again for so long…

~&~

Harry opened his eyes slowly. He wasn't sure how long he had been sleeping for; perhaps as much as an hour, or as little as ten minutes – it didn't really matter anyway. The only thing that he cared about now was the sight in front of his eyes. Tom was lying next to him, staring into space vaguely as he thought. Harry was glad that Tom was still here, and he smiled a little as he continued to gaze at him, reflecting on what happened before he had fallen asleep.

Tom must have noticed, after some time, that Harry was no longer asleep, for he paused in his thoughts to look towards the other Slytherin. Tom smiled when he saw Harry, and shifted his position to face him fully.

"I'm glad you're awake," Tom said.

"How long was I asleep for?" Harry asked.

"A little over an hour."

"What time is it?"

"Eleven," Tom replied, taking his hand to caress Harry's jaw lightly.

"Did you fall asleep?"

"For a time," Tom said, before smiling again. "Yet how could I sleep for any proper amount of time when my conscious only dwelt upon the handsome boy besides me?"

"Handsome?" Harry repeated, "I think that's a bit of a stretch."

Tom frowned. "Well, I certainly find you handsome, even if you don't agree. Although I can't seem to decide why… Perhaps it's because of your jaw," he said softly, kissing Harry, "for that has to be one of my favourite parts about you. Or your lips" he kissed him again, "or your nose," and again, "or your beautiful green eyes…"

Harry kept his eyes closed even after Tom kissed his eyelids, and Tom soon moved back to his lips again, beginning another deep kiss. Tom ran his fingers through Harry's hair passionately as Harry caressed his shirtless back. Yet they pulled away after a few minutes, knowing that they had the whole night and longer to be together, and thus didn't need to rush. They gazed at each other, each still within the other's arms.

Harry's was examining Tom's handsome features, and it was a minute before he noticed that Tom was looking at his forehead. From familiarity, Harry realized that the other Slytherin was staring at his scar. Harry was tempted to hide it from Tom again, but he knew that wouldn't help now. He waited for Tom to speak, already deciding upon a lie to tell about it.

"I never noticed you had a scar before," Tom said softly.

Harry mused that this was perhaps the first time a Wizard had looked at his scar without the awe of realizing who he was to the world.

"When did you get it?" Tom asked.

"I've had it my whole life," Harry said truthfully.

"You weren't born with it, surely?"

"No," Harry replied. "But I don't remember ever not having it… I think I got it at the time Grindelwald hunted down my family."

Tom gave a hum of understanding as he traced the lightning-bolt shape of Harry's scar, his last smile long gone. Harry felt a slight pang of unease at the thought of Tom knowing, seeing, and remembering his scar, yet he knew it wouldn't really matter. It would be too late if or when Tom linked the scar to anything important. Harry watched for Tom's reaction towards this mark, to understand more clearly what he might be thinking in relation to his lie. Tom seemed vaguely curious, yet perhaps more … concerned? Harry wasn't really sure.

"Why do you hide it?" Tom asked.

"To avoid questions, mostly," Harry replied.

"Ah, indeed… I'm assuming some form of Dark Magic did this?"

"I think so," Harry said.

"It's quite neat…" Tom mused.

"I can't say I'm very fond of it," Harry remarked.

Tom's gaze dropped from Harry's scar to look at him in the eyes. "I meant only that there is but a handful of curses which would leave such a clean design," Tom explained. His eyes wandered upwards again. "Though now you mention it, it is quite striking, considering. I wonder what spell caused it…"

"It could have even been an object, and not a spell," Harry said, showing Tom other options so he didn't investigate the scar too determinedly.

"Of course," Tom said, "Yet wouldn't someone have healed it?"

"Oh… yeah, I suppose so."

Some time after this, Tom seemed to realise that Harry was vaguely uncomfortable with having his scar scrutinized. Even if he was not aware of Harry's complete reasons for feeling uneasy, he didn't hesitate to stop staring. He kissed the scar once, before moving lower on the bed to gaze into Harry's eyes. They sat in silence for a while, kissing each other on and off, before Tom spoke.

"What's your greatest fear?" he asked.

For an unknown reason, Harry found that he wasn't at all surprised or curious as to why Tom was asking this. He paused for a moment before answering, "I think my greatest fear is not being able to protect the people I care about."

Tom seemed to understand Harry's choice without asking, even if he himself was unlikely to have ever said the same. As such a Slytherin, Harry wondered whether Tom would even be willing to share his own fears, his weaknesses…

"What's your greatest fear?" Harry asked.

Tom took just as long as Harry had to answer this. "Darkness."

Harry tried hard not to look surprised. He tried to think of some memories to back up such a claim. "Why?"

Tom looked somewhat embarrassed at this, and he dropped his gaze a little from Harry's eyes. "I don't know… It's probably something to do with the orphanage."

"They didn't have lights?"

"Not in the London Blitz," Tom replied. "When I was fourteen and fifteen they didn't trust any of us with lights… I suppose Muggle bombs must also be a fear of mine, or else not having the ability to use magic, for protection."

Harry had never really thought about it before, yet he realised now that Tom had surely been in London in the summers when air raids were more than common. He would have been too young to use magic legally, of course, thus he would have suffered every day along with Muggles in knowing that they could die at any moment…

Harry then remembered about the cave where Voldemort had decided to hide Slytherin's Locket. Hadn't Dumbledore said something about Voldemort choosing such a dark and eerie place from inspiration from his own fears? It would make a lot of sense… Harry was somewhat caught of guard to realize that he found Tom's worse fear completely understandable. It even sounded as terrible as his own worst fear in some small way, but Harry wasn't sure why.

"That's why you stay at Hogwarts over the holidays, isn't it?"

"Indeed," Tom replied. "The headmaster let me stay here after some convincing…"

"It must have been terrible," Harry said, not knowing what else to say.

"Being in the middle of the beginning of a Wizarding War mustn't have been much better," Tom replied.

"Yeah… but we had magic at least."

Tom nodded, and they lay quietly for a while, both understanding the other's silence. They talked for quite a while longer after this, moving onto descriptions of other pieces of their pasts. Harry twisted stories often to suit his fictional past more, yet he was glad to see that he didn't need to change anything too dramatically anymore. Tom shared stories perhaps less often than Harry, yet not any less sincerely. In was exceedingly early in the morning by the time they both fell asleep, after another long series of embraces.

Days seemed to fall like grains of sand past this night, yet not a moment of it was wasted or forgotten in Harry's mind. There were days that passed by with Harry merely talked to Tom before the night arrived, and days were Harry couldn't remember spending a minute out of Tom's arms. In contradiction to the previously sluggish pass of time, everything was suddenly going by so quickly. What was more, Harry couldn't remember there ever having been a happier time in his life.

It was still early in the holiday as Harry and Tom made their way back from the Great Hall, heading for a staircase that would lead them back down to the Slytherin Common Room. It was around eight O'clock, and the sky outside displayed a nearly setting sun. The corridor they walked through seemed completely deserted.

"So why _did_ you make me deliver your letter to that student who lives in that hut in the grounds?" Harry asked, pretended he had forgotten Hagrid's name.

"To see if you could manage it, amongst other things," Tom said. "I'm sussing you read the letter?"

"Of course."

"What did you think of it?"

Harry could tell that Tom expected him to have gotten something out of the letter, but he decided against speaking about his knowledge of the Chamber of Secrets. "That boy has a giantess mother, doesn't he?" Harry asked.

Tom smiled. "Yes. But I knew you would guess that, even without the letter. I don't see how everyone doesn't know."

"Why did you challenge me so much though? Surely there were other ways to learn how I managed to get around the school without being caught."

"It was more of a test to see _if_ you were getting around the school," Tom replied.

"So… you still don't know how I do it?"

"No, I know how you do it now," Tom said. "As soon as I saw you could go unseen, I knew you had an invisibility cloak. I also watched to see when you would arrive at your destination."

Harry smiled as they turned towards a staircase that descended to the dungeons, wondering why he hadn't guessed as much before. There were no portraits on the walls here, thus no one to see them, so he stopped walking and reached for Tom's hand. "Well, I like your challenges," he said quietly.

Tom smiled back down at Harry once he stopped walking. He looked as though he was tempted to kiss him again, but before either of them could do anything else, Tom pulled his hand away. Harry wondered why he did this, before Tom turned to look to their left. Dumbledore was standing in the corridor, frozen. It looked to Harry as though he had just appeared around the corner… yet he still wasn't sure how long the Transfiguration Professor had been standing there for.

Harry was completely sure that Dumbledore could only see two perfectly unreadable students now, yet he still worried about what could have been seen before this. He supposed – perhaps hopefully – that Tom and himself holding hands could appear to have just been for the sake of Harry wanting to stand still to talk, yet all of that depended upon what angle Dumbledore looked upon them from, and what time exactly he had arrived here.

The only chance Harry and Tom had now rested in the art of pretending that nothing had happened. Harry tried hard not to remember how much Dumbledore distrusted Tom even now, because Dumbledore was surely likely to think nothing odd of this situation if Harry was unconcerned in expression… To no one's surprise, Tom was the first one to speak in the silence.

"Good evening professor," he said calmly. "What brings you towards the dungeons at this hour?"

"Professor Slughorn, naturally," Dumbledore replied, just as calmly. "I presume you two are headed for the Slytherin Common Room?"

"Of course, sir."

"Well, I suppose we had all better be off," Dumbledore said, perhaps accepting nothing had happened, perhaps hoping to ask more questions as they walked.

Tom nodded as Dumbledore strode towards them, and they headed for the staircase. Harry tried not to make his sudden distance from Tom too obvious as he walked in front of him. Dumbledore did indeed engage in more conversation with the two Slytherins, yet he didn't ask any questions that made Harry particularly anxious. Harry and Tom talked about the event a little when they arrived in the Common Room, yet the subject was dropped after a lack of progress made from it.

More time passed by, and Harry found himself constantly forgetting what hour, or even day it was. He didn't believe he would ever get over how wonderful it felt to pass the nights away with Tom, and all he knew was that he wanted to spend as much time as possible with him before the beginning of school…

It was midway through the holiday before Harry had even realised the time, yet it still didn't really bother him. Tom intertwined their hands as they sat upon a couch in the Common Room, gazing into each other's eyes. Harry could barely remember what they had been talking about all day, yet he knew that was almost the only thing they had been doing.

Harry could tell that Tom wanted to go to bed early this evening, and he wasn't at all surprised when Tom soon brought their interlinked hands to his lips, kissing Harry's palms softly in longing. It was with no hesitation that Harry followed Tom into the dormitories, kissing him along the way. Harry wasn't sure how long this night's whirl of passion had continued for, yet he could recall every kiss Tom had given him, and every touch they had shared.

Harry was resting vaguely as he lay with Tom upon his bed. He was distracted from sleep with the fact that Tom was still gazing at him. Harry wanted to engage in conversation with Tom more, yet Tom didn't seem talkative suddenly. He also wanted to continue embracing him, yet Tom kept pulling himself away, surprisingly reluctantly. Harry guessed, after a while, that Tom merely wished to think, so he followed.

Harry was falling asleep slightly as the minutes passed on. He was still awake technically as he listened to the sound of Tom breathing besides him, yet he was bored of his thoughts, which in truth only lingered on the idea of Tom. Harry wondered what Tom could be thinking about as they lay in silence. He wondered if something was wrong, yet he couldn't think of what. He had the suspicion that Tom was going to say something soon, though. After about an hour, he found he was right.

"Harry?" spoke Tom's voice quietly, breaking through the silence.

Harry opened his eyes. "Yeah?"

Tom paused after this, evidently struggling to find his words. Harry wondered again he was thinking about. "What is it?"

"I…"

Harry wasn't at all sure if Tom was even going to continue after this. He seemed to be trying to decide – perhaps unwillingly – whether or not to say what was on his mind. It took Harry a great deal of effort to refrain from pressing the subject more as he gazed at Tom. Finally, Tom decided to continue.

"Harry… I love you."

Harry froze, staring at Tom. He could barely believe that Tom had actually said these words, yet he knew he couldn't have misheard him in this quiet room. It took him a minute to realise that his heart was suddenly beating rapidly in his chest as his mind raced. Tom was watching him intently, wearing an expression Harry couldn't read in his bewildered state. Tom loved him. As insane as such a concept was to him, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe, a sense of complete astonishment.

Did Harry love him? This was the only thought within Harry's head now. He wasn't even sure what love was… Was it the wish, the craving, to stay with someone forever? The disbelief that anyone upon the earth could compare to the one person he connected with most of all? The sense of seemingly eternal happiness, which Harry couldn't recall ever having before, and somehow ever not having?

Harry didn't know how to define love, and he wasn't foolish enough to try so simply… but somehow, for an unknown and previously unnoticed reason, Harry felt as though the idea of being in love with Tom fitted. He gazed at Tom more, basking in the elation that filled him at this thought. "I love you too, Tom."

Harry watched as Tom took in these words. He realized, quite suddenly, that neither of them was smiling at this. Even with how much all of this delighted Harry, there was something in Tom's expression that told Harry there was more. Tom seemed thrilled with Harry's reaction – there was no doubting that – yet there was also a shadow of sadness that Harry didn't quite understand. He waited patiently for Tom to speak, knowing that this was too important to rush.

"I have to tell you something," Tom said in little over a whisper, "something I've never been foolish enough to tell anyone else before."

"What is it?" Harry asked, trying to think back on the secrets Tom had already told him.

Harry didn't think he had ever seen Tom so sorrowful, and with this he suddenly knew that Tom believed what he was about to say would demolish Harry's every remark of endearment. With every second Tom appeared more dismayed. Harry waited for Tom to speak, craving to know what was wrong.

"I've murdered someone," Tom said quietly, gazing at Harry as though he expected this to be his last moments with him.

Harry should have seen this coming long ago. He faked a look of surprise and concern for a moment, as he dropping his gaze to think. He was somehow glad that Tom trusted him enough to share this secret now, yet that was only a minor thought triggered by this confession. In truth, Harry still wasn't at all sure how he felt about Tom's crimes anymore… He remembered how outraged he had been to hear about the tale of Merope Gaunt at first, so somewhere – somehow – he knew that a part of him felt no sympathy for Tom's father… though it was still murder.

Then Harry remembered how Tom's father had caused Tom's whole life to be so depressing and despairing. On reflection, it was close to no surprise that Tom had sought revenge. It pained Harry to think about how much better Tom's life could have been if his mother had merely been able to survive… Harry suddenly decided what he wanted to say, and he was glad to hear that he didn't need to moderate his tone of voice as he spoke. "No one is innocent in the world, no matter how hard they try to go against such a plain rule… Some people deserve to die."

Tom considered this answer for a time. "But what if I had killed more than one person?" he asked quietly.

"Who?" Harry asked in necessity.

Tom's mouth twitched for a second, as though even the memory of his victims annoyed him. "My father and grandparents."

"Why?" Harry asked. He wanted to hear an explanation in Tom's voice.

"My father was a Muggle," Tom began with a slight hesitation, as though it caused him physical pain to recite the truth. "My mother – a pure blooded Witch of Salazar Slytherin's bloodline – fell in love with him, but knew the only way she could gain his affection was through the use of magic. I long ago worked out that she fed him love potion, and they ran away from their families to live together. My mother became pregnant, and somehow believed that my father would be in love with her even after the use of potions. Whether it was from the influence of mood swings, or some series of events, or out of general stupidity, I don't know. She had neither money nor shelter when he left, and thus died giving birth to me. That's how I ended up in that Muggle orphanage…"

"Why did you kill your grandparents too?" Harry asked, this question having always bothered him slightly.

"I wasn't planning to," Tom said. "I wasn't even planning on finding my father so soon… When I arrived at their residence, I crept inside the building, and soon found myself outside a room where they were all stationed, talking. It only took me minutes to see that they were all the same in measures of sickening arrogance. They began talking of my mother… I couldn't stand the idea of a minute's more worth of words from them, even as much as I hated my mother for being weak…"

Harry paused for a while after this, yet he couldn't think of what to comment.

Tom seemed to be wondering whether Harry understood him at all or not. Harry could see there was one last thing he wanted to say, and he waited for it. When Tom did speak again, his voice was far less displeased. "I feel no regrets about it."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean… that I would do it again if I had the chance. I would do it happily."

Harry wasn't sure what he thought about this. "But you seem hesitant now."

"That's merely because I care what you think."

"But, you must care about it if you're –"

"– You're the only person I care about," Tom interrupted. When Harry made no comment, he continued. "You're the only person I've ever cared about… the only person I've ever felt inclined to tell the truth to. I need you to understand that I feel no sympathy for those I've killed."

Harry wasn't sure why Tom was so determined to explain the exact extent of his murderous habits. Harry knew only too well about what he had done wrong… Again he could see a shadow of sorrow in Tom's eyes, and he understood that Tom didn't want him to be taken aback when he was to commit more murders…

"I do understand," Harry said truthfully. Tom didn't look very convinced, so Harry added; "I'm going to kill Grindelwald in a few years. Maybe sooner. That's the same thing."

Tom seemed vaguely tempted to remind Harry that planning on murdering someone and actually doing it were two very different things, yet he said nothing. Clasping Harry's hand in his own, Tom kissed Harry gently. Before they moved into a deeper kiss, however, Harry moved away a little to whisper, "I love you, Tom… No matter what has or will happen."

Tom smiled this time. "I love you too, Harry."

~&~

**Note to Readers:** It's highly unlikely that I'll ever write a full sex scene in this fic. As some of you may have noticed, this story is rated T+, not M. The reason behind such a decision is not as simple as "I'm a prude", or "sex is gross", because I'm not that simple–minded; the reason behind this choice is that I fucking hate Harry Potter PWP, and I in no way want to encourage it. xD

I hope that's a good enough reason. Even if it isn't, I don't really care. If you're looking for sex, I'm afraid you've just wasted your time reading over 80,000 words. If you want an acceptable story with somewhat interesting characters and plot, please, keep reading.

I'll be pretty disappointed if I lose readers merely because I'm standing for something… I don't hate sex scenes all the time; I just hate about 99.9% of them. When annoying, short fics written for erotic purposes are posted less on this site, I'll start writing full sex scenes (and yes, that pretty much means never).

There are also too many parts of plot and so on that I want to get accomplished, so I don't want to waste my time on long descriptions of what they do in bed. As you can see from much of the dialog in this chapter, this story is more about love than lust. Just wait until the next chapter, that's where things get interesting.

What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic, I suppose, and not a stereotypical teenager who only has but one priority in life.


	24. Soul Mates

"The holiday is almost over," said Tom, as he drew designs upon Harry's skin absent-mindedly.

"We still have a few days," Harry replied, disliking the idea of their time alone being indeed limited.

"But I nevertheless dread the moments when I'll have to remind myself that I can no longer be with you so simply," Tom said, "or talk to you so freely, or kiss you so frequently…"

Harry smiled lightly as Tom's lips pressed against his, though in truth he was a little dispirited with this reminder of how he too felt. "We'll still have _some_ time alone between classes and the Dark Arts," Harry said, perhaps talking to himself just as much as to Tom. "It won't be as bad as before, anyway."

"Indeed," Tom agreed, smiling softly as he gazed into Harry's eyes. "The others will get bored, unlike us." They fell silent as Tom played with a lock of Harry's hair, submerged in thought. Perhaps he had only made this simple reply to put an end to this section of the conversation, Harry mused. Even if that was the case, Harry couldn't say he was offended by it in any way.

He watched for Tom's expressions at a lack of interesting thoughts to dwell upon. Tom's handsome face remained unmoving for the majority of the time, yet occasionally a thought would trigger some whisper of emotion to be put on display. His dark eyes travelled Harry's face, but what he was thinking about, Harry could only guess.

Harry sometimes wished he could amuse himself with reading Tom's thoughts – as he had fallen in the habit of doing with the Death Eaters. Tom would surely be a rather interesting person to listen to… yet Harry knew it would be unwise to ask Tom to take down his shield of Occlumency, for he himself didn't know how to stop being impassive in thought.

He thought of Legilimency for a while after this, mulling over other new pieces of magic when that became a tedious subject. After a few minutes his thoughts reverted back to Tom, and he had a question. "Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Who were you with before me?" This question had been on Harry's mind vaguely for the past month, though he had never found the time to bother asking about it. "I mean, because obviously I wasn't the first person you ever kissed, or had sex with…"

"It wasn't anyone important," Tom said, "merely a girl in the year above me."

"She was the only girlfriend you ever had?" Harry inquired, somehow disbelieving.

"No…" Tom said hesitantly, "yet she was the only one I actually kept for long enough to be deemed a 'girlfriend'. She was dull, even for a Ravenclaw, and not at all as intelligent as one might have expected. We were never close. Our relationship lasted a mere three months."

"Oh," Harry replied. He found that he could think of nothing else to add past this.

"You've had girlfriends before, I'm sure?" Tom suggested.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "but in the end I never really had any time for it all. None of us did."

Tom gave a hum of understanding, and silence fell again. Harry was thinking about Cho and Ginny vaguely – mostly the latter. He thought back to his sixth year, in the first potions class taught by Slughorn, when he became convinced that he was in love with Ginny. That all felt so far away to him… He could barely remember what she had even been like, and why he had liked her so much. He remembered her personality, of course, but as he lay besides Tom, he couldn't remember how or why he had been supposedly in love with her.

They had talked occasionally, sure, and he had certainly enjoyed her company… but she hadn't been the same as Tom was to him now. Harry felt Tom caress his chin softly as they thought. He remembered, suddenly, how Ginny had gone through boy by boy, always finding a new boyfriend soon. Maybe he had fallen into some common trap or something, and had only imagined his devotion. She was nothing compared to Tom.

"Why do you suppose it feels like this when we touch?" asked Tom quietly, breaking Harry's trail of thought.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked in return.

"I mean that I've never experienced anything as peculiar and wonderful as this," Tom responded. His hand was travelling down to Harry's neck now. "Even a simple touch to and from you is enough to make me crave more – yet not as obviously as with others. I could keep my hand still," he carried on, animating his meaning by resting his fingers upon Harry's jaw, "and I still feel as though all is new. I can't seem to comprehend why that is."

"Maybe it's because I'm the first boy you've ever been with," Harry remarked.

"You've never been with a boy, have you?" Tom asked.

"No," Harry replied. Though Ginny had certainty been somewhat manly, Harry mused. That could explain something… For some reason this thought was vaguely amusing to him, and he suppressed a grin.

"And I feel different than others to you?" Tom asked.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"So it isn't merely you…"

"I'm still convinced that it's just different because we're only attracted to our own gender."

"Yes… " Tom said, contemplating this again. "But that is far less of a satisfying answer."

Harry smiled a little at this, knowing that Tom would only stop when he found some complex yet completely rational explanation. He had a feeling it would all wind back to homosexuality in the end, though.

He continued to try and remember just how different Cho and Ginny had felt in comparison to Tom. He came to the conclusion, after some time, that they merely hadn't been as… connected as Tom was to him. Harry didn't know why this was the only way he could explain it to himself… He couldn't even remember them anyway. He wondered if maybe his memory had been somewhat damaged… Tom felt like the only person Harry had ever really liked. It was as though Tom was his soul mate.

Soul mate…

"How do you suppose we're going to last being homosexual?" Tom asked quietly.

"I… I don't know," Harry said, wondering why his heart was suddenly pulsing with quickly flowing anxiety. He didn't meet Tom's eyes, as a whisper of a thought began to form in his mind. A foreboding thought…

They were soul mates…

"The world will never be ready for people like us, I fear," Tom murmured.

Harry was barely listening. Something was odd about the idea of soul mates. An impending realisation was in his head; he could sense it. Like the gathering of clouds, more thoughts and memories slowly began to form in his mind… There was something important about Dumbledore – not the Dumbledore currently at Hogwarts, but the old Dumbledore… but why?

"Yet we can always hold our silence upon the relationship we're in," Tom carried on, talking to an almost completely deaf Harry. "For now we can tell them that…"

_Tell him that on the night when Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort…_ Where had Harry heard Dumbledore say this? Snape. What about Snape? He was there, and so was Harry… except Harry wasn't really there.

"Harry?"

It was a memory. One of the memories Snape had left Harry at his death. How had Harry forgotten this? _And a fragment of Voldemort's soul blasted apart from the whole, and launched itself onto the only living soul left in the collapsing building…_

"Harry, are you alright?"

_Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with Snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort's mind that he has never understood…_

"No…" Harry whispered.

… _And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached, and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die. _

Harry felt sick, dazed. He remembered, now, about that unavoidable fact which had so persistently haunted his mind in the earlier months beyond The Battle of Hogwarts. He shared a piece of Voldemort's soul. He was still a Horcrux. This is why he was connected to Tom.

Before Harry knew what he was doing, he stood up. Tom was watching him as he began to pace the room, stunned in shock. Comprehension was storming inside his head, every thought a bolt of lightning… He shared a piece of Tom's soul. He was trapped, contaminated. This is why he had led all of those people death, because he – too foolish to die – had remained alive, hopelessly and unnaturally alive alongside Voldemort. How hadn't this thought remained in his head, where it surely should have been secured for forever, to remind him about his greatest mistake?

Amnesia, thought Harry, total amnesia… and foolishness. He had forgotten his greatest mistake. He had remembered it once, when he saw Hermione, Ron, Lily and Sirius again in the ring, but he had blocked it out. Foolishly and blindly blocked it out.

His friends – what about the friends he had had in the past? Harry suddenly realised, with a horrible jolt of shock, that he hadn't spared one thought for any of them in weeks. Even Tom had noticed this before him, he remembered. _Harry, you aren't avoiding the people you have lost, are you?_ Of course he was avoiding them all. Why wouldn't he, when he had Tom as a perfect excuse to forget his past?

To forget his past… Was Tom some sort of bad influence upon the strength of Harry's memory, or was Harry himself allowing everything to be forgotten? He couldn't bring himself to blame Tom, somehow. It had to be his own stupidity in getting lost in Tom's existence, and in the present. It was as if some wonderful enchantment had been smashed into a million pieces. Tom had been his first and only source of happiness since the Battle of Hogwarts, but now he saw of wrong he was in seeking that glee.

"Harry?"

More thoughts were coming to him in his stupefied state. This was the result of attempting to block everything off, he knew. It was the downpour crashing through a badly mended wound.

He suddenly understood more than ever that he should have died. He should have died happily rather than risk that hopeless risk of chance again. How had he expected to win, to keep his friends safe when his mere existence put a date upon their gravestones? He had been in shock, he knew. He didn't know what to do at the time anymore than he knew what to do now.

But here he was, alive and doomed once again. All of the hope he had built up since loosing everything had suddenly vanished. He wished he were dead. He wished he had died before those who had depended on him. He wished he had never met Tom. Memories of Ron and Hermione came flooding back to him. His best friends…

"You're scaring me."

Tom's voice pulled some part of Harry's conscious back to the present, and he stopped walking. He didn't turn around. From where Tom's voice was coming from, Harry guessed he was standing. He sounded concerned, which caused Harry to feel sorrowful.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked.

Harry made no reply.

He didn't know what to do. Was everything he felt toward Tom some sort of terrible lie fuelled by the connection of souls, and nothing more? Harry wondered suddenly why Tom didn't burn him with touch, as Voldemort had. Maybe the fact that Harry possessed a piece of Tom's soul not yet separated from him currently had something to do with it. Harry held a part of the exact piece that Tom still had. It was a simple answer. But if the answer was this logical and plain, why was it causing Harry to feel so painfully sad?

"Are you scared of what the world will think?" Tom asked.

Harry still didn't answer.

He didn't know what he was going to tell Tom. He wasn't fond of the idea of telling the truth here… unless he wanted to die tonight. Tom would surely kill him if he explained how and what he knew about his Horcruxes alone. If he added in his knowledge of the Chamber of Secrets, the encounter he had at the age of twelve with Tom's diary, a recollection of Dumbledore's memory of the orphanage, and finally a brief overview of how Tom's entire life would go, he would be buried in the forest by morning, and Tom would be gone from Hogwarts forever. It would be a simple way out…

_But I've come this far,_ said a quiet, sly voice inside Harry's head. _There is still a hope for revenge at the very least._ Harry scowled. He didn't believe in hope anymore. _Then make it your ambition. You've never tried that before…_ Harry couldn't help but contemplate this thought. It was true that he didn't want to die, _especially not when the present holds so many hidden possibilities._

"Is it what I've done?" asked Tom. His voice was little over a whisper, and yet completely audible within the silent room. "Is it the people I've murdered?"

"It's everything," Harry stated. With hearing his own voice, he realised he was crying. Yet that wasn't surprising, on reflection…

"What can I do?" Tom asked. Harry was taken aback that Tom had inquired this so bluntly. He had expected Tom to think of some clever plan to make him change his opinion or views on the problem.

"I… I don't know," Harry replied truthfully.

Harry mind suddenly thought back to the conversation they had held in February, talking about the possibility of Dumbledore and Grindelwald being more than just friends: _Endearment could probably make him lose consideration for his siblings,_ Tom had suggested. _His mother dying could have made him somewhat isolated, thus the moment Grindelwald walked into his life he could have been willing to forgot completely who he was, and what his previous priorities were initially telling him to do…_

Had Harry fallen for Tom in the same way that Dumbledore surely fell for Grindelwald? Did he only feel attached to the other Slytherin because he had suffered so much in the past?

"What are you going to do?"

_Leave him? _Harry shook his head in reply to this thought. Tom seemed to take this gesture as a sign that Harry was still disoriented. To confirm Tom's likely assumption, Harry added, "I don't know."

Tom was silent for a few minutes after this, allowing Harry to think. At the sound of his footsteps, Harry remained still. Tom seemed hesitant on deciding what to do when he was near Harry. Harry didn't look at him even now.

"I knew you would distrust me soon for my secrets," Tom stated quietly. "Yet I cannot say I regret telling you…"

_He's thinking of killing you,_ said the same sly voice in Harry's head. _He doesn't want to – not any more than you want to leave him – but it's still an option. There's no way he'll let you walk away with this secret, even if it isn't his most important one. He told you about who he's murdered, and he regrets that deeply…_

"Everyone has secrets," Harry whispered.

Tom didn't seem to know what to do with this reply at first. He seemed surprised that Harry had taken back some of what he blamed him for… Yet this didn't stop him from continuing. "I don't want to lose you."

Harry closed his eyes. He didn't want to lose Tom either…

"You told me that you loved me," Tom whispered.

Harry opened his eyes again, and gazed up at Tom. Great despair came over him as one more thought came to mind: did he still love Tom? If their souls being bound was the only reason for this all… But Harry couldn't bring himself to end that sentence. He couldn't imagine everything he had ever felt about Tom being false. He couldn't bring himself to believe that he was suddenly out of love with him merely because they shared this unfortunate bond.

The souls could merely be a side effect, Harry thought desperately. He felt another tear drop from his eyes as he gazed at Tom, taking in his familiar and handsome face. For once, Tom looked somewhat desolate in contrast to his usual calm and impassive expression. They looked at each other for a long moment as Harry thought.

He realised, suddenly, that he was going to have to kill Tom one day. When Tom became Voldemort, and Voldemort took over the Wizarding world, causing all the pain and suffering in Harry's life, Harry would have to murder him. Harry felt his hands began to shake, and his throat was uncomfortably contracted. He was going to have to kill the man that he knew that he loved even now. The only way this would end was in death, and Harry could do nothing about it.

_Unless you join him,_ suggested the sly voice inside Harry's head. _Properly join him, and stop this careful ruse of skimming your feet upon the sea of Dark Arts with the other Death Eaters. You've done well in only learning only what you must, and I have to congratulate you on that, for you've done well, but do you truly want to give up on love? Love, moreover, that is evidently far stronger than what you felt with the forgettable Ginny Weasley? _

Harry thought back to all those long days he had spent in Tom's arms, forgetting everything but their own existences. He thought of all the times they had shared secrets with each other, and related to parts of their pasts, however dismal or depressing. He remembered watching Tom's smile appear so delicately, and all those nights when he had craved to be near him again. All of those weeks he had spent wondering if he liked Tom, and what their first kiss had felt like…

"I do love you," Harry managed in a whisper. He could barely think about how to express his full sincerity behind these words. He was so confused as to what he was going to do about the attachment of their souls. All he knew was that he didn't want to leave Tom tonight, or anytime soon. He felt terrible about his lack of consideration towards the people he had led to death, and he knew he was going to think about them more now, but he couldn't stand it idea of leaving Tom.

Something in his expression seemed to tell Tom of his integrity, for he took a few steps forward, and placed Harry's hand within his own. He didn't look much happier than before as he looked at Harry, in fact, perhaps the opposite. Harry gazed into his eyes, revelling in the joy that filled him at Tom's touch, but nevertheless searching for how Tom might be feeling.

"I love you too, Harry," Tom said softly. He made no further actions, so Harry guessed he was about to say more. "I would never allow my past to effect you. I'm never going to hurt you."

Harry dropped his gaze. "I know… It's just…"

"A lot to take in?"

"Yeah."

"You don't fear me for it though, do you? Or resent, or hate me?"

"No," Harry replied truthfully, looking up at Tom now. "I just… I've just seen so many people die… It overwhelms me sometimes."

"You can talk to me about it, you know," Tom said.

"I know." Harry replied.

Tom took his free hand to touch Harry's face, wiping away any hint of tears. "You're beautiful you know," he said quietly.

"So are you," Harry replied.

They gazed at each other for a moment, before they kissed. Harry could barely believe how wonderful it felt, perhaps as a result of him knowing about souls now or perhaps as a result of the general relief from the previous strain of choice. The feeling of Tom's lips and the sound of his breath seemed more desirable to Harry than ever before. What was more, Tom appeared to feel the same way, for he kissed Harry with a rivalling wave of passion. Even Tom's smell was irresistible to Harry, who found he was losing himself in the arms of his lover yet again.

~&~

**Author's Note:** I just want to thank everyone for the reviews I've been receiving for all of my chapters. They more than anything brighten my days, no matter how corny or as much of a cliché as that may sound.


	25. Hold Your Tongue

It was raining as Harry wandered through the grounds of Hogwarts, watching the patterns that rippled across puddles upon the grass as he dwelt upon a variety of thoughts. He had decided to leave the Common Room for a while due to the fact that Tom was having yet another meeting with Slughorn, and he knew very well that it would be quite a while before Tom returned. He didn't want to wait around indoors, because he wanted a chance to think.

Today was the last day of the Easter holiday, and Harry was somewhat annoyed by the fact that Tom had to be somewhere, but he tried to not think about that too persistently. Each time Harry looked out across the grounds of Hogwarts, he was reminded of the years he had spent here from ages eleven to sixteen. That felt like decades away to him, even if it had only been just two years. The change in time made it feel like one of the most distant things he could remember.

He was surprised to find that his happiest memories of Hogwarts hadn't been lost in the darkness as he looked across the sombre grounds, though he knew he would never be able to quite capture that sense of blissfulness that he had felt at a younger age within this school. He remembered in his first year here, when he had felt so much awe at the very idea of Hogwarts, with it's libraries, forests, owl post, quills, creatures, broomsticks, and general magic. He felt somehow nostalgic as he remembered how brilliant Hogwarts had been.

He felt so much older than usual as he reflected on his past, and he slowly became aware of the fact that he mustn't even look the same as he did in his real school years. With all the things he had changed about himself, he was unrecognisable. He contemplated whether it had been a bad idea to change things – in the sense of knowing his own identity rather than of sheer thought towards the future. He didn't even wear glasses anymore…

Yet this was just a disguise, Harry reminded himself. He of all people should remember this, having used so many other disguises through the years with Ron and Hermione, to appear as other students or Ministry workers, or just anyone but themselves. He smiled slightly at the thought of their second year, when they had been convinced that Draco Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin, and had gone to such great lengths to try and confirm this as a theory.

Yes, he should remember this is a disguise. Using PolyJuice, human transfiguration or any other means of morphing appearance was vital to survive, so Harry was right to have left his old identity behind. The Order of the Phoenix members had always encouraged such precautions to be taken when the situation was severe enough. Moody would have said it was the right thing to do, and Sirius, and the other Order members, if they weren't ignoring him from the world of the dead.

Harry continued to walk through the rain, dwelling upon memories. All of these thoughts led onto other thoughts, of course, and it was late in the day before Harry realised the time. It was eight O'clock, and he knew Tom would be back from Slughorn's office soon, so he decided to head up to the castle.

The Common Room itself was empty when Harry arrived, so he headed for the dormitories. He smiled at the sight of Tom sitting on the end of his bed, reading over some parchment with his back towards Harry. With seeing that Tom hadn't noticed him yet, Harry walked forwards, taking off his soaking cloak and throwing it aside as he sat on the other side of the bed. Tom was about to turn around, before he felt Harry's lips already upon his neck. Harry heard him let out a hum of laughter and appreciation as he kissed him softly various times.

"I should have heard you," Tom smiled, as Harry slid his hands along his waist.

"You were distracted," Harry pointed out, soon resting his chin on Tom's shoulder. "What are you reading?"

"Merely my Astronomy Essay," Tom replied. "There are a few minor things I want to change."

Harry looked down at Tom's neat handwriting etched into the parchment, as he asked, "How long were you here for?"

"Not long. Perhaps ten minutes."

"How was Slughorn?"

"As uninteresting as always," Tom answered. "Where were you?"

"I decided to take a walk."

"It's raining," Tom stated.

"I know."

"You weren't regretting your past, I hope?" Tom asked, faintly not light-hearted enough to hide his concern.

Harry pretended he hadn't heard anything as he faked a breath of laughter. "No."

"Good," Tom replied, his voice sounding perfectly carefree on this second take. "But you shouldn't go outside in this weather. I don't want you to get sick."

Harry couldn't help but smile a little at Tom's consideration. "It doesn't take long to cure a cold with magic."

When Tom said no more past this, Harry kissed his neck a few more times, his hands slowly making their way up his chest.

"I'll never get any work done like this," Tom said quietly, a teasing note in his voice.

Harry continued kissing him, feeling the desirable texture and shape of his neck with his lips. "They'll be back in two hours," he whispered as he neared Tom's ear.

Tom leant his head back slightly, almost giving in to Harry's touch. "Which is all the more reason for me to do this now," he said, only just hiding his longing as Harry's hands began to undo his tie.

"_I think it's all the more reason for me to do _you _now,"_ Harry hissed, smiling at his own immature twist of words. His use of Parseltongue seemed to have had a strong effect upon Tom, however, for felt the Heir of Slytherin begin to lean towards his touch at the use of it, and he continued kissing him, opening his shirt button by button.

In defeat, Tom moved away from Harry slightly, and turned around to push him backwards, grinning as he did so. His shirt was already fully open as he began to undo Harry's, kissing him on the lips passionately. He moved away only to kiss along Harry's jaw, until he reached his ear.

Tom let out a soft sigh of craving, before whispering, "I'm going to miss this."

Harry tried not to think about their lack of time as he paused for a moment. "So am I…"

– X –

"That ain't nearly as much as we were betting on!" Avery exclaimed.

"What? That's thirty Galleons, seven Sickles, and two hundred and six Knuts," Mulciber said, pointing to the stacks of money in front of him. "That's exactly what we were betting!"

"You put down at _least_ seventy Galleons."

"You're wrong!" Mulciber argued. He turned to Nott for support. "Tell him he's wrong."

"I heard seventy," Nott replied. "Seventy Galleons, seven Sickles, and two hundred and six Knuts."

Mulciber looked at Nott in disbelief. "I'd _never_ bet that much!"

"I think he's lying," Lestrange said lazily from behind the evening paper he was reading. "He's always lying, these days."

"There, see? You betted way more than thirty," Avery said. "So you can either pay up, or get the fuck out."

Mulciber looked rather irked at this. He stood still for a moment, trying to decide whether a fight was worth keeping the extra forty Galleons. His eyes travelled from Avery, to Nott, to Lestrange, and even to the other Death Eaters who were watching the conversation, before he seemed to decide that he was outnumbered. He took out a large bag of money begrudgingly, throwing down the extra Galleons. "I need a drink," he added shortly afterwards.

It was the first week of May, and the Death Eaters had been back at Hogwarts for just over a fortnight. Harry was currently sitting in the headquarters with all of them and Tom, relaxing after yet another long day of school and practising the Dark Arts. Most of the Death Eaters had just finished playing a long series of card games, and they were now talking amongst themselves about various subjects that Harry wasn't very interested in.

Tom was examining his Death Eaters with the same quiet contemplation he always looked at them with, and Harry wondered vaguely whether he was reflecting on the particular skills he had perfected in almost every individual around. None of the Death Eaters were nearly as good with the Dark Arts as Tom was, of course, for he had mastered every aspect of the subject with seemingly unnatural ease, though Harry knew he had to be somewhat satisfied with his personal army. As unintelligent as the Death Eaters might be in general, they were doubtlessly more educated in the Dark Arts than the majority of the country.

It was late in the day – perhaps ten or eleven O'clock – and Harry was secretly waiting for everyone but Tom and himself to leave the room, or else for the chance of Tom and him to slip away without being noticed. As usual with the school being so busy, they hadn't had a moment alone together for the entire day, and barely minutes together in the days before. Harry was so painfully bored of school and the Death Eaters by this time; the only thing he had to keep him sane was memories of his past, and of Tom.

"Jonathan, do you want to borrow the Daily Prophet again?" Lestrange asked from across the table.

"Sure," Harry replied, glad of something to do. "Thanks."

As irritating as Lestrange could be in the art of suspecting Harry of getting extra lessons in the Dark Arts, he was always generous in offering to share what news the world had to offer. Harry had asked him once why he was so willing to give away newspapers, and he had explained, "My father is very against news corporations, and hates the idea of all the advertisements and ill-informed articles they produce, so in return I decided to begin buying newspapers with my own money every day, twice a day, sharing the news with anyone interested, merely to annoy him. The more people I share news with, the more news gets spread. My father was never a particularly pleasant Wizard…"

Harry was glad to know that Lestrange didn't hate him as much as his father, at least. Even through his greatest moments of disliking Harry for the idea of private lessons with Tom, Lestrange always gave Harry access to the news. Harry flipped through the newspaper now, trying to find an interesting article, but he soon found there were none. He began reading about the newest broomstick at a complete lack of other things to do. It amused him somewhat to see how greatly outdated it was compared to what he was used to…

Harry spent around thirty solid minutes reading. It was quite a while before a conversation being held by a few of the Death Eaters caught Harry's ear. He didn't look up from his paper as he listened, somewhat taken aback.

"Professor Spindle got it lucky," Avery was saying thickly, clutching a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand. "If Slughorn hadn't almost caught us slipping Wartcap Powder in his wardrobe, we could have had him retire from the school, by now. What is even the point of Muggle Studies..."

"It should be stopped," Dolohov agreed. "If Dumbledore won't do it, it only makes sense for us to take matters into our own hands."

"I reckon it's only a matter of time before an attempt is made in his life," Avery said in a low voice, grinning boyishly. "You know what happened to that Mudblood Myrtle two years ago. If we could get him like that..."

As Harry watched, he noticed that Tom looked somewhat annoyed… or perhaps a little more than somewhat. Avery hadn't noticed this, until Nott (who was sober and not at all a part of Dolohov's group) elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Apparently Nott wasn't any less frightened than the Death Eaters around him who were suddenly averting their eyes from Tom. Almost the entire room stared fixedly down at the table as Tom remained wordlessly infuriated. The room feel into progressive silence – a deadly silence.

Avery finally looked at Tom. The grin of his previous conversation slid from his face. Mulciber and Dolohov were trying not to laugh as they backed away from looking at either Tom or Avery like trained – yet intoxicated – dogs. Their will to stop making noise overpowered any humour they might have seen in this situation, which amazed Harry, considering how much they must have drunk. He wondered how Tom could keep them all so well in line…

Avery was exceedingly pale as he looked from Tom to Harry, his moth an almost comical O shape. He soon began spluttering out words in a vain attempt to be forgiven for whatever mistake he had evidently made. "I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say – I didn't realise – they was the ones who–"

"Leave," Tom hissed.

Before Harry knew it, Avery, Dolohov, Mulciber and around seven other Death Eaters jumped out of their seats, scrambling for the door. A few of them were fighting against laughter again as they stumbled into the corridor, while others pleaded for them to be quiet. Nott stood up too, watching Tom apprehensively even as Tom stared down at the table. Lestrange followed Nott in standing, and they headed for the door swiftly, accompanied by Rosier, his two Ravenclaw friends, and a herd of others. Harry couldn't even catch glimpses of anyone's thoughts, for the room was emptying in record time.

Sooner than (and not quite as satisfyingly as) Harry could have hoped, he and Tom were perfectly alone. The room was quiet for the first time in hours when even the distant footsteps of running Death Eaters had faded away behind the closed door, and Harry stared at Tom, who stared back at him expressionlessly. There was a long pause.

"So," Harry began, his voice the only audible sound, "they… tried to kill Professor Spindle."

"I meant to tell you," Tom stated quietly.

To be perfectly honest, Harry wasn't really surprised that the Death Eaters would do something like this, being Death Eaters and all, but he was confused as to why he hadn't known this before. It was evident from the reactions of the Death Eaters that Tom didn't want Harry to know about the uncontrollable Muggle-hatred of his followers, but Harry didn't understand why.

"You might think it was somewhat important," Harry remarked, his tone attempting calmness in contradiction to his internal annoyance and confusion.

"What was I supposed to say?" Tom asked him in a low voice. "I cannot control these particularly foolish endeavours, and I don't see what use it would do trying to now."

"Yeah, what would be the use in stopping them from murdering their own professor?" Harry mocked, his temper rising.

Tom appeared irked by Harry's use of sarcasm. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what did you mean?" Harry inquired. "That you don't see what use it will be to _you_ in the future? That you don't think it will be a good idea to stop them now, so you can use more of them later on?"

"I should have told you earlier," Tom reflected more to himself than to Harry, as he dropped his gaze. "I knew you would react like this…"

"What, like a normal person?"

Tom seemed to be struggling with how much he should argue back to Harry. "I can't be held responsible for everything my friends do. I'm not a teacher."

"You teach them the Dark Arts," Harry reminded him, "and you're their leader. They wouldn't even care if you told them not to do it anymore – they'll do anything you say."

"And I've spent a lot of time making sure they'll do as I say," Tom added. "I don't even see why you care, they always go after Mudbloods and blood traitors. It isn't as though this is news to you."

Harry bit back a retort at this, knowing that as a Slytherin, and through peer pressure, he wasn't supposed to care about anyone who wasn't directed linked to him, or who was a Mudblood or blood-traitor. He also knew that this was going to be the least of his worries within a few years, when murder and felony was usual. He tried not to dwell upon that idea too much… he tried to remember why else he cared instead.

"You didn't have to lie to me."

"Technically I didn't lie," Tom reasoned. "I merely forgot to tell you."

Harry refrained from correcting Tom's 'forgot'. "Why?"

"I didn't think you'd understand," Tom explained. "The others are used to it from how often they hear details, but you were the exception. They started this around a year ago, and you're the only new person who has joined my group since then."

Harry thought about this for a minute, but found he was still annoyed with Tom for hiding this. Even if Tom had been cautious about the reaction he might have to the whole situation, Harry hated the idea of being left in the dark. But as Harry thought about it, he supposed Tom had been correct in assuming that he would be very against the whole situation. He sighted. "With all the terrible things the others do, why did you keep this from me?"

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, visibly surprised that Harry had asked this. "Murder has to be the worst thing my friends do."

"No," Harry argued, these thoughts only just coming to his head as he spoke. "With all the things you teach them, with all the weapons you hand them, they have the power to do a lot of bad things… In the future, they could do worse…"

Harry was no longer looking at Tom; he was gazing at the glossy black table in front of him as he thought. He knew that in a matter of years the Death Eaters would be committing crimes far more severe than what they could manage now, at Hogwarts. They had a terrible reputation now, but it was only going to get worse…

In the future they would be demolishing Ministry buildings, murdering innocent people, gathering dangerous magical creatures, crushing uprising forces, expanding their seemingly unstoppable army of Dark Wizards, and who knew what else. Their current crimes would be nothing short of kind, in comparison…

"You don't resent me for what I've taught them?" Tom asked quietly.

Harry glanced up at him, trying to decide upon an answer to this. He knew that Tom had worked tirelessly for years to get his Death Eaters as educated in the Dark Arts as they now were, and Harry wondered for the first time whether he regretted the little aspects of his this ambition that had grown out of hand. Harry slowly came to realise that he would have to accept all the Death Eaters' behaviour in the future, no matter how terrible it became. If he wanted to stay with Tom, and if he wanted to visit his past again, he didn't have a choice.

"I don't resent you," Harry said, "and…"

He struggled for a minute, forcing himself to speak so as to extinguish any hint of doubt in Tom's mind.

"And I don't really care about what the Death Eaters do. It's their business; neither of us can control it. I just don't want you to feel as though you need to lie to me – or withhold the truth."

Tom smiled a little, perhaps out of relief, and took Harry's hand in his own. "I won't withhold any more important information," he said softly. "I was merely scared that you weren't ready to know."

"I'd rather face the truth," Harry stated.

"Yes," Tom agreed. He lent forwards to kiss Harry, and they were silent for a moment as a result of it. The embrace was beginning to deepen, before Tom moved away.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

Tom looked as though he wanted to say something, and Harry waited. After a few seconds of hesitancy, Tom just smiled, and said, "I'm merely glad we've bought ourselves a few free minutes."

Harry smiled back, but something was telling him this wasn't really what Tom had wanted to say. He was very tempted to push the subject, yet he knew Tom would deny the idea of his previous hesitancy being important, so he pushed the thought away from his mind instead. "What did you tell the Death Eaters to make them hold their tongues about hating Professor Spindle when I'm around?" he asked.

"I didn't really tell them anything, actually. I was rather vague about the whole thing," Tom confessed. "It isn't often that they're curious enough to disobey my commands, either… I didn't expect them to tell you anything even while under the influence of alcohol. I gave them precise instructions in the art of keeping this secret. They weren't even allowed to think about it when you were around – or, rather, when you could read their minds."

"You did a pretty good job," Harry remarked, "except for the fact that all of your friends are probably now under the illusion that I'm some sort of Muggle-lover, or that I can't handle things this extreme."

"Their foolish assumptions never last long," Tom reasoned.

"It's still embarrassing," Harry said, moving closer to Tom, and smiling softly in spite of his claim. He kissed Tom again, savouring the idea of how much time they had together tonight, and relishing in how wonderful it felt to kiss and feel him again.

Neither of them pulled away this time. Harry ran his fingers though Tom's hair and Tom held him closer. It was past midnight when they arrived, reluctantly, back in the Common Room, where almost half the Death Eaters were missing. When Harry lay awake for hours again that tonight, he thought about the Death Eaters, wondering how they would all turn out in the end. He could barely believe how much fouler they were becoming. Worse than he had ever known…


	26. Hesitancy

Harry drummed his fingers on the table softly as he forced himself to try and listen to what Dumbledore was talking about yet again. It was a cloudy Friday afternoon and the Transfiguration Classroom was quiet for the most part as wind and rain pounded against the tall windows of the castle. Even without the constant reminder from every teacher and student he spoke to within the school, Harry knew only too well that the NEWTs were four weeks away… but he also knew that this wasn't bothering him in the slightest. He was only keen on listening to Dumbledore speak because he wanted something – anything – to be distracted by.

It had been a little over a week since Harry found out about the Death Eaters' attempts on Professor Spindle's life. Harry bit the inside of his lips at the very thought of it, trying to settle his nerves, but it didn't truly help. It had been more than a week and nothing had been resolved. The Death Eaters were seriously contemplating murdering him in secret, and with their lack of morality, Harry was finding it impossible to accept all of this.

He had been trying, in vain, to convince his own mind that he didn't care about any of it – he told himself over and over again that it didn't matter, that it was just some unavoidable inconvenience, but his sore lips were telling him quite the opposite. Harry just shouldn't think about it… even if it was the most excruciatingly revolting thing he had ever heard. He struggled to remain impassive in this quiet classroom as a sickened expression came over him. But what else had he expected from Death Eaters?

Although, Nott and Lestrange weren't so foul… they, and people like Rosier didn't seem to like this dark shadow that hung over their entire group any more than Harry did. Harry had been reading their minds often lately, whilst staying far away from Dolohov's and so on. All of the Death Eaters were suddenly willing to think about more things near Harry, and Harry was occasionally willing to take advantage of this fact. Nott and Lestrange's thoughts were almost reassuring at times.

**(**_It's about time he knows, anyway,_**)** Lestrange had thought the first time Harry read his mind since being informed on the whole situation. **(**_I'm almost glad of it. It's terrible that another one of us has to suffer with the weight of this crime, though I simply can't stand having to stop myself from thinking about certain things around people. Riddle's far too paranoid when it comes to trusting us with secrets. Although I'd never want to be the one who tells him that… ugh … I wonder how long it will take Jonathan to block it out, or else get used to it…_**)**

**(**_Will he leave? I can't be sure,_**)** Nott thought in relation to Harry one evening. **(**_He obviously won't be able to handle it as well as some of us, even if he hides that well. Why else would Tom have kept it a secret? Tom didn't save any of the rest of us it. I wonder what Jonathan's views on Muggles even are… I'm glad I'm not the only one who is terrified by this murder… And Avery wonders why I don't like hanging around him, anymore…_**)**

Harry was regretting that he hadn't prolonged his argument with Tom a week ago. He had only done so because he didn't want to seem too concerned or too varying from his previous acceptances. But cold murder was quite different to joking about blood purity or learning a few spells. Harry saw now that more than half of the Death Eaters were ill at ease with this elephant in the room, but even if they weren't, it would still be eating away at Harry as it now was.

Tom must have seen all of this – must have heard all the reasons for murder to be called immoral and appalling – but he wasn't doing anything about it. Harry didn't even understand how this was possible. Tom had more than enough power over his Death Eaters to stop this, but he must just not care enough to want to change anything. Harry had wondered, perhaps ignorantly, whether Tom even knew how horrible this was, and how important it was to stop.

How had Harry supposed for even a minute that lying about being okay with everything was a good idea? He assumed, after a time, that Tom would now be under the illusion that the only thing that had bothered him was the idea of a secret, and that was rather misleading. Harry regretted every lie he had told that night… He felt as though all the blame for this crime would soon crash down upon his shoulders, even as he sat in silence, not knowing who Professor Spindle really was...

He had hoped, unsuccessfully, that Tom might reflect upon the whole situation, perhaps realising that Harry really wasn't okay with it, but over a week had passed and Tom hadn't mentioned it again. The more time Harry waited, the more chance there was of this getting worse, and he was worried about that. He really wasn't sure how much longer he could suffer trying to keep these thoughts and emotions hidden.

The bell rang to signal the end of class. Harry stood up with the other students, packing away his books, parchment, quill and inkwell as he continued to think. As he left the classrooms with Tom and a few of the Death Eaters, he decided he was going to stop hiding his real thoughts tonight…

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

Harry hesitated for a second, as he saw a few of the Death Eaters turn out of the corner of his eye. "I was wondering whether I could speak to you?"

Tom seemed mildly surprised. He didn't answer for a second as he contemplated this.

"It's important," Harry added.

"Of course," Tom said, standing up. Harry did the same. "Shall we walk?"

"Sure."

They left the headquarters; a few Death Eaters watching them go with mild curiosity. They set off along one of the cold, empty corridors that wove across the dungeons, their footsteps echoing as loudly as always against the stone floor and walls. It was quite a stretch of time before either Tom or Harry spoke, to be sure that none of the Death Eaters would overhear them.

"What do you wish to talk about that couldn't wait until later on?" Tom asked carefully as they walked. He was examining Harry's expression, as always.

Harry struggled with his words for a minute, before he sighed, and decided to say exactly what was on his mind. "I'm not okay with what some of the others do."

There was a short pause. "What do you mean?"

Annoyance played at the edges of Harry's mind. "What do you think I mean?"

Tom paused. He seemed unsure what to say for a moment.

"You said you didn't really care about what the others did," he reminded Harry, his expression never displaying a flicker of emotion. "You said it was their business, and that neither of us could control–"

"I lied," Harry admitted, wondering why Tom hadn't guessed as much.

Tom was confused. "Why?"

"I - I was just so overwhelmed with the idea of them murdering Spindle," Harry admitted lamely. "I sort of… panicked."

They were still walking, heading towards the upper floors of the castle now. "What do you want me to do?" Tom asked.

"Well, stop them maybe?"

"I've already said that I cannot stop them," Tom stated. "Even you said that neither of us could control it."

"I was lying when I said that," Harry said, his temper raising. "You have more than enough ability to stop them – I know you do."

They were on the first floor now, ascending a staircase that was leading them even higher. "I don't want to stop them," Tom said simply.

"Why not?" Harry asked in bewilderment.

"Why would I want to?" Tom inquired in response.

"Because what they're dong is immoral?" Harry suggested, his voice rising every second. It was past ten O'clock. It took everything within him to refrain from yelling at Tom for being so frustratingly unwilling to accept anything he said. "Because it's terrorizing the school, because they'll be doing this for the rest of their lives otherwise!"

Tom was silent as they continued to climb these stairs, making their way without comment towards one of the empty sitting rooms on the sixth floor. No one would hear them argue from there. Tom didn't continue their conversation as they headed higher and higher, but Harry knew he was thinking about it all. When they reached the sixth floor, they headed along a few corridors that led them to their destination. Tom was still silent as he held the door open for Harry. He closed it softly behind him when they were both inside the room.

They stared at each other for a minute more.

"I don't understand why you feel this way," Tom remarked, his voice still calm. "I don't see why you care."

"I care because what they're doing is sick!"

"What they're doing is not important," Tom replied. "Spindle is a Muggle-lover, he-"

"It's extremely important!" Harry contradicted. "You can't get away with just murdering a teacher for standing for the rights of Muggles! How can't you see that?"

"I'm not a part of it," Tom asserted, his voice finally displaying the annoyance Harry had been waiting for as he ignored the last question. "I neither led them to this nor encouraged them into continuing it."

"But you're their leader!" Harry exclaimed. "If they think you're fine with it, they'll never question it."

"They know I have scarcely any strong views about murder," Tom said. "They know I'm not in charge of their every inclination, as you too should understand."

"But they'd do absolutely anything you say, and if you told them to stop–"

"I won't use my influence over them to change something I didn't start!" Tom said furiously.

"That you didn't start?" Harry asked. "Of course you started this! You were the one who introduced them all to the Dark Arts, to this endless spiral of twisted crime–"

"You're blaming me for this directly?" Tom asked in indignation. "Are you suggesting I taught them directly how to murder people?"

"No, I just…" Harry began pacing the room, running his fingers through his hair as he felt anger pulse through his veins. "They just can't be allowed to continue this," he carried on. "They can't be allowed to destroy people's lives for their own amusement!"

"I can't monitor their whole lives," Tom stated, his annoyance never wavering. "What they do is no one's business but their own."

"You don't need to monitor their whole lives; you just need to tell them that it's wrong!"

"Why don't you tell them?" Tom offered dryly.

"Are you scared of them or something?" Harry asked.

"Are you?" Tom inquired just as irritably.

"I'm horrified! And it's insane that you're refusing to do anything about it! You must have heard all of the reasons why this is wrong by just reading the minds of any of your friends who still have even a drop of morality left in them, but you still haven't done anything about it! People are being punished for even speaking about Muggles, Tom, and you're acting as though it's better – it's easier for you – if this carries on!"

"Why must you blame me for every last mistake my friends make?"

"Because I don't know how to handle this!" Harry replied. "I don't even know where to _begin_ accepting this horrible situation!"

Tom appeared taken aback at this. He stared at Harry. There was a pause, where he didn't seem to know what to say. Harry stood in equal silence, keen on allowing Tom to think as his own mind wove around in circles of worry. Over a minute passed.

Tom's voice was quiet when he spoke again. "If you can't handle this, then…"

"Then what?" Harry asked.

Tom's expression was unreadable. "I don't know."

Silence fell again. Memories of why Harry had backed away from this same argument a week ago began to seep back into his mind. But one main thing had changed since then; no matter how educated the Death Eaters became in Dark Arts, no matter how powerful they were under Tom's influence, Harry didn't believe that they could do anything quite as horrible as this so soon…

"You've never met Professor Spindle," Tom said. "You don't know how he cherishes Muggles."

"I don't care. It doesn't make a difference... It's still taking a human life..."

Harry had to hide his annoyance at Tom's mention of Muggles As if that made any of this better…

"They've never murdered a teacher before," Tom told him. "This isn't common."

"They still do it... I don't know what you can't understand about that."

He gazed at Tom for a minute, before his eyes moved to the floor in thought. He wished Tom would just understand how horrible this was. Even if Tom knew about some perfect balance he was supposed to maintain in keeping all of the Death Eaters under his order, he shouldn't even hesitate on this.

Tom had made no reply, but after what seemed like a few minutes at least, Harry heard his footsteps. When he looked up, Tom was in front of him, his handsome face perhaps a little concerned as his dark eyes examined Harry carefully. Harry felt Tom's hand touch his own. He looked down again to watch their fingers intertwine. They stood for a while, just holding hands, before either of them spoke.

"Will you ever be able to accept it?" Tom asked softly.

Harry looked up at Tom, gazing into his dark grey eyes. He decided to be fully honest. "No."

Tom paused as he contemplated this. "Will you bear their jokes about it for now?" he asked. "It a mere month before we leave this School. They won't even be able to do kill Spindle before then, with the NEWTs and so on distracting them."

He reached up his free hand to touch Harry's face, caressing his fingers along his jaw softly.

"We won't even see them for years..."

"What about after Hogwarts for them?" Harry asked. "How do you know they won't continue to try murdering people who teach wizards about Muggles?"

"They fear the Ministry far more than the headmaster of Hogwarts, Armando Dippet," Tom assured him, "and they will be far too busy getting jobs to even meet up with one another again, never mind organise another crime."

"I suppose so…" Harry said slowly, but he still wasn't very convinced.

"We'll forget about them all too quickly," Tom stated, his hand still stroking Harry's face gently as he spoke. "None of this will even matter when we're alone at last."

Harry gazed at Tom, enjoying the feeling of his long, thin fingers touching his face, but knowing he still hadn't changed anything for the better. "We can't do nothing," he asserted.

"We don't need to do anything," Tom replied softly. "It will all fade away no matter what we do."

Harry watched Tom, wishing he could believe these words. When he found no reply to this, Tom leant forwards to kiss him softly. They lingered on this kiss for a while; nonverbally taking back any harsh things they may have said to each other in their argument. Harry found that the feeling of Tom's lips brushing gently against his own, of Tom's hands slowly making their way up his back, and of Tom's breath becoming increasingly more impassioned was pushing the idea of the Death Eaters away from his mind. He felt as though it was too soon when Tom pulled away from their embrace, gazing into his eyes once more.

"If they really start plotting murder," Harry continued, "will you do something about it?"

Tom thought about this for a minute. "Yes…"

Harry nodded; glad they had reached some form of agreement.

"Shall we sit?" Tom asked quietly.

"Sure," Harry replied.

Tom led him to one of the comfortable couches that rested within this room, and they sat down, close to each other.

"What are we going to do after we leave Hogwarts?" Harry asked Tom before they could do anything else.

Tom smiled faintly at this question. "We'll have to find our own room in a flat, to begin," he said.

"How?" Harry asked, liking this idea already.

"There is a whole number of ways we could manage it," Tom answered. "We obviously won't be able to move into even a purposely shared flat together on request, for that would cause much suspicion, and the chance of being chosen as room mates randomly is rather thin, but we still could use anything from lies to curses to get what we want. No one would suspect a thing, with this being such a simple thing to ask for."

"We both need to find jobs at this time, as well," Harry stated.

"Of course," Tom agreed.

"Do you still want to be a teacher here at Hogwarts?" Harry asked before Tom could carry on.

"Yes," Tom said. "The Defence Against the Dark Arts job, if I can manage it. As I've probably already told you, professor Merrythought is more than willing to give up her post, just as soon as someone offers for the job to be taken off her hands."

"Does Dippet know about it yet?"

"Yes, she talked to him about it for a few months ago. He has even put out word that the job is available now."

"You're lucky she didn't decide to retire earlier," Harry commented.

He watched as a shadow of a smile appeared on Tom's lips. "Yes, quite lucky…"

Harry paused for a minute, wondering why Tom was smiling. "Did you… do something to make this happen?" he asked.

Tom looked down at their interlinked hands for a second, smiling more. "Well, I wasn't just going to watch the perfect opportunity slip through my grasp."

"What did you do?"

"Not very much," Tom replied. "I only had a few chats with Merrythought, hinting most obviously towards the idea that I would one day like to teach, and how I thought she was simply the most _insightful_ and _inspirational_ person I had ever met on the subject of Defence Against the Dark Arts – which is, to her mislead assumptions, my absolute favourite of all Hogwarts' classes."

Harry smiled a little at the idea of this, completely unsurprised that Tom would act upon his hope towards Merrythought remaining at the school until he was to leave. "So she wants to give you the job?"

"For the most part, yes," Tom said. "Though it's not truly her choice. She is thinking about dropping in a good word to Dippet about me before she leaves the school fully, which is most helpful. I have no reason to believe that Dippet wouldn't want me to have this job, what is more."

Harry smiled again as he withheld the fact that he knew Dippet would think Tom was too young for the job. "Why do you want to teach?" he asked, out of general curiosity to hear his answer first–hand as well as to keep the conversation going well.

"There are many reasons," Tom replied. "The most obvious of which would be that I myself find endless satisfaction in learning things almost continuously, and I could easily gain a lot more knowledge from being at Hogwarts for longer. Then there is the whole idea of having the chance to influence young minds… I think that is something that people in general undervalue for the most part. With teaching hundreds of young Witches and Wizards about the way I personally perceive the world comes the opportunity to use their power to my own advantage."

"Like with what you did in teaching us all the Dark Arts?"

"In a very similar way to that, yes."

"Why Defence Against the Dark Arts then?" Harry asked, already vaguely knowing the answer.

Tom smiled. "By teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts it will be my responsibility to teach students about defending themselves against the terrifying – yet brilliant – world of the Dark Arts. But if I taught the class in the correct way, the Dark Arts could catch the interest of many of my students. I could be persuaded by them to display pieces of the Dark Arts after a time, and perhaps I could even begin to teach them a little bit about the magic that rests in the blurry grey line between white and black… There would surely come a time, after the students have spent years in my class, when I could teach them proper Dark Magic with them barely even realising that these 'defences' can easily be used as weapons."

Harry wasn't really sure how he felt about Tom's master plan, but he knew that it would never be out into action, anyway. "It sounds like you've put quite a lot of thought into this idea."

"As always," Tom replied, smiling. "But tell me, what job do you want to have?"

"Oh, I'm not really sure…"

In full honesty, he hadn't given the idea much thought at all. He had only really thought about what he would need to do to reach the year 1990 again. He quickly began contemplating what he needed to do after he left Hogwarts … He needed to pretend that he was hunting down Gellert Grindelwald, to begin. Yet he would only need to do that for a few months, for after that, Dumbledore would win the duel against Grindelwald and lock him in Nurmengard Prison…

But Harry would still need to steal Dumbledore's wand. Harry was almost surprised when he remembered this, his quest for the Deathly Hallows… he wasn't completely sure whether he truly wanted them anymore, but an idea relating to all of this suddenly clicked in his head, and he stopped dwelling on the far future.

"I just want to work somewhere where I can hear what people are talking about, beyond the news we'll be able to read in the newspapers," Harry stated. "I've learnt over the years that even what common Wizards notice and talk about is important. I want to be able to hear rumours and theories."

"In relation to Grindelwald?" Tom asked.

"Yes," Harry replied. "So I'll need to be somewhere where I have time to pause and think, to remember what they're saying."

"There are quite a few jobs that can fulfil that wish," Tom said. "I assume you don't want to work anywhere you can't leave instantly?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled, as he understood why Tom was asking this. "I can't exactly continue working in a shop if half of the country know or suspect that I murdered Gellert Grindelwald."

Tom smiled a little at this too.

"I also want to be near Hogwarts," Harry added, as a few more thoughts came to mind.

Tom paused. "Why?"

"I don't know…" He was thinking about Dumbledore. He would be able to watch the wise Wizard more easily if he was in Hogsmeade, and that would make stealing his wand a little easier, perhaps. He tried to think of an excuse for Tom. "I mean… if you're going to work at this school, I may as well be close."

The curiosity left Tom's face as he smiled. "Then you shall have to work in Hogsmeade," he said.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "It'll be perfect."

This seemed like a good enough plan to Harry, all and all. It was easy to plan your future once you already knew what was going to happen…

"I shall enjoy living in the same flat as you," Tom remarked, a soft smile dancing on his lips as he examined Harry. "I shall enjoy being alone with you again, and building a life with you, and having you as my secret relief…" He took Harry's free hand within his own, and brought it to his lips to kiss it gently. "And I shall enjoy sharing the same room as you, finally…" He leant forwards to kiss Harry on the lips.

Harry kissed Tom back, feeling elated as the embrace slowly deepened. He felt Tom's hands sliding along his waist as their breath began to become more uneven. Every inch of Harry's body was soon craving Tom's touch, and he was disorientated with longing for Tom to be yet closer to him. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Tom pulled away.

"We should have returned to them by now," he said quietly.

Harry was a little disappointed with this idea. "I never want to return to them," he said.

"It won't be long until we leave this school," Tom reminded him again.

"Which is why we shouldn't care about whether they notice our absence," Harry replied.

Tom smiled a little. "I suppose that's true…"

"I don't see why they have to know where you are every minute of the day," Harry stated.

"They're merely cautious," Tom remarked.

"I can't understand why, though. Lestrange especially cares too much about where you are and if you're treating everyone fairly – or him fairly, at least. It's stupid."

"I suppose it is rather foolish, in a way," Tom noted. He paused for a minute. "I could never understand their feelings properly before I learnt Legilimency, you know…"

Harry noticed, suddenly, that Tom was no longer smiling. He wore an expressionless mask as his eyes were averted from Harry. He was thinking about something, but Harry couldn't guess what is could be. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Tom was quiet for a minute more, and gave no sign that he had heard Harry before he spoke. "I could never read anyone when I was a child, but I learnt to watch for those important movements and changes in countenance within people. With knowing them, I could create my own reaction to suite that of the other at will. I obsessed over the science of expressions for years…" Tom's voice was leaving a form of darkness upon the very air that Harry could neither avoid nor understand. He stared at Tom, transfixed, wondering why he spoke about expressions as though they had been shielded from him. "I'm still not sure that I understand some of what they feel, even when I can access the exact emotions…"

Harry didn't know what to make of this sudden confession or reflection. There was something eerie about the way Tom said this… or perhaps about what he was saying in general. Harry would have to have been exceedingly simpleminded to miss it. All Tom was talking about was the fact that he couldn't read people as a child, and how people still confused him now, and Harry didn't have the faintest clue why that would be a problem. But what did Tom mean about not understanding people even with Legilimency?

Tom suddenly looked up at him again, noticing how he hadn't commented. Harry expected him to ask for a response directly, but he didn't. He was watching Harry, but more intensely than usual… As Harry watched him, he felt as though Tom had realised some mistake in saying this, and he was now trying to see what Harry felt about it. They paused for a while. A long while.

"Is that normal?" Tom asked very quietly.

Harry hesitated. He wasn't even sure which aspect of all of this Tom was referring to… perhaps all of it. Or perhaps Tom was merely wondering if it was normal that such a dark and strange subject as a whole was so seemingly innocent when broken down. No matter what Tom was asking this in accordance to, though, Harry couldn't find a suitable answer.

"I don't know," was all he replied.

They sat staring at each other in silence after this, their hands interlinked, neither of them really understanding what had just happened.

"I mean, I suppose it's normal," Harry said, thinking it over again. "Most children can't read people at all, and… and even with Legilimency, emotions are still complicated…" No matter how hard Harry tried, though, he couldn't brush off the uncanny feel Tom's words had had.

"Yes," Tom said. He made no further comment on his understanding of Harry's justification, and Harry had a nagging suspicion that this was out of caution rather than lack of original thought… It was a long interval before their conversation went back to normal again.


	27. Theory

"How many Muggles died in total?" Mulciber asked.

"About seven, if you count the attack in Iceland. Two Muggles were also pretty badly injured."

"Do we know who's killing them yet?"

"Nah," Avery replied, "but the Prophet now says for sure that it's more than one person. Them two Wizards in Russia who were caught killing that Muggle are in prison, but attacks are still going on over there."

"They might even be part of some group," Nott suggested. "Although… they didn't seem very clever about getting away from the crime scene."

"The Muggle did die, though" Mulciber reasoned.

Nott smirked.

"This is brilliant," Dolohov commented, as he stared down at the newspaper in Avery's hands. "Seven Muggle murders in a month had to be a record, so far."

"Seven known Muggle murders in a month," Lestrange corrected him from across the table. "They could be covering up worse attacks, and could have not found out about some of them. Don't you remember the Muggle woman they found in Italy?"

"Oh, yeah… That was mental," Dolohov grinned.

"The point is, it looks like hate towards the Muggles is spreading," Avery stated, "and it's gunna be a hell of a lot more popular by the time we get out of Hogwarts, at this rate."

Many more of the Death Eaters smiled with Avery at this.

"I just want to know how many of the Muggles have been attacked in general, and not just killed, or nearly killed," Nott claimed.

"That could be an endless list, if you count everything," Lestrange answered.

"Why doesn't the Prophet talk about them, then?" Mulciber asked.

"No one wants to hear about the boring tricks people play on the Muggles," Lestrange explained, "and the papers probably don't want to show just how many Muggles are being attacked by us."

"Well," Nott snorted in laughter, "for people who are trying to hide how may Muggles are being attacked, the papers aren't doing a very good job."

It had been announced in the Daily Prophet that a family of four Muggles had been found dead in their home in West Germany in the early hours of this morning, and Harry had been listening to what the Death Eaters thought about this in their delight. The Muggles had been placed under a number of somewhat dark and illegal curses before the gory torture had finally come to a slow end. Scarcely any evidence could be found at the scene of the crime, which had been burnt down minutes after the whole family had died, and no Wizards had yet been linked to the murders.

Harry knew this wasn't likely to have been Grindelwald, or even some of his proper followers, yet it was obvious that whoever had assaulted these Muggles had the same motives and beliefs as him. As Harry was reminded from the conversations the Death Eaters were holding, this wasn't the first – and definitely wasn't the last – attack upon the Muggles that the Daily Prophet was going to report. Muggle hatred was increasing.

It was Saturday the ninth of June, and Harry was sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall with Tom and the Death Eaters for breakfast. The sky that could be seen through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was a clear, light blue, and the sun was shining down upon the grounds of Hogwarts warmly. Harry could barely remember how the last three quarters of a month had passed. He had been studying almost nonstop with all of the other sevenths years for his NEWTs, which had only ended on Thursday morning.

He really wasn't at all sure how well he had done in his Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology exams, but he assumed that he got somewhat acceptable marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions. Tom did better than him in even Defence Against the Dark Arts, of course, and he was likely to have achieved 'Outstanding' in all the other classes he took, but Harry didn't actually mind. He was just glad that the pressure that came with the exams had passed. He and Tom finally had more time alone, for even the Death Eaters had fallen into the habit relaxing in other parts of the school, leaving them alone.

When breakfast came to an end, most of the Death Eaters drifted away from the Great Hall in small groups, which left Harry and Tom almost the only students left at the table. Now that the Death Eaters were away, they were free to talk to each other quietly. Tom offered the idea of them to taking a walk in the grounds, and Harry had accepted happily, knowing that they would have hours to talk to each other in peace there.

"How many days do we have left at Hogwarts now?" Harry asked Tom as they stood up to leave.

"Just two," Tom had replied. "Not counting the day we actually leave, on the twelfth."

Harry smiled a little at this. Many students were wandering through the entrance hall blissfully, as sunshine from the brightly lit grounds flooded in past the open oak front doors. He wanted to talk about their plans for after school again with Tom, but before he could even open his mouth to continue a conversation that would lead to that, a voice rang out across the hall towards them.

"Smith, may I have a word with you?"

Harry and Tom both turned around to look at Dumbledore on hearing Harry's fake surname being called. Dumbledore's countenance was tranquil, and was standing only about three quarters of the way across the entrance hall, and still nearing them. Harry supposed from this that he had sought him out of the crowed intentionally, instead of randomly.

"Of course, Professor," Harry responded out of habit. He couldn't imagine what Dumbledore would want to speak to him about…

"You don't mind if I speak to you in my office, I hope?" Dumbledore asked.

"Er, no I don't mind."

Harry glanced at Tom, who stared at Dumbledore, every detail of his handsome face unreadable.

"Alone, of course," Dumbledore added, as he looked at both Harry and Tom.

"Right…"

Tom turned to look at Harry, his expression never changing. "I'll be in the Common Room," he said quietly.

Harry merely nodded, and Tom turned to leave. He felt somewhat empty at this, but he knew that he couldn't give Tom a more expressive goodbye. He hoped that Dumbledore wouldn't keep him for long, at the very least, as he followed the Transfiguration Professor in the opposite direction, and up the marble staircase. Harry still couldn't think of what this could be about. They were silent as they walked towards their destination.

Dumbledore's office was small yet comfortable, with wooden panelling running across the lower half of the walls, and diagrams relating to fields of difficult Transfiguration and other subjects placed on the upper half. Two windows could be seen on the far left corner of the room, with a desk in front of them facing the entrance where Harry now stood. Harry was surprised to see that he recognised a few of the silver instruments that would one day be placed in Dumbledore's office when he became headmaster, currently resting upon a cupboard full of documents written on old parchment. A clock rested amongst the instruments, it's face displaying a replica of the solar system rather than a circle of twelve numbers.

Dumbledore had sat down at his desk, and he now indicated for Harry to sit on the chair sitting opposite him. Harry sat, watching as Dumbledore surveyed him in the same way Harry remembered him doing in his real school years. There was another minute of silence, before Harry averted his eyes to the view of the sky outside. He hated looking at Dumbledore a lot of the time.

"I'm sorry I have to distract you from relaxing after the stress of NEWTs," Dumbledore began.

Harry contemplated replying the predictable: 'Oh, I don't mind, professor', but he decided against it as he looked at his old headmaster again. "What did you want to talk about, sir?" he asked, trying to withhold the cold tone that he was so very tempted to use. His voice was close to a monotone as a result.

"There are many things that I wish to speak of, yet I'm not sure if we shall have time to go into full inquires about them all," Dumbledore stated. "For now, I believe we should discuss the subject of Tom Riddle."

Of course, Dumbledore wanted to speak about Tom… and probably the Death Eaters too. Harry felt rather annoyed at this, knowing that Dumbledore was likely expecting him to spill the secrets of his fellow Slytherins after just one conversation. Harry didn't consider the Death Eaters his friends – in fact, they were far from it – but he wasn't going to tell this old fool anything he had discovered about them. He wondered how Dumbledore was planning to make him speak.

Unless Dumbledore suspected or knew for sure that Harry and Tom were boyfriends… If he wanted to speak about that, Harry was sure that Dumbledore was even less likely to get the information he evidently wanted.

"I'm not quite sure there's much to talk about on the subject of Tom Riddle, sir," Harry replied.

Dumbledore continued to survey Harry, his piercing blue eyes never leaving Harry's green ones. "I think you will find that you are quite wrong with such an assumption," he asserted.

Harry made no reply to this, for he was sure that Dumbledore was going to consider every expression he wore, and every word he said.

"You have become quite close to Tom Riddle over the last few months, I believe?"

"I suppose so," Harry said.

"This is quite rare, for Tom," Dumbledore observed. "He has never shown particular attachment to any of his other friends."

Friends. That had to be a purposefully essential word chosen by Dumbledore to bring Harry's attention to the fact that Tom didn't have any friends; he only had the Death Eaters, who were his followers, and Harry, who had become far more significant than a friend.

"We have some similarities," Harry said lamely, not caring at all how Dumbledore would assume they bonded. He was sure that Dumbledore had his own, never wavering assumptions worked out already.

"You are both orphans, I believe?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry hesitated. He had never really thought about it before, but he wondered now what Dumbledore thought of the fact that his parents had died. Harry had never actually said anything to the professors at this school about his past. The Death Eaters thought he had lived on his own since the age of around seven, Tom was sure he was brought up in a Wizarding orphanage and trained in grey magic later on by some old family friends who had adopted him, the Ministry didn't even know or care what his past was, and the professors at Hogwarts were probably still wondering about his situation, if they cared at all.

It was actually quite a huge series of lies, on reflection… "Yes, we're both orphans," Harry claimed.

"Would you say you understood Tom well?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry was glad that Dumbledore hadn't pushed the subject of his life story, but he was still trying to work out where Dumbledore might be trying to lead the conversation. "That's something your probably better off asking him, sir."

"But you consider him a good friend? Someone you are likely to stay in contact with after you both leave Hogwarts?"

"Yes, and probably," Harry replied shortly.

Dumbledore paused after this, watching Harry more carefully than ever. Harry was annoyed that Dumbledore was wasting his time with these empty questions. He couldn't see how this was related to anything. Even if Dumbledore was trying to work out whether or not Harry and Tom were together, these questions didn't seem very insightful to any conclusions. Surely Dumbledore should quit asking things so blatantly, since Harry wasn't encouraging this tactic at all…

"Then there is one thing I'd like to inform you on before you leave this school, and continue contact with Tom," Dumbledore stated.

Harry watched as his old headmaster brought the tips of his fingers together, and a sudden, very small, feeling of foreboding filled him. He tried to push that inkling away, knowing that nothing Dumbledore would say could do any harm to him. He already knew everything about Tom, after all. Dumbledore was surveying Harry very carefully, almost as though he was keen on comparing Harry's expression now to his reaction later.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Dumbledore began calmly, "is, in the most literal context… a psychopath."

There was a pause. The only sound in the room now was coming from the clock that rested on the cupboard behind Harry, ticking far more than sixty beats a minute for all he could tell in his bewildered state. What on earth did Dumbledore mean by this? Was this some sort of test to see what Harry would say? Was it a trick to make him speak? Harry's mind, much like his heart, was suddenly racing.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked cautiously, his disoriented mind trying to remember what the definition of a psychopath was. He knew Tom was a murderer, and he knew he would do a lot of horrible things… but this sounded worse, somehow.

"It means that Tom lacks both a conscience and the ability to empathise with others," Dumbledore stated. "Psychopaths are exceedingly egocentric, and will use a whole number of set tactics to fulfil their own needs and gain power over others, including manipulation, charm, violence, intimidation, and sexual activity. They have a shocking lack of remorse and guilt, which perhaps influences the pride they take in relation to any crimes they may have committed. They do things on impulse or without consideration, and they posses a superficial charm that almost everyone around them will fall for. They do not learn from their mistakes, and they do not take any past failures into consideration when planning their next actions. In short, they lack many of the main characteristics that make somebody a moral and sane human being."

Harry was still staring at Dumbledore, even when he finished this short definition. Harry was bewildered that Dumbledore was even telling him this, and he was even more bewildered that pieces of this information were slowly connecting to Tom in his mind…

"How do you know he's a psychopath?" Harry asked indignantly, not quite sure whether he wanted to hear the answer to this.

"I have noticed psychotic behaviour within Tom since the day I met him in his orphanage, a few weeks prior to his first year at Hogwarts." Dumbledore answered placidly. "I noticed that he had a series of strong behaviour problems, which he fell into the habit of shielding later on, but could never really appear to overcome. He was extremely engaging yet glib to all of his teachers even at the age of eleven, and he almost constantly used pathological lying to make sure they believed his false sincerity. He was so fluent in his lies, in fact, that he managed to convince the entire school that he was and is completely unrelated to any of the suspected activity his friends engage in.

"All psychopaths begin showing symptoms before the age of fifteen," Dumbledore continued at Harry's lack for words, "and Tom personally began showed signs perhaps at around the same age when he learnt how to use magic, doing sinister things to many of the other orphans when growing up. I heard about all of this from the head of the orphanage where Tom lived, who seemed willing enough to discuss the eerie stories that follow Tom. Within his behavioural problems, he stole things, which is another known symptom. In fact, he made a collection of items taken from every orphan he had hurt in some way, and created a sort of private trophy collection to remind him of his successes in mistreating others. This, of course, relates to the pride he takes at the idea of his crimes…"

If this was some sort of joke or test, Harry was sickened by Dumbledore's will to accuse Tom so harshly. Harry's mind seemed to have jammed, and he was feeling nauseous. He didn't want to believe a word of this, he wanted to find reasons why Dumbledore was wrong in such a prejudiced opinion… but was it really a prejudiced opinion when Tom had done nothing yet to offend Dumbledore personally? Harry wasn't in any fit state to dwell upon that thought…

The most sickeningly accurate parallel between Tom and Dumbledore's definition of a psychopath was the supposed lack of remorse and guilt. Ever stained into Harry's mind were the words Tom had spoken after admitting to the murders he had committed. "I feel no regrets about it… I would do it again if I had the chance. I would do it happily." Harry wasn't sure if he had ever really believed those words until now. He had thought that Tom was just trying to draw his attention to the weight of his crimes…

Then, perhaps even more accurately, there was the idea that Tom couldn't empathise or understand the emotions of other people. Memories of almost a month ago, after he and Tom got into a fight about the Death Eaters, came flooding to Harry's mind. "I could never understand their feelings properly before I learnt Legilimency… but I learnt to watch for those important movements and changes in countenance within people. With knowing them, I could create my own reaction to suit that of the other at will. I obsessed over the science of expressions for years… I'm still not sure that I understand some of what they feel, even when I can access the exact emotions…"

Did this mean that Tom couldn't understand the way he, Harry, felt? Harry felt as though a powerful force was closing in around his chest as he struggled more than ever to remain composed. He remembered the day when he brought Hermione, Ron, Lily and Sirius back from the dead. He remembered standing across from Tom when they had left, and how utterly unaffected Tom had been at the sight of his tears. Then there was the day Harry had realised that he shared a piece of Tom's soul that would act as a Horcrux. Again, Tom was distant… but he had said, "You're scaring me." Had that been just a lie? A simple sequence of words said out of confusion, or knowledge gathered through the years relating to the effect of fear?

Harry was frozen in his seat, hardly daring to move. He still hadn't looked up at Dumbledore again, but he knew that expressions probably didn't matter by this point. Anyone would be devastated if someone like Dumbledore had deemed his or her friend or lover a psychopath.

"What's the cure?" he finally managed to ask.

"There isn't one," Dumbledore replied.

Of course there wasn't one. Harry wasn't even sure why he had asked about it. If there were a cure, Dumbledore would have used it already to save hundreds of lives from being taken away by Voldemort's power in the future. Harry's eyes were still resting upon the table in front of him.

"So he's been lying about everything?" he asked quietly.

Dumbledore surveyed him for a long time at this, watching the fear, worry and devastation, which was very lightly noticeable within his otherwise blank expression. "About a lot of things, quite possibly."

Harry suddenly felt empty as he stared at the designs of wood that wove across the surface of the desk. Tom hadn't meant a word he said to him. It had all been a ruse. Every moment he had ever spent in Tom's arms was a lie. In the end, Tom probably only liked him because he was a new secret, a new desire to keep him from becoming bored. A new puzzle to be solved, before Tom had discovered the effects of sharing part of the same soul… Harry was hollow, senseless. He couldn't feel anything besides his beating heart…

"This does not mean that he cannot fall in love," Dumbledore said softly.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore slowly; too numb to care about the fact that Dumbledore was obviously referring to what he had found out about Harry and Tom. He realised, very, very slowly, that if Dumbledore was just saying this to be kind, Tom had lied about ever being in love with him. He could only hope that Dumbledore was right as he stared up at his old headmaster. He wanted to say something, to ask questions in relation to this, but his voice was proving difficult to use.

"There has been much debate amongst both Muggles and Wizards about the exact nature and extent of psychopathy," Dumbledore continued, allowing Harry to remain silent. "Wizards and Muggles share a lack of success in understanding this complex personality disorder, for the use of Magic isn't much of an advantage in solving the puzzle. Some of the more moral researchers on the subject have even joined the Muggles in their studies, but this has brought the world no further in knowledge to the exact nature of psychopathy.

"There has been much debate about whether psychopaths can even feel the same emotions that a normal human feels, minus the anger and hate they tend to resort to in any emotional situation. As a result of their superficial charm, it is quite often that people become attracted to psychopaths, and it is almost as often that a psychopath uses this fact to their advantage. Many family members and current partners are anxious to know whether psychopaths can feel any emotion for the people in their lives, and almost every single doctor, healer, researcher, carer and observer of psychopaths firmly believe that they can indeed not return emotion sincerely, or feel love in any way."

"What?" Harry asked quickly, his mind paralysed as he heard Dumbledore. "But… but you just said that…" Was Dumbledore trying to torture Harry? To play with his emotions to such extreme lengths that he would eventually crack? Harry felt as though he was, as his heart leapt with horror.

"I was merely stating the opinions of other professionals, and avid observers," Dumbledore stated calmly. "My own opinions, however, differ quite greatly." Harry wondered if that had been a test, and he felt a slight pang of annoyance before he listened to Dumbledore continue.

"Love is a rather complex subject that I believe is perhaps too great for the human mind to fully comprehend. There are many assumptions and observations on the subject, yet there are still no set definitions of it in science, art, knowledge, or even by experience. Some call it an obsession, others an uncontrollable force. There have been debates as to whether it truly even exists, whether it is merely psychosocial, and whether it is mere wishful thinking for the hopeless romantic. Yet there is only one thing that is certain: humans have always felt love, in the sense of family affection, friendship, and general romance. I think it would be both bias and uncharitable to assume that psychopaths cannot return affection in any way. Even if they feel love for only a moment, minute, day, month or year of their lives, it is enough to clarify that they can feel emotion in some small context."

For the first time all day, Harry felt pure relief. Even if Tom only meant what he had said for a moment, Harry felt some small hope that he could get over some of the issues that came with psychopathy. He was about to say something to Dumbledore, to share his relief, before the professor spoke again. He had not smiled at Harry's obvious lessening of fear.

"However, since there is still much of a chance for this to be wishful thinking, it would be wise to severe any connections with psychopaths in general. The chance of a relationship coming to a woeful end is far greater than the chance of a psychopath showing any signs of devotion that are actually sincere. It is best to walk away now that you have been warned."

There was another silence here. Harry stared at Dumbledore, almost waiting for him to contradict his words again. But no contradiction came. There was no test this time, no differing opinions from the professionals to him. About a minute passed where Harry sat quite still, waiting for Dumbledore to say it was going to be all right again. He felt sorrow fill his heart for a moment, before it was slowly replaced by anger. How could Dumbledore just sit there and continue allowing Harry to worry like this? How could he have been so indirect about the way in which this conversation would end? How could he stand twisting Harry's emotions so terribly?

"But – but why would you tell me that they can feel love if you were just going to advise me to walk away two minutes later?" Harry stammered. "If they – if they can feel love, and if there is a chance of fixing this–"

"There is no chance of fixing it," Dumbledore stated. "There's merely a chance that it isn't quite as strong a disorder than we fear."

"Then why would you tell me?" Harry asked, his temper rising. "Why would you repeat what real healers and researchers say, then contradict it, if you want me to just walk away from it all?"

"Is it not better to walk away willingly, knowing there could have been a moment in which true love was present, than to be torn apart by the person to whom you were so strongly attached?" Dumbledore asked.

"What? Of course that's not better!" Harry exclaimed, his voice becoming stronger. "If there's still a chance–"

"–Then you should live life knowing it could have been there," Dumbledore interrupted, his tone still calm. "If you really love Tom, it would be best to walk away."

"How would it be best?" Harry asked angrily. "How could that possibly be the solution to anything?"

"Because this is the only possible way you can live your own life well after such a situation," Dumbledore asserted. "It is the only was you can possibly get over love, or at least tame it to be bearable without leaving scars."

"Your wrong," Harry spat. "You're wrong about everything!"

Harry's mind was suddenly searching for reasons to back up such a claim. Why could Tom admit to his murders if he was a psychopath, and apparently felt the need to lie constantly, to conceal the truth, and to gain people's trust? Even if Tom was merely taking pride in his crimes, even if he was just trying to impress Harry in some sickening way, why would be put his reputation amongst everyone else in the world at risk if he didn't feel the need to relate to Harry, to tell him the truth?

Tom could have assumed that Harry's personality wasn't likely to result in spreading secrets, but Harry felt as though there were just too many sincere moments they shared together. "You're the only person I care about," Tom had told him on the day he admitted his murders. "You're the only person I've ever cared about… the only person I've ever felt inclined to tell the truth to."

"Jonathan, there is nothing you can do to change Tom," Dumbledore said. "There is no cure, and the only ending you will meet if you stay with him is death and betrayal. I understand that you–"

"Understand that I what?" Harry asked, seething in anger. "You don't understand anything about me! You don't even know who I am!"

"Yet I fully understand the situation you're in," Dumbledore stated. "I'm only trying to help you see that–"

"I'm not you, and Tom's not Gellert fucking Grindelwald!" Harry bellowed.

He hadn't meant to say it. He wasn't even thinking properly as he chose these words, but he had known somewhere in his mind that this would be a strong repayment for the pain Dumbledore was putting him through. He watched as Dumbledore stared at him, the colour quickly draining from his face. The clock ticked through the silence. Harry's breath was uneven from rage, and he was shaking. Dumbledore had no clue how different they really were… and Harry had perhaps no clue how they had suffered in similar ways. Harry's heart felt as though it was being crushed, and his mind thought on.

"He's the only person I have left," Harry almost whispered, his voice shaking almost as much as his hands. "I don't care what he is, and what he'll do."

Dumbledore and Harry stared at each other for a moment more, before Harry stood up, and left the office, leaving Dumbledore bewildered and perhaps even a little scared. His heart was suddenly aching more than ever, and he knew that he needed to be alone, to think.


	28. Composure

Dumbledore's office led onto a large corridor that was mercifully empty as Harry headed down it, his heart beating rapidly. He couldn't tell if he was shaking more in anger or sorrow as he walked, trying to get as far away from here as possible. He felt an uncomfortable lump appear in his throat, and he struggled to compose himself. He walked all the way up to the seventh floor without meeting anyone, and headed into a deserted classroom there.

The room itself was dim, but the sunshine reflected against the grounds outside poured in from the windows that lined the whole wall to the right. Harry could barely believe it was a summer's day, as he stood with his back to the door, just staring out at the blue sky. He was trying hard not to cry, not to give into this impending reflection on everything that had just happened, but it was like trying to keep a boat afloat by pouring out water one bucket at a time, with no solution to the hole that had been driven through the heart of the frame. His own lungs felt like they were closing in on him as he continued staring out the window. He had been crying too much this year.

He had been so entirely wrong to assume that Dumbledore couldn't say anything that could hurt him, and he had been so entirely wrong to assume that he knew Tom well. He had fallen for Tom's trap, the disillusion every other idiotic student and teacher in this school had fallen for. Even the Death Eaters were smarter than him. Even the Death Eaters knew there was something wrong with Tom, no matter how often Harry overlooked that fact. Tom was a psychopath, and he had never cared about Harry in the slightest.

Harry felt as though his heart was being ripped into pieces, and his legs would no longer support him. He sunk to the floor, his eyes moving away from the windows to stare, unfocused, at the tables in front of him. Tom had never and would never love him. He was just crazy, and interested in how much he could play with Harry's emotions. Every whisper and every touch was meaningless to Tom. Every secret and every smile, every tear Harry had shed, and every flicker of emotion that Tom had displayed was an act. Harry didn't move a muscle as he sat in shock, feeling the unwanted tears running down his face.

He wondered why Tom had even decided to play this game with him. He couldn't think of any reasons why Tom would like him, now that he thought about it. He was neither handsome nor intelligent, his mood was gloomy most of the time, he wasn't funny, and he had only known Tom for roughly nine months – and apparently hadn't even gotten to understand him in that time. Harry couldn't even remember what he was supposed to be good at as he sat on the floor, staring into space. Tom was so brilliant compared to him. It was almost unbelievable. He was gorgeous, clever, charming, amusing and powerful…

But he was also a psychopath.

Harry felt his heart pulse in anger, sorrow, and misery. He hated Dumbledore for telling him this, for putting this idea in his head. He didn't want to accept that Tom was a psychopath, or to comprehend the idea that everything he had shared with Tom was worthless. Even if Harry did – even if Harry _could_ walk away – how could he deal with knowing that all of his emotions had been completely disregarded? All of the desire that had passed between him and Tom, which had felt so real and sincere, had been a fabrication…

Harry wasn't sure whether he could take loosing Tom. He had already lost all of the other people he had known in his life, and Tom was the only person left. He found it very hard to breathe when he thought about it. He almost wished he had never allowed himself to get close to the Heir of Slytherin. He definitely wished he hadn't forgotten his old prejudices, which would have kept him safe from harm and attachment. He was trapped in the world of the living in fear of the people he had lost, and he was alone, and was about to live with the man he should have never stopped hating.

But he loved Tom, he truly did. He had loved every delusion Tom had put him under, every trick Tom had used on him, the promises of love and the pledges of understanding. He had loved every lie about Tom, and he still did. What was he even trying to gain from Harry? What could he have possibly hoped in attaining, when he blatantly didn't care about Harry as a person? Was Harry really just another puzzle for him to solve?

Tom was the only thing that seemed real to Harry, and it was driving him mad to think that all of it had been insignificant. All of those simple words of "I love you" that had filled Harry's heart with joy now made him struggle for breath. His hands were clutching his hair, and his forehead was resting against his knees, which were drawn up to his chest. His body was shaking as he tried to hold himself together. He wanted to scream, to smash every table, chair, cupboard and window in this room to relieve his suffering, but he knew he couldn't just go into outbursts of anger every time he lost or was loosing someone. He focused on breathing properly, as the tears poured from his closed eyes.

He was attempting to steady himself, when his mind turned back to Dumbledore. Oh, how he hated Dumbledore… Even his famous claim that love was the most powerful force in the world had been contradicted now, when he said he believed Harry should leave Tom. If love were more powerful than any branch of magic, Harry wouldn't be crying now. He could never love another person after Tom. There was no one else on this earth that would feel the same, who could compare to the power that drew Harry towards his greatest lover and worst enemy. They were soul mates, and no situation could do anything to change that…

Soul mates… Harry lifted his head slowly, opening his eyes. Dumbledore and Grindelwald hadn't been soul mates… Grindelwald could have been a psychopath like Tom, and Dumbledore could have been madly in love with him, but Dumbledore and Grindelwald didn't share a part of the same soul. Some of the pressure around Harry's lungs seemed to loosen, and he could breath marginally more accurately. There was still a chance that Tom could love him if their connection was powerful enough. There was still a chance that Tom loved him now, if a mix of such dark and light magic could be more powerful than psychopathy.

This was Harry's last hope, and he was desperately clinging onto it now. For the second time today, relief poured through him, making him feel light-headed with exhilaration. He was hardly daring to think about the details of this idea, in case there was a hole in this theory. Tom could still love him… His heart seemed to swell with hope. It was ironic really; that the reason Tom couldn't die is the same reason why Harry loved him, and why Tom was likely to love Harry. He was going to have to wait for a sign, a confirmation on this theory, which would be quite difficult, but he wasn't going to give up on Tom so soon. He would wait years for evidence, if he had to.

But even if Tom loved Harry, Harry would have to deal with the fact that Tom was a psychopath… or a psychopath to other people, at the very least. If Tom loved Harry, he surely wouldn't act psychotic towards him. But could Harry live with that? He didn't really see what other options there could be. But maybe… maybe if he and Tom fell even deeper in love through the years, Harry could try and explain to Tom what he was doing wrong. Maybe Dumbledore was wrong about not being able to change this.

Harry wanted to return to Tom now, to begin seeing whether he was right with these hopes. He stood up; glad to see that he was no longer shaking. He couldn't find any reasons to suggest how this theory was wrong. Tom had even talked about how odd he thought the power of their touch was before Harry had said a word about it, which proved that the effects of their connected souls weren't Harry's imagination, and weren't only experienced by him.

It made sense, somehow, that their souls could make them fall in love… and perhaps fix Tom's psychopathy. Harry was restless as he stood in this dark and deserted classroom, knowing that he couldn't possibly be wrong by this point. He wanted to go and talk to Tom, to see how he was right, but he knew he would need to think of an alibi for why he was gone for so long first…

Having thought of so many lies on the spot over the last few months, Harry found a solution to this after only a few minutes. To be safe, he would need to add in some truth, and that wouldn't be hard. Tom would know all of the important things, whilst being kept in he dark about his psychopathy and so on… his current psychopathy, Harry reminded himself with a smile.

He left the room, heading down the many corridors and staircases that would lead him to the dungeons. He was so full of happiness that he could barely stop himself from smiling as he walked, the sunshine that filtered down suiting his mood perfectly, all of the sudden. He was so relieved that there was a chance to make things right again.

The Common Room was almost deserted when Harry arrived in it, and he found that Tom was nowhere to be seen. He headed for the dormitories instead, hoping Tom hadn't left to find some of the other Death Eaters… Harry was glad when he found Tom lying on his bed, and reading a book when he entered the room. Tom put the book down as soon as he saw Harry, and he sat up.

"Where were you all this time?" he asked, as Harry headed towards him.

"I was still with Dumbledore," Harry replied.

"What did he want?" Tom inquired.

Harry sat down next to Tom, feigning annoyance after a moment of looking at the other Slytherin. "He worked out that we're together," he claimed. "I don't know how he found out. Maybe from that time he saw us holding hands near Easter… He acted like it was some great discovery, even after I denied it over and over again."

"But he believed you when you said it wasn't true?" Tom suggested. He sounded slightly concerned to Harry, and Harry wondered what that meant. Was every emotion Tom displayed a slight lie?

"I was trying to convince him," Harry lied, "I even told him he was delusional and sick, but he didn't buy it."

"What did he say to it all?" Tom asked. "Why did it take you so long to get back here?"

"Well… we sort of got into a fight," Harry said, attempting to sound sheepish, "and I said some things I really shouldn't have…"

"Like what?"

Harry took a deep breath, before saying, "I told him that he didn't understand me, and never would… and I told him that I wasn't him, and you weren't Gellert Grindelwald. Gellert 'fucking' Grindelwald, actually."

Harry didn't know why, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he was testing Tom here. He was keen on seeing Tom's reaction to this situation, keen on seeing whether Tom would get mad at him for being so careless about their secret. It was almost amusing to him, though he felt slightly bad about that.

Tom had been staring at Harry, before his eyes drifted away to gaze into space. He did indeed look annoyed, and Harry waited for him to speak with bated breath.

"I knew Dumbledore would be a problem," he said quietly, his tone deadly. "That old fool never seems capable to just let me be. I don't even know what he has against me…"

Harry wasn't sure what this meant. Tom had chosen to get angry, as Dumbledore said psychopaths do in exchange for other emotions, but he didn't appear to be angry at Harry directly… Harry almost smiled.

Tom looked up sharply, surveying Harry closely. "How could you let him find out?" He asked. His tone was irked, and Harry's heart sank.

"I didn't 'let him find out'," Harry retorted. Suddenly his tests weren't so amusing. "He was so annoying I just… just sort of cracked."

"You should have known he would be annoying," Tom declared. "When isn't Dumbledore annoying? You should have lied through your teeth if that's what it takes to satisfy that ever prying bastard!"

Harry could feel his heart sink even lower, and doubts began to seep back into his mind. His throat was even contorted in worry and sorrow, and he took a minute to overcome his woe. Tom hadn't noticed anything, which made things worse, but he was examining Harry, confused by his pause. "So you're blaming me?" he asked.

Tom didn't answer this directly. He merely looked away, thinking. "I knew Dumbledore would find something out in the end. I just wish we had lasted three more days…"

As Tom stared into space angrily, Harry said, "At least he's obviously homosexual too. He won't tell anyone anything now that he knows what we know about Grindelwald." His voice was a monotone in exchange for showing his actual emotions.

Tom contemplated this for a minute, still not looking at Harry, and some of the anger on his face seemed to disappear. "I suppose this is true…"

Harry waited for him to continue.

"How scared was he?" Tom asked, looking at Harry now.

"Extremely," Harry replied. "He didn't even say a word after it. That's when I left."

"I assume he will never be able to guess how we discovered his secret, what is more," Tom added quietly. "He knows nothing about your past, and who you might have received this information from, even if he works out that I researched his life…"

"So do you think we're safe?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure… If we're not safe, we are at least equipped to ruin the rest of Dumbledore's life and go into hiding, which is always good to know."

Harry smiled a little.

Tom examined Harry from where he sat. Sighing very lightly, he said, "I wish we didn't have to hide this secret so determinedly…" He reached out a hand to take Harry's own, and Harry felt happiness join and perhaps overthrow his worry. Tom didn't seem that angry with him now…

"I think the world will accept homosexuality one day," Harry remarked, "for sure."

Tom's countenance darkened once more, and he laughed humorously. "There are too many prejudices and other problems in the world for anyone to spare a thought towards this, never mind deal with it. We are too rare to be noticed so soon… yet maybe if we gain enough power…"

Harry had a mental image of the future he knew changing because of his relationship with Tom now. He wondered whether time worked like that… he would only find out through experience, he supposed. The world would certainly be a better place if homosexuality were accepted, amongst a few more bias formalities in society he had grown up with. He would need a lot of power and luck to change such things, though.

"I think there are probably more homosexual people in the world than we know," Harry stated. "Or rather, there are more than we can _ever_ know, while people are so secretive about it. Dumbledore's proof."

Tom only nodded to this, leaving Harry to guess what he was thinking about while he stared down at their interlinked hands. In his will to believe that Tom could feel emotion, Harry wondered what Tom really felt about Dumbledore knowing about them, past the anger he was evidently experiencing. Harry was glad to reflect, once again, that Tom's declination of anger towards him meant he must have felt something –_ anything_ – for him emotionally. He wondered if Tom was perhaps worrying about what they would do if their secret got out.

"We probably won't even see Dumbledore again," Harry said softly, still watching Tom.

"Thanks to you, we may not even see the _world_ again," said Tom, a scorning note in his voice.

Harry stared at Tom, and a silence fell. His mind was frozen in shock, as he wondered despairingly whether Tom was joking. Tom was gazing at him now, a hint of irritation in his dark eyes, which was enough to begin shattering Harry's heart again. He had to be joking, Harry told himself firmly, yet not at all convincingly. He was just being paranoid… Tom smiled a little, unable to read Harry, and leant forwards to kiss him.

Harry could barely believe how much he suddenly craved Tom, and he kissed him back passionately. He supposed it must have been the idea of losing him that was making him cherish Tom's every touch. Tom seemed to enjoy his yearning, for their kiss deepened more and more. Tom had to have been joking… though he kept biting Harry's lips harder than usual. Harry was caught between desire and fear, and anxiety was spreading through his body with the help of his hammering heart. He felt his hands shaking slightly, and he tried in vain to steady them.

Tom's hands were sliding along Harry's waist, pulling him closer as Harry continued to struggle with his distraught mind. Tom had been angry with him the whole time, and was just hiding it, like he hid every other charmless emotion. Dumbledore had been right, after all… Harry could feel Tom's rough breath against his own, and Tom's had made their way up his back. He bit Harry's lips and tongue every few seconds lightly, and not so lightly. Tom was a psychopath, and he would never care about Harry even vaguely…

Unable to take this idea, Harry pulled away, ending their kiss abruptly. It felt as if his heart was going to die in agony as he gazed up at the Heir of Slytherin, so he averted his eyes. He didn't want to cry. In fact, he knew he just _couldn't_, and he wouldn't allow himself to. Tom would wonder why, and any explanation Harry gave wouldn't be nearly good enough as the truth that couldn't be told. If Harry couldn't take what Tom saw as a mere conversation with Dumbledore, Tom would leave him, thinking him too fragile for anything he wished to do in life.

Harry's nails were digging into his flesh as he concentrated on composing himself. He had already cried in front of Tom twice, but seeing the people he had led to death and worrying about Tom's intentions with murder were different than just cracking under Dumbledore's inquiries. Tom probably already thought Harry odd for when he panicked at the idea of them being soul mates. Not that Tom understood tears very much at all… Harry blocked that thought away as he concentrated on explaining his pause.

"You're angry with me," Harry commented quietly, using all of the will within him to look back up at his lover, and to keep his voice from shaking.

"You're surprised?" Tom asked coldly.

Harry's nails were digging even deeper into his skin as he attempted to distract himself from showing any sorrow. He wondered why Tom had to start showing his psychopathic characteristics so soon… but maybe it was just that Harry was only seeing them now. "You could at least tell me," Harry said, annoyed. "It's not going to do any good just bottling up everything you hate about me."

Tom laughed, just as humourlessly as he had before. "The suggestion of 'bottling up' emotion is a mere excuse to view another's true feelings easily. I do not believe that anything less or more comes out of the art of concealing real opinions on matters. Even seeking revenge, or finding a solution to a problem one has does not fully extinguish emotion felt to the situation as a whole."

"Yeah, you'd certainly know a lot about revenge," Harry commented in irritation, thinking about Tom's murders. He was trying to exchange all the sorrow he felt for anger, for that seemed to be the easiest thing to do. He didn't want to think about what Tom could and couldn't feel emotionally.

"Yes," Tom replied, his voice irate, "and you will know this too, when you murder Gellert Grindelwald yourself."

Harry made no comment to this, as he continued fighting back his tears. He was terrified that Tom didn't love him… but he knew too well that crying here would end badly. He barely spared a thought for Grindelwald even at these words, as he tried to accept Tom's tone.

"Do you expect me to seek revenge upon you now, while your mistakes are fresh?" Tom asked. "Do you expect me to act upon my every exasperation merely because you don't want it to get worse, or seem worse later?"

"I just want you to talk to me!" Harry exclaimed. He had spoken in a tone mixed with anger and desolation, and he fell silent because of it. He almost wished he could tell Tom what Dumbledore had really said, but his better judgement overruled this easy excuse to stop withholding his sadness. "I just want you to be honest with me. It's better if we just… just talk about the problem properly."

Harry was trying hard not to remember what Dumbledore had said about lies and concealment of truth as he and Tom stared at each other. Tom seemed to be contemplating this, and Harry watched him determinedly, waiting for any emotion he might show. One thought – perhaps a hopeless optimistic thought – crossed Harry's mind slowly as silence fell. Maybe Tom wasn't any angrier than an average person would be now. Maybe he, Harry, was just worrying too much…

"Won't you just tell me why you're so angry with me, at least?" Harry suggested.

"Shouldn't it be obvious?" Tom asked. "How could you let that old fool find out about us?"

"I've already explained," Harry said. "He was convinced that he was right – there was no way anyone could have changed his mind! There's barely even any use in keeping a secret from Dumbledore. He's even worked out most of the things about you, as you know."

"I was eleven when he suspected me most of all," Tom stated, "and he had access to my mind directly, because of Legilimency. You're older and completely shielded. You should have managed your lies without a struggle!"

Harry could feel the doubts to his hopes for Tom being just as angry as anyone else would press against his lungs at this, but he tried to ignore it. Tom was indeed more annoyed than the average person would be. "It's Dumbledore's fault," Harry nearly spat. "Even you've said he pries into other people's business for no reason. We were just another challenge for him."

"Another challenge he succeeded in winning," Tom added.

"So what's your solution to all of this?" Harry asked, feeling his eyes prickle slightly. "That we split up?"

Harry wouldn't be surprised if he had drawn blood with how much his nails were clawing at the skin on his palm. He stared at Tom, sensing the impending tears he so dreaded. He didn't want to look away from Tom, as he waited for any flicker of emotion to cross his handsome face at these words.

Then, Harry did something he really should have done earlier; he used Occlumency on himself. Every thought and every emotion within his head was suddenly muffled, and he had more control of himself. Even the voice that commentated in his head was silenced. He wondered, very, very quietly, weather this is how some people dealt with their problems. It was the exact same way Harry might hide thoughts from others. Other Occlumens must pause their entire minds when faced with Legilimens. Harry wondered how they managed that so well.

Tom was gazing at him, his expression showing slight concern, which seemed to be the only emotion Harry could ever see in him, besides anger. There was a heavy silence, where Tom contemplated this and Harry concentrated on hiding his thoughts from himself. Then, very quietly, Tom said, "I don't want to lose you."

Some of the shield in Harry's mind broke as he heard this. He was exceedingly glad that Tom had said this… even if it didn't mean anything to the question of psychopathy. "I don't want to lose you either," Harry said. After a slight pause, he took one of Tom's hands in his own.

Tom no longer looked annoyed as he examined Harry. He raised his free hand to touch Harry's face, as Harry so loved him to do. "I suppose I can't blame you for Dumbledore's endless intrusiveness…"

Harry knew that this was pretty much the equivalent of an apology for Tom. "I'm glad you don't blame me," he said truthfully.

Tom smiled very faintly. "I don't truly suppose this will do us harm in the future… Yet we should be cautious now."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We'll be away from him, which will make that much easier."

Tom nodded, gazing at Harry. His thumb was tracing Harry's lips, before he lent forwards to kiss him softly. He pulled away after only a second, to whisper, "I love you."

Harry struggled with his words for a moment, but he wasn't sure whether this was in happiness or sorrow. "I love you too, Tom… I always will."


	29. Departure

The sunlight that filtered down from the clear blue sky was pure and bright, and it made Hogwarts look more beautiful than ever in Harry's eyes. The Great Lake glittered contently in the warmth of early June, and the trees of the forbidden forest swayed in the light breeze as though alive with the creatures that dwelt within it. The entire school appeared alive and immortal, and without a care in the world. It seemed impossible that any crime could be committed here, or that any battle could be fought upon these grounds. It felt like the safest place in the world, for in the light of day it protected all.

Harry was going to miss this castle, he knew. Perhaps more than any Death Eater or common student would. But he understood that he couldn't express the emptiness that filled him at the thought of leaving Hogwarts forever – or at least for longer than he had ever before. He had only been here for a year as far as anyone else in this era was aware of, so he couldn't show his sadness, even to Tom. But he found himself admiring the great castle nevertheless, vague memories of his past coming back to him, as always.

Harry barely knew what had happened to the last few days of being in the castle when he found himself in the Great Hall at breakfast with the other students, preparing to board the Hogwarts Express what felt like far too soon. The only thing that helped the displeasing thought of finally going into the real world was the knowledge that Tom would be there with him… even when Tom was a part of the problem. Harry knew it would still be years – decades, even – before Voldemort and his Death Eaters resurfaced as a powerful force, but he didn't feel prepared for it in the slightest.

He told himself that he would just have to bear with what he could until there was a chance to change something. He would have to wait a few years at least before making plans on what on earth to do about this situation. He liked the idea of changing Tom's mind and intentions – in fact, he dwelt a lot upon the dream of how he could influence his lover exactly, for the better of the world – but Tom was already a murderer, and an apparent psychopath…

In full honesty, Harry was more worried about the psychotic defects in Tom that would hurt him directly, such as the possible non-existence of sympathy, affection and general emotion. He didn't know what to make of Tom's emotional reaction to things anymore. He didn't know whether he was just being paranoid when he saw Tom as a psychopath, or whether he was watching Tom through starry eyes when he believed his sincerity. To no surprise, Harry's frustration and sorrow from the situation was loosened by hateful thoughts of Dumbledore. Hating and distrusting the Wise Wizard was his only relief.

By the time all of the students were piling into the carriages that would lead to Hogsmeade Station, Harry had barely spoken a word all day. Tom was also quiet, but that was no surprise. He would miss Hogwarts as much as Harry would, for sure. Harry reflected that this was one of many similarities between Tom and himself that silently drew them together, even without their connected souls…

Harry watched Tom, who sat opposite him on the carriage, gazing at the disappearing castle in silence as the Death Eaters laughed and joked besides them, blatantly glad to finally leave this school. He wondered whether Tom, like him, found at least some good points in leaving Hogwarts. They would be properly alone together, to begin, more sincerely and for longer than ever before… and perhaps Tom and he would get even closer in that time. Harry would have to pretend he was hunting down Grindelwald, and Tom would be hiding a few things for a while, but that would all pass soon, and then Harry could perhaps convince Tom to stay away from becoming Voldemort properly.

Tom's eyes found Harry's own only a few moments before the carriages drew to a halt. Both of them were perfectly unreadable, but somehow they communicated in silence, perhaps by guessing or working out how the other might be feeling. Harry couldn't wait until the train ride ahead of them would be over and done with. It would be a boring journey for him, and the Death Eaters were being as loud and irritating as always.

They were soon exiting their carriage, and making their way towards the Hogwarts Express amongst the jovial crowed of students. Harry found Tom and himself in the company of Avery, Nott, Lestrange, and Dolohov in their compartment on the train. A few people, such as Mulciber and Rosier, had seemed eager to join this main group, but they were unsuccessful in being one of the five in Tom's company. They looked annoyed and disappointed as a result, and it took them a while to finally accept that they couldn't be here. They left in one group to find another compartment, as the remaining Death Eaters looked smug.

"I can't believe it's the end of Hogwarts," Avery commented long after they had all settled down into their seats. The train was already moving steadily towards London.

"It was a good year though," Nott said.

"I suppose so…"

"C'mon," Nott urged, seeing Avery's doubt. "Don't you remember Madame Puddifoot's?"

Dolohov actually laughed aloud at this. "Oh yeah! That was jokes."

"But I don't even know what I'm even gunna do now," Avery complained.

"I myself am taking a holiday," Lestrange responded from directly across the compartment. "There's absolutely nothing I hate more than exams, and I'm happy they're over. I don't even care about my results, now that I don't have to deal with it anymore."

"Same for me," Nott agreed. He sat besides Lestrange, as usual. "I think I'll probably spend some proper time with my family now, though, instead of going anywhere. At least until the end of the summer."

"It's gunna be horrible, getting a job," Dolohov remarked thickly. He sat besides Harry, and Harry wondered lightly whether he had followed Tom and himself directly into the compartment to get this seat. "I ain't looking forward to it."

"Neither are any of us, mate," Avery said.

"If there's anything worse than school," Lestrange began, "it has to be getting a job."

"And keeping it," Nott added.

The other three Death Eaters sniggered at this.

"I must say that I contradict such a claim," Tom said quietly. His voice drew the attention of the other Slytherins easily, despite its low volume. Their smiled suddenly faltered. "I myself am quite looking forward to obtaining a job… as any Slytherin, full of ambition, should be."

The Death Eaters appeared very offended at these words, and Harry wondered whether Tom had said this just to watch their reactions. Harry found himself smirking slightly, which the Death Eaters didn't appreciate at all. He was in on a selective ridicule, and every Slytherin here minus Tom and himself now had their pride hurt. Avery was the first to go against his own words.

"Nah, I just mean that it would be horrible _finding_ a job, the rest is alright, really."

"Well, I only meant that jobs themselves are a problem," Lestrange attempted to explain. "Aspirations don't make up for the actual trouble of finding work, at the time."

"I have ambition," Nott stated, "but it's just not helpful in me finding a job, yet."

Dolohov merely said "yeah" and "'course" a lot while they all spoke at once. But none of them dared complain at Tom directly. Their eyes darted amongst themselves instead, as they convinced themselves that they were indeed ambitious and true Slytherins. Even if they would only be Slytherins for a few more hours, this seemed important to them. They soon began speaking about their said goals in life, going into great detail about every dream, hope, and plan they had. It was a long conversation.

After more time passed, Harry mused whether Tom had offended the Death Eaters like this only to help motivate them into actually contemplating jobs. Tom seemed interested in watching their conversation, so perhaps he had wanted to hear them speak about their jobs aloud, to trigger thoughts within their open minds about it all…

"My parents are loaded," Avery was saying. He was explaining why he had so many different plans in life for about the seventh time, since Lestrange made a rude comment about his ever–altering mind. "So it don't matter what happens to me, really. I can be whatever I want, and my family will always be behind me."

Nott and Dolohov nodded and agreed to this. They all had sickeningly rich, pureblood families that would let them do whatever they wanted as long as it wasn't publicly known, after all. Harry wasn't sure whether Avery would actually ever be anything besides a Death Eater, who had children who would also become Death Eaters. He doubted Avery would ever grow up in any way.

"So what are you gunna do, Jonathan?" Avery asked Harry some time after this.

"I plan on travelling," Harry lied calmly. Tom and him had planned and discussed this vital false story in their plans for the future, of course, so he had been more than prepared for this question. They didn't want the Death Eaters to know or attempt to work out where he would really be. "So I'm not really sure if I'll ever have the same job for very long. I just don't like staying in any set place, as you probably all know by now."

"Oh," Avery replied. There was a short pause. "How you gunna manage that?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, you ain't got no family or nothing with money to help…"

"The school gives out loans to students who need it," Harry explained after a moment, understanding what Avery was hinting towards. "Obviously they wouldn't just leave people completely homeless."

"What, they give out free money?" Dolohov asked suddenly.

"Well, technically, but you have to pay it ba–"

"Where can I get some?" he asked sharply.

"You can't," Harry said slowly, a little surprised.

"Why not?" Dolohov asked, perplexed. Harry stared at him for a moment. At his lack of further comment, Dolohov added, "It ain't fair that some students get it while others–!"

"Dolohov," Nott warned from across the compartment. His tone made the other Death Eater stop for a moment, and pull his eyes away from Harry.

"What?" he asked.

A silence followed this question, as no one knew what to say. Nott and Lestrange almost seemed to be holding their breath as they looked from Dolohov to Harry uncomfortably. Avery on the other hand was struggling greatly with a nervous smile, but no one paid him any attention. Harry didn't know what to reply to this at all, and he glanced at Tom, who was glowering at Dolohov. Dolohov finally seemed to realise that he had said something wrong at this.

When Tom spoke into the silence, his voice very cold. Each of his words seemed to form extremely slowly, as though to torture Dolohov with fear. "I cannot honestly say that the qualifications required for getting 'free money' from the school are exactly enviable…" The room seemed to drop ten degrees, and Harry saw that the Death Eaters wore frightened expressions as everyone but Dolohov averted their eyes from their leader. Dolohov himself had suddenly gone pale, and he was attempting to speak with a dry mouth.

"No, I'm – I'm sorry! I didn't mean – I was only… only… I'm an idiot! I wasn't even thinking! I–"

"Get out," Tom ordered quietly.

"Wha-? But…" Dolohov glanced at the others quickly, yet none of them so much as turned his way. He looked back at Tom. "Lemme just grab my trunk then and I'll be gone–"

"Get out of here now, or I'll give you an entirely new definition of the term 'consequence'." he hissed.

Dolohov stared at Tom in fear, and Harry wondered for a second if he was really stupid enough to argue back again. But to Dolohov's better judgement, perhaps, he bolted for the exit. No one spoke as he stumbled into the corridor outside, the door to the compartment slamming shut, and only half closing again. They could all hear him scampering from this scene in fear, trying to find the other Slytherins. When he found the right compartment, laughing could be heard from the distant Death Eaters at the sight of Dolohov, and Avery covered his mouth with his hand.

Another silence fell when the door to Dolohov's new compartment was closed. The remaining Death Eaters seemed frozen in their seats, and it was a while before any of them were confident enough to glance at Harry or Tom again. They were all still embarrassed and scared. Lestrange was the first one to speak, as he looked back and forth between the two black haired orphans.

He cleared his throat very softly, before saying, "I promise I will never be that much of an idiot."

Just then, the door to the compartment slid open again at an eager speed. Mulciber was standing there, beaming. "I heard Dolohov got kicked out! Can I come in?"

Everyone turned to look at Tom. There was only a slight hesitation. "If you wish…"

Harry was sure that after this the conversation must have felt like it was taking forever to become normal again for the Death Eaters even after this. Neither he nor Tom spoke, which was probably for the better. Tom took up reading, and Harry watched the countryside flick past his vision from the window next to him. They all must have spent over half the journey to London doing these three activities, so it was hours upon hours later when one scrap of conversation within this carriage caught Harry's ear again. The sky was dimming outside, and it looked like they were getting close to London now.

"Voldemort," Nott had spoken. This one name caught Harry's attention so quickly that it must have looked as though he had awoken from some vague slumber. He thought he might have fallen asleep for a moment, in fact.

But then Harry realised that Nott was continuing, "Are we ever going to reform this group again?"

Harry followed the other Death Eaters in turning towards Tom. There was a slight smile forming on Tom's gorgeous lips as he contemplated this question. "Well, I'm not quite sure about that…" The Death Eaters were listening intently to Tom's every word, and Harry knew that this must have been why they all wanted to be here so badly. "I don't see the point in continuing this group outside the walls of Hogwarts, to put it simply."

Harry was bewildered with every aspect of this conversation. Why wasn't Tom boasting about his ideas of a reformation of the Death Eaters here? Surely he was planning on keeping his followers, at least for good measure… And how did Nott know about the name 'Voldemort'? Moreover, how didn't Harry know that Nott knew this name? He should have seen this piece of information in his head.

"I think there's plenty of points in keeping our group," Nott replied in contradiction. Tom seemed almost impressed by this claim.

A thought suddenly stuck Harry. Maybe Tom didn't want to have Death Eaters anymore… Maybe there would be some turning point in his life when he suddenly decided he wanted his followers back again, and Harry could change that when it happened. This idea almost made Harry interrupt Tom and Nott's conversation, but Tom spoke before him.

"Please elaborate your ideas," Tom said.

Nott smiled a little, and glanced towards the other Death Eaters for reassurance. "Well, to begin there is still a load of things about the Dark Arts that you could still teach us," Nott stated. "There are loads more curses and even entire fields of magic that we ourselves don't know about, even if you know it."

"You could always continue your work upon the Dark Arts via research," Tom pointed out quietly. "What would be the use in me teaching you anything of the sort now that we have left the walls of Hogwarts?"

"We'd only be learning it for everything we've always learnt it for," Nott said, "even if that means it's just for our own personal gain."

"And what would you do with more knowledge?" Tom asked.

"Oh, I…" Nott didn't seem to know how to answer this question.

"There are still all of those Muggles and Mudbloods out there left for us to harass, so we could just start using what we know on them if you need a point," Avery commented from across the carriage. Lestrange and Mulciber sniggered.

"Ah, but there are already so many Witches and Wizards harassing the Mudbloods and Muggles within the world already," Tom said. "What would I gain in making you a little more powerful if you will merely join them, get caught, and be of no more use to me?"

Harry had a feeling that Tom was just playing with his followers again, and he suddenly wasn't that confident that the Death Eaters would somehow disappear forever. Tom was probably drawing them all further under his power by making them remind each other exactly why they were being taught the Dark Arts in the first place, while he himself knew every advantage to having this small army. The Death Eaters were still keen to prove their loyalty, after all.

"We won't join them!" Avery exclaimed. "We wouldn't follow anyone but you. All of those other people don't know half the Dark Magic we know, or will know. They definitely don't know as much as you, anyway."

Tom was smiling more. "I must say that is very impressive coming from you, Avery. I didn't know you were quite so committed to all that I teach."

Avery smiled too, blatantly proud of this complement. "I mean it though. You probably know more 'bout the Dark Arts than people four times our age."

"So will you at least think about letting this group form again?" Nott asked, seeing Tom's slight weak point of being happy with Avery's devotion.

Tom dwelt upon this for a moment. "Perhaps…"

The four Death Eaters beamed.

"But this will be in a few years, at least," Tom added. "This is not something we can merely have as an easy side event to our lives. There is much political restraint and so on that we have to be careful of. All of this would, of course, be more criminal and illegal than anything else we've ever done…"

This only seemed to make the Death Eaters more enthusiastic.

"It would still be brilliant, though," Mulciber said. "It would really be worth it."

"Would you join up again, Jonathan?" Avery suddenly asked.

Harry turned to look at Avery. He and Tom hadn't actually discussed whether the Death Eaters would really form again after school… "Er, yeah. Of course."

"Good," Avery smiled. Harry wondered why he cared, until he spoke again. "We need more people as powerful as you."

"Right," Harry replied, and Avery turned away contently.

The other Death Eaters began talking excitedly about it all, but it wasn't long before they all realised that they were close to King's Cross Station. Mulciber left the compartment before the train had even stopped to tell the others about Tom's decision no doubt, and the sky outside was getting darker by the minute. When the Hogwarts Express finally drew to a halt, Harry, Tom, and the Death Eaters stood up to get their trunks.

Harry felt light headed from all of this. He could barely believe that he was leaving Hogwarts now to go and live with Tom immediately… it was quite insane.

"Well, I suppose this so goodbye for now then." Avery said, talking mostly to Tom as he stood with his trunk by his side.

"I suppose it is," Tom replied calmly.

"I'll miss you, mate," Mulciber said to Avery, smiling slightly. "I probably won't see any of you for years…"

"Yeah," Avery agreed, "I'll miss you too."

Harry wasn't surprised that they were all half laughing at these long goodbyes. He was sure that most of them would probably stay in contact with each other through owl if they really cared enough to bother. They said a few farewells to him personally as well, wishing him luck on his nonexistent travels and so on. It was only a few minutes before they all joined the gathered crowed in the corridor outside, and made their way for an exit to the train. There were a lot of people of the platform and on the train, and Harry wasn't surprised to see a few of the Death Eaters around him simply disappeared from view.

Tom was walking directly beside him, however. He knew this from sensing the taller boy, rather than initially looking at him. They didn't need to say any more goodbyes to their fellow Slytherins by this point, and they thus began heading for the exit to the station, pulling their trunks behind them. They didn't speak as they walked, because the crowd around them was loud and far too jolly to be easily bearable. It was a few minutes before they were actually out of the station itself.

There were still many people on the street outside of the station, of course, but they were fewer in numbers. They began walking down one of the many streets together.

"What was that name that Nott used on the train?" Harry asked carefully as their footsteps became slowly more audible with every step they took away from the station. The sky was darkening even more. "Voldie–"

"Voldemort," Tom finished. "It's merely a name my friends sometimes use when talking to me."

"I've never heard them use it before," Harry stated. "I haven't even seen it in their minds."

"They forget about it often…" Tom admitted. "Yet every so often one of them remembers how well it works in conversation."

This would make sense to explain why he never heard it before, Harry thought… "Why do you use it?" he asked out of temptation. He already knew it was merely to get the Death Eaters and the world to fear him.

Tom took a moment to find an answer to this. "I prefer it to my own name, actually… It sets me apart from my father."

"Oh…" Harry had almost forgotten completely about Tom's father sharing the name Tom Riddle. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," Tom said, smiling. "That's a weakness that should be spared for crucial lies and life changing events."

Harry looked up at Tom as they walked. He merely nodded. Tom led them down a deserted street, which wasn't lit very well.

"You yourself experiment a lot in art of changing names, of course," Tom reminded Harry.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I think it's an important thing to do on occasion."

Tom's pace steadily slowed to a stop. Harry stopped too, and glanced at Tom, moving his trunk to make it rest besides him. He was about to ask what was wrong, before Tom smiled. "Give me your hand."

Harry only hesitated for a second before obeying. Tom clasped his fingers around Harry's own. "Why?" Harry asked.

"To Apparate, of course," Tom replied.

"I can Apparate," Harry stated.

"Yes," Tom said, "but I don't know what I'd do if either of us got separated from the other."

Harry smiled a little at this comment, before Tom moved, and they both Disapparated from the street they stood upon. After the same horrible sensation of being transported to another part of the country so quickly was over, Harry found Tom and himself in a new environment. They were on another street, but it was blatant that this wasn't a part of any city. It appeared to be a homely village in the middle of the countryside.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"Upper Flagley," Tom replied, "a partly Wizarding Village in Yorkshire." He began walking forwards a little, and Harry followed.

As he walked, Harry looked more closely at the street around them. He was sure he had heard about this town. He recognised the place, which truly bewildered him… "I think I've been here before."

Their fingers were no longer entwined, but they still walked close together. Tom paused for a minute. "When?"

"I think Hermione, Ron and I…" Harry stopped talking. They had searched for Voldemort's Horcruxes in this very village with no success, and it hadn't changed then very much from how it looked now. He almost didn't care that he had said the names of Ron and Hermione to Tom, because what came after that was more important anyway. He shouldn't even know what a Horcrux was.

"But no one knows you were here?" Tom asked. "One of Grindelwald's followers, for example?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "I'm not even sure if they really believe I'm alive."

Tom nodded, and they walked onwards. It was very soon after this when Harry saw that they were walking towards a Wizarding inn a little while along the street. They headed straight into it after a little more conversation, and Harry found it was quite quiet and peaceful. About five or six Witches and Wizards could be seen talking and enjoying a drink amongst the tables, and a lone bartender stood at a counter that lined the right hand side of the room. Tom headed towards this Wizard, and Harry followed.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked merrily, smiling.

"Actually, we merely wish to rent a room," Tom responded, not returning the grin.

The bartender looked up at Tom at this, before his eyes travelled to survey Harry too. "You brothers or something?"

"Yes," Tom lied smoothly.

The Wizard refreshed his smile, which had faltered before. "How long will you be staying for, then?"

"A week or two, at least."

"What's your name?"

"Tom Riddle."

"And his?"

"Eric," Tom lied. "Eric Riddle."

Harry wondered why their names would be relevant.

"Well, Tom, Eric, let me see what I can do for you…" The bartender brought out a book from a shelf below the counter. It was massive, and it appeared very old.

"Do you keep track of all the people who stay here?" Tom asked softly.

"Yep," the bartender replied. "We've been doing it done for hundreds of years. Now let me see…" He appeared to be checking the most recent people staying in his inn. "We've had a lot of visitors, it being summer and all, and I'm afraid that we don't have any rooms with two beds free…"

Harry felt something cause a slight movement upon the very air. Yet there weren't any doors within the inn open.

"Are there any rooms with double beds free?" Tom asked.

A crease formed between the eyebrows of the bartender as he frowned down at the book in front of him in confusion. Harry suddenly worried whether the barman found this an odd request… until he recognised the symptoms of the Confundus Charm. He smiled a little. Tom had doubtlessly cast this spell upon the Wizard.

The bartender's look of confusion only subsided when he saw that there was indeed a room with a double bed free. He smiled again, and looked up. "It seems that you're in luck! We have just the room for you."

"Very good," Tom commented.

The bartender's smile suddenly faltered again, as he looked at the two boys in front of him. "You're alright with sharing the same bed?"

"We're brothers," Tom reminded him.

The bartender smiled again, and his confusion left him. "Of course." But the confusion came back again, and Harry became aware of the fact that the charm must have been too strong, coming from Tom. "Why don't you just have two separate single bedrooms?"

Tom didn't even bother answering. Harry felt him use another spell nonverbally, and the bartender's expression almost completely slipped away. He wore a vacant countenance, and couldn't seem to focus on anything before Tom spoke again.

"Book us a room for two," he ordered quietly.

This order was followed easily, and the barman began scribbling down their details in his book, perhaps by Tom's continuing commands in his head. Tom and Harry were told what room they would be staying in, and they left to find it. The other Witches and Wizards who talked and laugh in other parts of the room hadn't noticed anything odd about the new arrivals to the inn, and neither had the bartender, who, as a result of being under the Imperius Curse, no longer had the ability to think properly. Harry smiled a little as they made their way up a flight of rickety wooden stairs.

Their room was simple, but it appeared comfortable enough. A bed was stationed directly across from the entrance to the room, with a wide space of floor stretching out on the three sides of it that didn't rest against a wall. There was a desk on the left side of the room, as well as a window that had a nice view of the street outside, and the currently pitch black sky. To the right there was a chest of drawers resting against a well, and an evident bathroom, currently unlighted and closed. When Tom shut the door behind himself and Harry, every noise from the room downstairs was blocked out. At this Harry supposed their room was soundproof.

Tom moved further into the room, and placed his trunk at the end of their new bed. Harry did the same, glad to reflect that their journey here was finally over. He found Tom examining him as he stood up fully to face his lover. Tom smiled at Harry softly, and walked forwards to close the distance between them. "Eric Riddle," he said very quietly. "I cannot say that I dislike it, even if the surname is somewhat tainted…"

Harry smiled back, and felt Tom's hand close around his own. "But the name wasn't even needed," he pointed out. "What happened with the Confundus Charm you tried to use?"

"It was either too powerful, or else merely the incorrect spell to use on that Wizard personally," Tom said. "The Imperius Curse was far more effective."

"He'll know we did something to him," Harry asserted.

Another smile curled on the corners of Tom's lips. "I don't think he'll suspect anything…"

Harry attempted to work out what Tom might mean, but he couldn't guess. He knew that Tom must have given him some silent orders with the Imperius Curse, however. "What did you tell him to do?"

"Drink," Tom admitted. "Enough to make him think he got drunk off an unexpected impulse, thus making him forget who we really were. He will doubtlessly be far too embarrassed to talk to us about our room, or the fact that he listed 'Voldemort and Tromedlov' as our names for staying here."

"Tromedlov?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Voldemort backwards," Tom said, smirking. "I merely found it amusing… I don't expect you to keep a name so ghastly."

Harry laughed a little, glad that Tom found some enjoyment in all of this. "This seems like a lot of bother for just renting a room."

"In contradiction, I find it quite adventurous," Tom said. He smiled again, and brought Harry's hand to his lips. "For getting the perfect room, it's a fair price."

Tom kissed his hand softly, his eyes only breaking away from Harry's for a moment as he closed them. "I can't imagine what getting a proper apartment will be like with you…" Harry said, craving more of Tom's touch.

"It will be worth it," Tom whispered, lowering Harry's hand and moving forwards a little more. "If I can still keep you as my little secret…"

Tom leant forwards to press his lips against Harry's gently. Both of them were still for a moment, savouring how wonderful it felt to kiss again before Harry replied to Tom slightly more passionately. Tom licked Harry's lips, and Harry felt dizzy. Their kiss deepened, and Tom's hands began sliding along Harry's waist. Harry's hands travelled to clutch Tom's thick, dark hair. Their breath was becoming more rough and uneven with every second, as their bodies pressed together in this feverish embrace.

Tom broke away from their kiss slightly to begin kissing Harry's neck. Harry gasped lightly, and Tom began pushing him backwards. They fell onto the bed, and broke apart for a minute. Tom smiled at the sight of Harry lying below him, and Harry basked in the glory of seeing Tom with his hair muffled, and his craving evident. Tom always seemed to enjoy dominating the other boy, it seemed. He began kissing Harry's neck again, his hands sliding along Harry's chest to find his Slytherin tie. This would be the last time Tom would have to remove these school clothes, Harry knew.

Tom's lips moved towards Harry's ear, and he licked his earlobe lustfully, before sucking on it. Harry moaned softly as a shiver ran along his spine. Tom hissed his name in Parseltongue, and he licked him again, pulling away the Slytherin tie and unbuttoning his shirt effortlessly. Harry's breath began coming in gasps that he had no control over, as he felt Tom's hands slide down his chest. He could barely believe his wonderful it felt to be with Tom like this again.


	30. Expectation

It was early morning, and vague sunlight was shining though the curtain that shielded the large window of the room where Harry and Tom were staying. It had been about a week since they had left Hogwarts, and in that time they had begun searching for a flat, and for jobs. But they were currently talking quietly as they lay in bed, discussing how they would spend the day amongst other unimportant things. It was simple for them to plan what they wished to do was they spent time within in this small Wizarding village.

Their conversation only subsided when they heard a tapping from the window outside. As Harry glanced around, he could see a shadow of what appeared to be an owl on the window ledge. Tom stood up before Harry could, and let it inside. It was a barn owl, and it didn't seem very eager to stay once Tom removed the letter that was attacked to its leg. As it flew out of the open window, Tom opened the parchment in his hands.

"It's from Hogwarts," he said.

"I hope it's not the NEWT results, is it?" Harry asked.

"No, it's far too early for that," Tom assured him. He scanned what was written, and smiled. "Armando Dippet has arranged to have a meeting with me in a week. For my wish to become the Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher at Hogwarts, of course."

Harry forced himself to smile back. "That's brilliant."

"Indeed," Tom replied, his tone delighted. Harry felt bad that Tom blatantly adored the idea of this job, especially while it was so rare for him to show happiness. After closing the curtain again, Tom walked back towards their bed, still looking down at the letter. "He claims that he is 'satisfied with my offer', and that he's 'looking forwards to seeing what he can do about my request'."

Harry smiled again as Tom sat down. It wasn't as difficult to grin this time, as he watched how pleased Tom was. As long as Harry blocked out his knowledge of how he knew this job offering would end, he was almost happy too. He wished that Tom would get this job, in fact. It would save Tom from making more Horcruxes out of objects he'd find later on. "I hope the meeting will go well."

"Oh, I think it will," Tom said, smirking. "Dippet would never refuse a teaching post to someone as well-respected as myself. Especially not while him and I have somewhat of a connection, in his eyes. I was the best student he has and will see for perhaps his entire time as headmaster, so I doubt he will miss this opportunity."

Harry really didn't know what to reply to this as Tom gazed down at him contently. He only smiled, and asked, "How did you get Dippet to trust you so much, anyway?"

"As a result of a lot of situations," Tom said. "He first began noticing me when he discovered how well I was doing in all the tests and so on in my early years of school, I am assuming, for he already seemed to believe he knew me well when I met him properly, in my fifth year. I had just become a prefect, of course… and there were quite a lot of important things going on within the school at the time."

This had to have been the year when Tom opened the Chamber of Secrets, Harry reflected, and that was doubtlessly how Tom had become close to Dippet in the first place. As Harry thought back, he realised that Tom and he had never spoken about the Chamber of Secrets before. Harry wondered – and worried – whether Tom would tell his this story if he asked about it.

"But what actually happened for you to meet him personally?" Harry asked. "Because he's obviously more fond of you past you getting such good school marks. There are hundreds of students at Hogwarts…"

"It began when I sent him a letter, I believe," Tom stated. He hesitated for only a second here, before continuing. "In the letter I asked him if I could stay at Hogwarts over the summers, for the Second World War was affecting the orphanage where I had to stay, and I wasn't keen on risking my life so easily anymore. But he told me that I couldn't possibly stay at the school, at that time."

"Why not?" Harry asked, imitating innocent curiosity perfectly.

"Well, the Chamber of Secrets had just been opened, and there was still much danger in staying at the castle," Tom said. His voice was a little quieter than before, and Harry wondered whether he was deciding if truth was a foolish idea here. Harry felt anxiety fill him properly as he wondered whether Tom trusted him. He had admitted his murders… so why not this?

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Harry asked. He wondered how much he should know about all of that. He knew he couldn't have read about the Chamber being opened, no matter where he was, because it had all been hushed up, yet he was pretty sure that he should know what the Chamber was. "It was opened at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, it was." A shadow of a new smile appeared on Tom's lips, but it disappeared after a few seconds, perhaps by force. "Not many people knew about it, however… Least of all any newspapers, for it was all kept very secret. Even some of the students were blind to the truth, no matter how much evidence was left behind…"

Tom spoke very softly, as he gazed down at Harry carefully. An eerie tone and intent was hidden behind his every word, and even Harry noticed it, no matter how deeply he loved the other boy. Tom irrefutably enjoyed telling this story to someone, for Harry could almost see the enjoyment in his dark grey eyes. "But who opened it?" Harry asked. "I thought only an Heir of Slytherin could manage it, or something close. To be honest, I didn't think it really existed…"

"Many thought it was nonexistent," Tom asserted, "and many have guessed correctly in assuming that only an Heir could open the Chamber."

"So there was an Heir at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, there was."

"Did you catch him?" Harry asked.

"No," Tom said. "I would never stop the Heir of Slytherin myself, if I had the choice…"

"Then how did you convince Dippet to let you stay at the school?"

"I framed someone," Tom said. "That groundskeeper who I asked you to deliver that letter to, in fact. He had been known for keeping strange and forbidden creatures, so it appeared a perfect fit, minus the fact that Hagrid hadn't the power nor the actual creature strong enough to do the damage that was done by the real heir."

"Why did Dippet believe it?" Harry asked. He forced himself to stop thinking about Hagrid.

"No one actually saw the beast that I caught him taking care of," Tom explained, "and Dippet was simply too overwhelmed with the whole affair to question it – not while it seemed so plausible."

"But, why is he still at the school then?"

Some of Tom's enjoyment seemed to flicker away. "Dumbledore asked for him to stay… He told the headmaster that Hagrid had no family, et cetera, and that it would do no good leaving his fate in the hands of the cruel world so soon."

"Oh," Harry remarked. "But… somehow I'm not surprised Dumbledore would see through some if it."

"He couldn't convince anyone that I was wrong, anyway," Tom commented, perhaps telling himself as much as Harry, "even if he still distrusts me for that amongst other things…"

Harry didn't want to think about Dumbledore and Tom in the same thought right now, so he continued their conversation. He had something that he was generally curious to ask, anyway. "So do people think that Hagrid is the Heir of Slytherin? Or do people think he was just looking after dangerous creatures, and that the Chamber doesn't exist?"

"Many people have different theories, actually," Tom explained. "After they knew who did it, the students of Hogwarts didn't ask very much about such details. As I have said, it was all kept very secret under Dippet's orders, so nothing was really clear for just anybody."

"How many people were attacked?"

"Seventeen Muggleborns," Tom replied.

"Did they all die?"

"No… except for one. Yet that was partly an accident."

Harry doubted that, somehow. It could have been partly an _experiment_, but for him to agree or believe that it was an accident would be witless. "Then who's the real Heir of Slytherin?"

Tom contemplated this question for a while, and Harry waited in apprehension. When Tom spoke, his voice was very soft, and his eyes never left Harry's own. "I am."

Harry gazed back at Tom. It was a moment before he realised that a grin was forming on his lips, but this was a result of being relieved that Tom trusted him, rather than being happy at the idea of Tom being the Heir of Slytherin. Harry couldn't even bring himself to stop smiling for all those people who had been attacked, and killed. Tom must have taken his smile as a sign on awe, Harry reflected, but he wasn't sure he cared. "You framed someone for your own crime?"

"There wasn't much else I could do," Tom said, a light smile responding to Harry's.

"Weren't you annoyed that you had to close the Chamber of Secrets, though?"

"No, not quite… I had had my fun for an entire school year, after all, and thus I had made my point in terrifying the school and _petrifying_ the Mudbloods."

Harry told himself not to laugh at this, but his smile widened a little. He knew this had to be from enjoying how enthralled all of this made Tom, and he determinedly avoided the idea of his smile being for anything else. "So you don't think Dippet will even hesitate in giving you this job?"

"Not after everything I know, and have done for him and the school."

Harry wondered vaguely how Dippet would manage turning this job offer away. Tom was a model student, and would indeed be a brilliant teacher…

"But what about the job that you wish to take?" Tom suddenly asked.

"I still haven't decided what I even want to do," Harry admitted. He puzzled over why Tom had swapped this conversation over to talking about him, when they could go on for hours more about Tom's potential job at Hogwarts.

"What would you say to the idea of w orking for some sort of newspaper?" Tom asked. "As an subeditor, for example, you could read the news sooner than anyone else, and in the case of newspapers like the _Daily Prophet_, stories are often only a few hours old. Thus if anything truly important happened, you would know, and would be able to do something about it."

Harry was unsurprised that Tom had found something so logical and plausible for his job, even before he himself had. Harry liked this idea, as he thought about Tom's consideration. "That actually sounds like a pretty good plan."

"What is more, you will be able to read the articles that the _Prophet_ might plan on omitting later on," Tom noted. "It's of vital importance, if you wish to have somewhat of an instant view on what's happening with other countries and so on. You could be a part of the newspaper that deals with general crime, for that is doubtlessly where you'll get most of the stories of personal interest."

"That would be brilliant," Harry said truthfully.

"It will doubtlessly take a few days or even weeks before we can get you the job, but I don't think it's impossible."

Harry smiled, and moved over on their bed a little. He was relieved that Tom trusted him, and glad that they were again planning their future. He kissed the Heir of Slytherin lightly, before saying, "Thanks, Tom."

"Anything for you," Tom replied softly.

Harry would be satisfied with any job, thus having one particular idea finally prominent in his mind was somewhat of a relief. All he had known was that he didn't want to work in Hogsmeade anymore. He wasn't sure what he was going to do about Dumbledore, and he merely wished to stay away far from him, for now at least. Did Harry still want the Deathly Hallows, now that he knew how he was connected to Tom through their souls? Would they even be of any use to him by this point? Would he want to use the Hallows as a weapon, in the end? He wasn't prepared to answer any of these questions, nor to acknowledge the endless stream of others… but he still knew only too well that he was turning a blind eye.

~&~

"I hate him," Tom hissed in anger.

"So do I," Harry said, "but there's nothing we can do about him."

Tom was pacing the room, running his fingers through his hair when his hands weren't clenching in anger. "That old fool's determination to ruin my plans is too much to bear while I remain so forcefully suppressed in all of my desired retorts…"

"Dumbledore's not our teacher anymore," Harry reminded him. "You don't have to be fake with him anymore.

"Oh, but that would only prove what he has been saying to the other Professors for all these years," Tom said, his teeth half clenched. "It would only prove the seemingly improbable truth that he has uncovered."

Tom's words confused Harry a little. He understood exactly what Tom was saying, of course, but there was something off. It wasn't the fact that Tom's anger made Harry worry, but rather the fact that Tom was so plainly worried, and not at all scared. Countless Witches and Wizards had claimed that the only person Voldemort had ever feared was Dumbledore, and yet here Tom was, close to contemplating the murder of Albus Dumbledore tonight as Dumbledore annoyed him in this way. Was Tom hiding his fear? Perhaps behind that shield of anger Dumbledore warned Harry about?

"Are you scared of Dumbledore?" Harry asked quietly.

Tom looked around, and almost glared at him. "Why would I be scared of Dumbledore?"

Harry contemplated how to answer this. "If you don't want to fight him–"

"Oh, I want to fight him," Tom interrupted. "I want to fight him more than anyone else in the world now, but he plays a sly game. As infuriating and sightless as he is, he has more power of me than I'm willing to stand… but I will make him regret his mistakes."

Harry decided it might be good idea to change the course of this conversation a little, before Tom would decide on launching any irrational plans. "Explain to me what happened with Dippet again."

Harry couldn't tell if Tom was more annoyed by this or not. Perhaps he was just annoyed in another way with remembering any aspect of the evening. "When I arrived at the school, I went almost immediately to Dippet's office," Tom said. "Dippet was waiting there for me, but so was that invasive bastard who everyone calls such a 'great' Wizard… Dumbledore was leading through Dippet as efficiently and determinedly as always, telling Dippet what to do and not to do as if he was a puppeteer… Dippet gave barely one sincere statement as _he_ interrupted constantly, suggesting that I was too _young_ and needed _more_ _experience_. Yet I've had more experience in the Dark Arts than half of this country, and I know enough defence against it all to write a book – a _series_ of books – if I cared about giving away such faulty information to those who are too stupid to understand just how powerful the Dark Arts really are, and to those who don't know how useless they would be against dark magic – _my_ magic."

Harry wasn't sure what to think of this rant as Tom continued pacing. Somewhere in his mind something seemed to click, and Harry understood that this must be one of the main things that would push Tom into studying the Dark Arts so greatly. As Harry found no reply, Tom carried on.

"Dippet won't even know what he's missing. He's being forced out of hiring me even when he knows how brilliant I would be as a teacher. Though I have no official records telling the world just how much I know about the Dark Arts, and countless other subjects, Dippet knows. All of the teachers know… including Dumbledore." The curtains were yet again drawn over the window as Tom walked, and Harry sat upon a chair that rested next to the desk. Tom continued, blind to all else but his hatred.

"Hogwarts has suffered a great loss in what it could have learnt. Dumbledore will probably bask in the glory of getting his way, while the secrets of the Dark Arts are not shared within those walls. But he will live to regret it. The world will live to regret it as everything around that school becomes darker. Even without my help, the world is becoming a more sinister place. The Dark Arts not being taught at that school will lead to the greatest of consequences…"

"You can always try again in a few years," Harry stated. He dearly hoped that Tom was only exaggerating with some of what he talked about. "Dippet only said you were too young, even if Dumbledore suggested that you were also too inexperienced."

Tom contemplated this. His expression of vexation didn't change, but his tone was quieter and less forceful when he spoke again. "This is true… yet Dippet is getting old quickly."

Harry replied nothing. He knew Tom wouldn't actually apply for the job again soon, so he really didn't have much to worry about. He was just concerned on getting Tom's tempter back down.

"I'll have to seek a new job," Tom said, sounding greatly displeased. "But I prepared a backup plan, of course."

"That's good," said Harry, who watched Tom determinedly. "So what's your next plan?"

Tom seemed to contemplate this for a few minutes. "There's a shop in Knockturn Alley that sells very rare – and often very dark – artefacts to any Witch or Wizard that can afford it. It's called 'Borgin and Burkes', and though it is probably not hiring at the moment, I can doubtlessly find a way to get a job there…"

"Why do you want to work there?" Harry asked carefully. He knew the answer to this, of course, but he wanted to hear what Tom would answer.

"It holds many items that relate to the Dark Arts," Tom answered simply. "There are even books and so on that I would be unwise to refrain from looking at. I could learn a lot there, when not helping immediate or long-term costumers and so on."

Tom's pace had slowed in the course of talking, and he now stood facing Harry, but not looking at him. He was twirling the gold and back ring around his finger as he thought, blatantly reviewing his new plans for the future other than contemplating Harry's question again. He hadn't mentioned even a hint of his Horcruxes.

"There are a few proper Dark Arts shops you could work in," Harry stated. "Why this one, when it's not so eager to hold just dark magic?"

"Better pay," Tom said absentmindedly. "Less suspicion, too. Borgin and Burkes is almost respected within the Wizarding World."

"But you could get an even better job than this," Harry said. "One that pays better and is also way, way more respected."

"Again, the Dark Arts seen within that shop is what intrigues me," Tom replied.

"You could work with the Dark Arts and so on in loads of other places," Harry remarked, pushing the subject. He wanted Tom to tell him about Horcruxes. "Even somewhere in the Ministry would let you see dark magic, more than you would in a shop that sells things. What do you want to work there specifically? Is it the objects?"

Tom turned to look at Harry, but he didn't answer for a minute. Harry felt as though he had crossed some invisible line with his last question, and he waited, trying to withhold any expressions he might have. Was Tom confused with Harry's last comment, or wondering whether he should spill the truth? It was impossible to tell. Harry just wished Tom would confide in him about Horcruxes, which was perhaps his last and most important secret.

"Yes, it is about the objects," Tom said quietly. "They are full of unusual and powerful properties, to which I am drawn, as I suggested previously…"

"Right," Harry responded, careful not to do anything more.

Tom gazed at him for a time, before turning away. He wasn't at all as angry as he had been before, and Harry knew that had to be because he had a plan that he now considered more useful and important to him than being a teacher at Hogwarts so soon.

"We shall have to go and visit one of the _Daily Prophet_'s offices in Diagon Alley or another similar location tomorrow," Tom commented lightly, his tone becoming more normal again. "I believe we will be able to convince them into hiring you, even if it takes a little effort."

Harry was glad the subject was moving on. "Definitely."

"Let us merely hope that Dumbledore doesn't ruin that too, somehow."

"He won't know who I am, so I think we're safe."

"We have to remember to give you another new name," Tom said, "and perhaps a vaguely new identity."

"As usual."

"How many false names have you used before, Harry?" Tom asked with a sight smirk.

"Too many," Harry replied, smiling back slightly. "I don't think my real name even counts, anymore."

Tom looked more relaxed than ever by this point, and walked forwards to sit down on the bed, facing Harry. "Now that we have begun sorting out jobs, however, it only seems logical that we contemplate and plan what flat we will move into."

"I think we should probably just go for somewhere in Diagon alley," Harry said.

"Yes, but that is a rather busy place," Tom replied. "I again suggest Knockturn Alley."

"Or we could go somewhere far away from there."

"Yet we shall both work within Knockturn and Diagon Alley," Tom reminded him calmly.

"It doesn't even matter where we go," Harry said, "just as long as no one wonders why we share the same flat."

"No one will wonder," Tom assured him. "If we move into Knockturn Alley, that is."

Harry smirked. "We'll have to work it out."

Tom lent back to rest against one of the bedposts. "In much the same way that Dumbledore will work out his mistake," he said quietly.

"Don't bother with him again," Harry advised. "He won't change."

"What will ever happen to old Dumbledore, I wonder?" Tom asked, glaring into space.

"He'll get older, and die some lonely and forgettable death," Harry suggested. "Or get pushed off the Astronomy Tower, you never know."

Tom gave a slight hum of laughter. "That would certainly be quite amusing…"

"I think you should just ignore him until then," Harry said.

"Will you just ignore him?" Tom asked quietly. "For all that he's involved with, and has caused?"

Harry knew Tom was referring to what they had talked about in relation to Grindelwald, but he also saw how it fitted into his real life. He wondered if he had planned that, somehow. "No… Well, not forever, anyway."

Tom watched Harry for a minute. "We should seek revenge upon him, you know," he said in little over a whisper.

"He's too powerful," Harry commented, almost liking this idea in truth.

"No," Tom contradicted him. "I think his reputation of power is a lie or exaggeration for the most part."

"I think you'd be surprised."

Tom paused. "What else do you know about him?"

"I know that he duelled against Grindelwald when they were young, and I know that his sister died as a result. He also probably won… even if that means Grindelwald just backed away."

"They were young then," Tom said.

"The same age as we are now, actually."

Tom smiled. "We still have a lot to learn."

"And they've learnt a lot, no doubt." Harry wondered again why Tom wasn't scared.

"Dumbledore is no threat to us," Tom commented. "Perhaps we should indeed ignore him…"

Harry was about to make a response to this, before he decided it wasn't really needed. "Yes, we should."


	31. A Moody Encounter

Harry and Tom left the little Inn of Upper Flagley after their promised two weeks of staying there. The owner of the pub wished them a halfhearted goodbye as Harry watched him struggle in thought to work out who exactly they were again. Harry had wondered aloud whether it was unwise of them to have left the names 'Voldemort and Tromedlov' still within the Inn owner's guestbook the day they moved into their new flat, but Tom assured him that it was all good fun, and that the barman wouldn't remember the event within a few months, at the most.

A further fortnight passed since moving into their new flat when Harry and Tom both secured jobs. It appeared to Harry as tough it didn't take much effort for Tom to make people give him the jobs he wanted for both Harry and himself, and it was with a lack of nerves or unease that Tom himself began working at Borgin and Burkes a few days before Harry was to join the Daily Prophet. Their flat had also been bought with a lack of struggle, but Harry couldn't say he was exactly worrying about this. He was only concerned with how Tom was managing to get everything so easily.

It was Monday, the 16th of July when Harry began his first day of work. He woke up early that morning with Tom, and they got ready after some conversing and breakfast. There were only around twenty minutes left before they would both have to leave the flat when Tom began to alter Harry's appearance, to give him a completely new identity.

They stood in the living room, which was decorated simply; a bookshelf lined almost an entire wall, with two armchairs and a couch resting in the center of the room facing it, a small table in between. The door leading into the flat stood opposite this, with two windows on the wall to its left, which supplied a decent amount of light from the street outside despite the fact that they had ended up living in Knockturn Alley. Two more doors were on the wall to the entrance's right. One led to the kitchen and the other to a bedroom, and by extent a bathroom. In short, their flat was small yet comfortable.

"It's not as though I'll see anyone I know there," Harry commented as he stood facing Tom, about to begin the transfiguration. "I'll probably only see the same people each day, as a subeditor."

"I merely believe it is wiser to be cautious," Tom replied as he examined Harry's face. "You never know who could visit an office of the Daily Prophet, and accidentally recognize you…"

"I'm guessing you don't mean 'you' in the sense of 'one'?" Harry asked, as Tom began a nonverbal spell.

Tom only smiled lightly, concentrating on Harry's transformation.

Only around ten seconds of silence passed following this, however, when Tom suddenly drew to a stop, staring at Harry's jaw, which he was changing. He appeared confused, and Harry asked, "What's wrong?"

"You've been Transfigured before," Tom said slowly.

Harry couldn't see how this was surprising to Tom, and he paused for a moment. "Well, that's a pretty usual side effect of going into hiding."

"But I've never seen you use Transfiguration on yourself. Not even in the mornings."

"So?"

"So, you have either been extremely secretive in refreshing your false appearance, or you have managed to find a way to keep your Transfigurations somewhat permanent," Tom stated, still in an apparent state of deep contemplation. "If the earlier, I must own I am impressed that you have escaped my notice of this activity for so long, especially when I am sure we've spent entire days wonderfully in each other's sight. If it is the latter… I am curious to know how you managed to surpass decades of research dedicated to the art of keeping Transfigurations for longer than a few hours."

Upon hearing Tom speak, Harry began to realise that the Transfiguration he had been taught and told about in his years at Hogwarts must have been partially more advanced than what Tom would have learnt or read about in this decade – especially for Human Transfiguration. Harry knew that, in his time, things like eye colour couldn't be changed for longer than a day or two, but he had no idea that they couldn't even secure the transformation of one's facial appearance in the nineteen forties.

He supposed that this all must have just been a pretty late breakthrough, as most Transfiguration Masters would be working in fields other than Human Transfiguration. With everything from objects to matter, to animals to insects for witches and wizards to study and experiment with, it wasn't all that surprising. There were also many, many minor aspects of the human form for Transfiguration Masters to busy themselves with, rather than the common puzzle of would make changes last for longer. Harry only wondered now what he would tell Tom…

"I've always known how to make a transfiguration stick," Harry admitted after a moment of contemplation. He then began his lies. "It was one of the first things they taught me, after I was adopted into that Wizarding Community. I wouldn't say we were all that advanced in other subjects, but Transfiguration seemed important to them."

Tom mused this for a minute, making no further changes to Harry's appearance. "Studying Transfiguration further would seem wise, for them," he commented. "Especially if they were put on certain operations to gather information… Yet I wonder only one thing. How did they manage it?"

Despite the fact that no one was supposed to know about this apparently advanced piece of magic in this time, Harry couldn't really see the harm in explaining to Tom how it worked. Tom wasn't exactly one to spill Harry's secrets to random others, anyway. "It's just about keeping an even balance between each transfiguration," he began. "If you can manage overlapping each change, forming the differences only a little bit at a time, nothing has the room to revert back to how it used to be. Then, all you have to do is cast this spell…"

Harry began explaining how it all worked in more detail, to Tom's great interest. It felt odd to him, to explain something that he felt was very basic to one of the smartest wizards he knew he would ever meet. Yet he supposed that Tom explained enough magic to him to last him a lifetime contemplating. The only reason why this magic was simple to Harry was because it was so vital, and popularly used. It only took him about five minutes to explain the entire theory to Tom, which wasn't surprising.

"Thought you can't tell anyone about this, obviously," Harry added once he was finished. "People would trace the knowledge back to me, or someone would realise that this information – which was basically a signature move of our group – is still spreading."

"No, I won't tell a soul," Tom assured him. "I promise."

Harry wasn't sure that much would go wrong even if Tom became known from this knowledge… Except maybe the fact that Voldemort could be deemed the creator of the most useful and popular discovery in Transfiguration since a hundred years, which might clash a little with his brilliant exploration of the Dark Arts. "Although," Harry said, "it might be worth the risk just to see the look on Dumbledore's face if you get famous on this one discovery. You could take his job as the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts then."

Tom smiled at this, but after a moment, he said; "Yet even that wouldn't be worth risking your safety for, to me."

Harry didn't smile again at this, as he hid his curiosity as to whether Tom really meant these words. It could be the psychopathy speaking, he mused, or else Tom's wish to be only the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, and nothing else. Harry pushed the thought away from his mind, hating himself for bringing that up again. Tom was suddenly speaking again.

"Can I see what you look like normally?" he asked quietly.

Harry was surprised with this question, and he hesitated. "Erm, I don't know…

If Tom saw him now, and remembered what he looked like for the next fifty years or so, he would see Harry as a teenager in the nineties and doubtlessly recognize him. Yet Harry didn't have any excuses to give Tom in relation to withholding his true appearance… In his silence, Tom watched him, likely trying to guess what he was thinking.

"I'm sure you don't look that different," Tom said in a way that suggested he was lacking the teasing smile most others might have had at this point. "I'm merely curious. You can trust me."

Harry didn't want Tom to think he was cowering away from showing his real appearance just because he was vain, and he certainly didn't want Tom to think that he wasn't going to trust him. Tom would think it was because he, Harry, didn't want his real appearance described or shown through memory to anyone – such as Grindelwald, or his followers. After a moment's thought, Harry decided to let Tom see what he looked like, knowing that there were more bad things that could happen in the present if he showed signs of doubt. "Fine," he said, "you can see what I look like…"

Tom appeared content now, and used Counter Transfiguration on Harry without delay. Harry could feel his own face slowly begin to reform as Tom worked nonverbally, and when Tom was done, he stood facing Harry, examining him with a light smile of amusement and, as far as Harry could tell, satisfaction.

"You're just as handsome normally as you were transfigured, you know," Tom remarked softly, as his eyes traveled to view all of Harry's real face, "and I say 'just as' because you are still quite the same, in some ways."

"I'm sure you'll probably do a better job of changing me," Harry commented honestly. Tom gave a light breath of laughter, and watched Harry for a moment more, before raising his wand to transfigure him again.

It only took around three minutes for Tom to give Harry a new face, even as he took Harry's advice to make the changes last longer. Tom then led Harry through their living room, past their bedroom and into their bathroom. Tom seemed quite pleased with the work he had done, and Harry soon found out why when he looked at himself in the mirror above the sink.

He still looked like himself very vaguely, as was the usual case with Human Transfiguration (for to change an appearance in absolutely every way takes both a lot of time and determination – not to mention how it goes too far against the body's natural order, which could end badly physically, and how it can change one's mental picture of oneself, which isn't healthy to do too often) but Harry's features were unmistakably far more handsome and even than they had ever been before.

Harry didn't know whether to be more impressed or embarrassed about this. He was extremely amazed, when he thought about it, that Tom had changed so much in so little time, and so efficiently. Countless witches and wizards spent years of their lives attempting to perfect the transformation of their own appearances, and it was rare that someone became more attractive with this magic alone – even if they had to refresh and retry the magic every day, when it wore off on them. But Harry disliked the idea of being changed to look more striking. To sum up his thoughts, he didn't feel it would suit his personality in the slightest.

"So, do you like it?" Tom asked him with a smile, watching him thought the mirror.

"This is ridiculous," Harry replied after struggling to find the right words. He was glad to note that he still wasn't as handsome as Tom, at least. "You were supposed to make me unnoticeable."

"I was supposed to make you look unlike yourself," Tom corrected him as he walked closer, still smirking. He stood behind Harry, and slid his hands around Harry's waist, his lips close to Harry's ear now. "Though I must admit I still see a lot of your previous appearances upon you."

Harry made no comment to this as Tom examined him happily.

"You dislike my work?" Tom asked him after a time.

"No, I just…" Harry didn't actually know how he felt about it, or why he hated it so much. "It's just embarrassing. Or different."

Tom gave a soft hum of laughter. "It's not that different," he said softly, holding Harry a little more tightly, "and I happen to like the way you look, no matter what."

Harry attempted to shrug, and ended up moving away from Tom, perhaps so he could merely distance himself from his own reflection. He decided that he didn't care about how he looked, especially since he would be sitting in an office for the next year or so. He took one of Tom's hands in his own as he moved away from the mirror, saying, "We're both going to be late for work, and I don't think that's a good idea on my first day, and your first week."

"Ah, indeed," Tom agreed, following as Harry led him towards the living room again. Harry was about to break away from Tom to grab his traveling cloak, before Tom pulled him closer, to kiss him softly. Harry smiled at this, feeling his resolve to leave the house weaken somewhat. Yet they pulled away from each other after only a moment.

"I don't want to anger Borgin with my absence," Tom said, as he picked up his traveling cloak, "But I shall miss you all day, nevertheless."

Harry smiled a little, fastening the clasp his own cloak more comfortably around his throat. "I'll be back the moment I get out of work."

Tom smiled very softly, and moved towards the door, opening it. They headed downstairs, only after a few more quiet words.

After a short goodbye due to the many lingering and mistrusting pedestrians of Knockturn Alley, Harry and Tom headed their separate ways. Harry passed many dark and eerie shops that lined the winding street as he made his way towards Diagon Alley, where many of the Daily Prophet's offices were stationed. Harry wasn't sure whether it was the fact that it was the nineteen forties, or the fact that he was now technically an adult that made Knockturn Alley seem less dangerous than it had been to him as a kid. Or, Harry thought, as he passed many cloaked figures who rarely showed their faces fully, perhaps he himself was just getting used to the more sinister and dark side of the Wizarding World…

Diagon Alley was bright and packed with people on this early Monday morning. Harry walked for about another five minutes, passing many cheery looking shops selling broomsticks or quills, before he found the Daily Prophet's headquarters. Many witches and wizards filed in and out of the finely carved building, which was at least four stories high, and probably quite a few more stories low. It was made sandy coloured bricks with handsome, swirling designs carved on every window ledge, a few steps made their way up from the main street towards the large front doors that welcomed visitors. Harry joined the crowd.

Past the tall doors that led on from the street outside stood a wide and tall entrance hall, decorated in gold and red tiling, with many doors leading off in different directions, as the room was circular. The structure of the whole building had blatantly been enchanted to be larger in the inside then it appeared outside, for there was an entire wall dedicated to lifts that reached tens of floors up and down, and the ceiling of the entrance hall itself war far higher up than one would have expected. There were tall desks made of dark wood lining the whole room between each door and past the lifts, and Harry headed towards one of them.

"Good morning sir," greeted a plainly dressed witch when Harry stood before her.

"Good morning," Harry replied, "I'm Richard Plunkett, here for my new job as a subeditor for the Crime section of the Daily Prophet."

"Oh, of course, Mr. Plunkett," the witch said, almost immediately after Harry had spoken. "Come right this way."

Harry watched as the witch stood up from her desk, and stepped onto the floor below it to lead him towards the right place. He followed her at an even pace, watching people as he passed, who were visiting this building in the hope of seeing someone about the letter they had sent in referring to a new article, or who worked here as a reporter, and who had just finished up the best report on cauldron safety that this newspaper might see all year. Harry was lead past many doors, down a few floors and along many corridors before the witch stopped walking, and he guessed that they were at the right place.

They were standing besides a small intersection where around eight corridors met. There stood a wizard at yet another desk who was reading through a stack of parchment wearily. He looked up as the witch approached him.

"I have Mr. Plunkett here for the Crime Department," the witch said.

"Ah, yes," the wizard said, sounding tired and bored as he pushed the glasses up his long nose. He turned towards his parchment again after a pause. "Quite an impressive resume, yes. Show him towards his office, then."

The witch did so, leading Harry down two more corridors. "Here we are," she commented, as they stood outside a door made of the same wood from the desks, it appeared. "There should be someone waiting for you within this department who will tell you everything you need to know about subediting. If you have any more questions, don't hesitate to ask any of the staff."

"Thanks," Harry said. The witch turned to walk away after smiling kindly, which left Harry to enter the room in front of him.

The office ahead of him was brightly lit, with pictures of famous historians and ancient newspaper articles lining the walls between the bewitched windows, which displayed a clear blue sky outside, despite the fact they were underground. There were five desks stationed around the room, four of which were occupied by workers; a wizard with dark hair at the back who looked around forty, completely submerged in his work, an older wizard still who appeared aged yet tough, who sat at the very front of the room, a witch who looked around twenty five, who didn't seem to struggle with the work she had, and a wizard just as young as her, who spoke to the witch as they worked.

Harry was glad to note that none of the workers seemed particularly strict, besides the oldest wizard, perhaps. When Harry closed the door behind him, and turned to face the room again, he saw that the eldest wizard was analyzing him from his desk. When Harry looked back at him, he felt as thought he recognized the wizard in some way…

"You must be Richard Plunkett," the wizard said in a growling voice.

"Yes," Harry replied, recognizing this wizard a little more from his tone.

"You're just in time," the wizard said. "Almost late, actually."

"Oh, sorry, I was just–"

"No need for an explanation," the Wizard assured him. He smiled a little, still watching Harry intently from his chair. "I would give you a tour of the place, but I'm sure you can see it all from where you stand, and I wouldn't want to waste the valuable energy anyway. I'm Abner, by the way. Abner Moody."

Harry watched as Abner put up a hand for him to shake, and he walked forwards to take it. "It's nice to meet you," he said.

Harry realised now who Abner reminded him of: Alastor Moody. They looked very, very similar, minus the war scars Alastor had had, and Harry had no doubt that they were related – they were probably even father and son. It only took Harry a second to work out that if Alastor Moody had been born around this time, or around ten years ago, he would be forty to fifty years old when Voldemort rose to full power, and around twenty years older than that when Harry had known him. Harry was only curious as to why Mad-Eye Moody's father would be working here.

"For introductions," Abner continued, not noticing Harry's stare "this here is Eileen Lawson," the witch behind him said a faint 'hello', "that's Emeric Rothwell," the young wizard next to Eileen nodded his head towards Harry, "and that's Aidan Stebbins." Aidan barely even looked up from his work to acknowledge Harry. "He isn't the most social of people," Moody added in an undertone.

Harry only nodded at this, and made no comment.

"You'll be working at that desk, of course," Moody said, looking at the table that rested near Eileen and Emeric, "and the work you'll have to do is already on your desk, for this evening and tomorrow morning's edition of the Daily Prophet."

"Right," Harry said.

"Now, you know how to read though a manuscript and edit it to the Prophet's expectations, yes?"

"Yes," Harry replied. Tom had already explained everything about subediting to him in more detail than he could have wished, and he was glad that Moody appeared unwilling to explain it to him again.

"In case that's a lie, the copy editor's job is summed up with the 'five Cs'," Abner said. "Make it clear, comprehensible, concise, correct, and consistent. It's all we're asked for. It has to say what it means, and mean what it says."

"Of course," Harry said, being reminded more of Mad-Eye with every word.

"As with all things," Abner continued, "there will be easy work to do, and hard work to do. Since you're new, we'll be giving you the easy work, and if you crack under that, we'll know you aren't ready for this job, and you'll be fired within a week. But if you do well, and get all the work done, adding in your own style with complete accuracy, you'll be moved up to sharing the bigger stories with us, which are more likely to make it into the papers, and more likely to get you better pay for every lousy collection of twisted facts and figures that make a good tale for the rest of the world to read. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "sounds great."

Abner's smile didn't reach his eyes as he continued to study Harry, taking in every aspect of his appearance. Harry supposed that Moody didn't trust him fully, perhaps because of the fact that this office blatantly didn't need any more subeditors, or perhaps because Harry just didn't look like a normal, happy, or righteous wizard in Moody's eyes. Harry knew he could have read the reasons within Abner's head, but he didn't feel that was fair to do so early on. He'd wait a day, at least.

"Off to work, then," Abner ordered.

"Right," Harry said, heading for his desk. "Thanks."

Harry sat, and picked up the first collection of parchment from the pile waiting for him. The parchment was sectioned off by thin pieces of twine, to separate each report from the other ones in the pile. Harry saw that the story before him had been sent in from an old witch in Yorkshire, who had witnessed some youths attacking her neighbour's cat while they were way. Harry could tell the moment he began reading the report that it wasn't exactly going to make the front page of the Daily Prophet, but he began fixing the mistakes within it and so on anyway.

A few hours passed without anything particularly eventful happening, and it seemed like a long time later to Harry when it was finally lunch break within the office. Harry stopped working to see that Moody was still seated at his table, now eating instead of working, the middle-aged wizard, Aidan, had left the room, and Eileen and Emeric were talking. They seemed like good friends. Harry got up from his desk, and began making his way towards the exit of the room like Aidan evidently had, before he heard a voice from behind him.

"Richard, won't you join us?" the witch named Eileen asked. "We're just about to begin lunch."

Harry was rather surprised with this invitation, and he hesitated for a second when he turned to face the witch and wizard. He decided that it would be rude to not accept this invitation, so he paused for only a moment more before saying, "I'd be happy to join you."

Eileen smiled at this, and conjured a chair next to her and Emeric for Harry to sit on. When Harry was seated, he noticed that Emeric was avoiding eye contact with him. Harry wondered why, as he saw that, even more unusually, Emeric didn't appear annoyed with his presence. Harry supposed, after a moment's thought, that Emeric must have just been shy. Yet he didn't seem very timid when Harry had vaguely heard him talking earlier…

Eileen waved her wand, taking no keen notice of the two wizards next to her, and from a table across the room flew a silver dish holding food, accompanied by drinks. Harry knew that it was a usual wizard custom for businesses such as the Daily Prophet to supply its workers with lunches, and the bigger the company, the better the food normally was. Some places, such as the Ministry of Magic, went to great lengths to impress its workers and visitors, and to hold a high reputation, spending an unhealthy amount of money with the food they supplied, whilst giving the best food imaginable to its finest and highest ranked workers.

"I have to say, I was quite surprised when I heard there would be a new subeditor in this office," Eileen said as three plates zoomed towards her, laden with a whole assortment of food. "I know there has indeed been quite an increase of crime lately, but we've managed to keep up with most of the stories. I wonder only if the Prophet is anticipating worse occurrences."

"From some of the news I've read, I wouldn't be all that surprised," Harry said, picking up a knife and fork. "But I still think I was pretty lucky to get this job."

"Do you have family that works within the Daily Prophet?"

"No," Harry said, "I just applied, and they seemed willing enough to accept me."

Eileen nodded, paying attention to her plate for a moment, before continuing. "So why did you want to become a subeditor?"

"I'm just interested in the news, to be honest."

"Yes, as am I," Eileen said. "Unlike Emeric, who was forced into it by his family, mostly."

"To say the least," Emeric added, not looking up from his plate for long. Eileen smiled.

"But it's quite a fun job, being a subeditor," she remarked, her brown eyes wandering back to look at Harry. "I hope you'll be as comfortable here as the rest of us are."

"I hope so too," Harry said. He wondered how long he would end up staying in this job, as he contemplated how comfortable he might end up here. Perhaps he'd be here for no longer than a year… it would all merely depend upon what happened with Tom, and when.

Just then, Harry looked across the room to see Moody standing up from his chair. In contradiction to Abner's burly and strong appearance, he appeared slow on his feet, and somewhat weak when he walked. Harry watched him for a minute, and Eileen and Emeric seemed to notice, for they followed his gaze surreptitiously. Moody left the room without looking over his shoulder, and Harry turned to Eileen.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He used to be an Auror," she explained, "and he was an exceedingly brilliant one, before he was hit by a really dark piece of magic… I don't really know much about it, besides for what Moody told me about his severe internal injury. I think he's pretty lucky to be alive. Anyone weaker than him would have surely died."

Harry thought over what she said for a moment, and came to the long conclusion that this could, potentially, have been the same spell that Dolohov would one day use against Hermione in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Hermione had only survived it because it was not at all a direct hit, but it could easily harm someone even like Abner greatly if it was more direct. What was more, Harry knew the potions that Madame Pomfrey had given Hermione for the injury had been a relatively new discovery, even if the spells she used to help manage some of the pain had been discovered long before it…

The spell moved in a zigzagging pattern, Harry knew, so it was indeed quite hard to use perfectly. Tom had explained to Harry during one of their lessons all about it, and Harry had even read about it himself. Moody could have been hit relatively accurately, nevertheless, yet probably not perfectly. "Why does Moody continue to work, though?" Harry wondered aloud. "Surely the Ministry is paying for all of his medical expenses and so on?"

"Oh, I'm sure the Ministry is giving him medical expenses as well as compensation – they would have to, especially for all the work he did – but I don't actually know why he wants to work here… I've never asked."

Harry wished she did know. Perhaps it was the fact that he had known Mad-Eye Moody for so long before his death, or perhaps it was the fact that he actually felt bad for Abner Moody that made Harry want to know more about Abner. It was interesting to him. He almost felt as though Moody might, by extent, link him back to his own past… he felt so very far away from that all now, he realised. As much as he thought about the memories he had of his friends and guardians, Harry had, in some way, broken away from them all…

Remembering where he was, Harry forced himself to stop thinking about this, even if neither Eileen not Emeric would see a change in his expression. He went back to conversing with them, asking a little more about Moody before moving on to sharing stories of his fictional past in exchange for their real life stories.


	32. Aurors

"So, what are the other subeditors at the Daily Prophet like?" Tom asked Harry carefully as they sat together on the couch in their living room. It was around five O'clock in the evening, and Harry had just returned from work to find Tom waiting for him. He had been reading, Harry saw, but the book bound in dark leather rested at Tom's side, neglected, as he spoke to Harry.

"They seem alright," Harry answered shortly, not truly knowing how to explain them all. "There are just four of them, though they've suggested that the office was full even before I joined them."

"That office will never be full," Tom remarked, as a soft smirk formed on his lips, "Not if one of us wants or needs a job there, anyway."

Harry smiled too, before remembering what that wizard at his desk had said about the resume Tom had made Harry almost single-handedly. "How much did you lie to get me that job?"

"Lie?" Tom asked. "I didn't lie at all."

Harry stared at him in surprise. "But I have none of the qualifications actually needed for the job… you _must_ have lied."

"There was no need to," Tom explained. "Not when it was so easy to use magic to get what I want."

Harry was completely unsurprised by this, and he smiled again. He wondered how Tom had managed it this time – it couldn't have possibly been the Imperius Curse, for Tom hadn't actually gone to see any of the heads or workers of the Daily Prophet, so he would have had to think of something new. This fact also ruled out the Confundus Charm, and a few others. Harry supposed it must have been the same spell that he had seen Dumbledore use in the memory of Tom's Orphanage, the spell placed on a blank piece of paper for Mrs. Cole to read, to make her believe she didn't have any more questions to ask. It probably gave people whatever information they wanted to see, to make everything a lot simpler. It was also probably a very difficult piece of magic to use successfully.

Harry was about to ask Tom if he had used this spell, before Tom spoke again. "But we're off subject. Tell me more about the people you work with. I'm quite curious to know about them."

"There isn't really much to say about them," Harry stated. "There are four of them, as I've said. The oldest wizard is Moody, who seems to be the boss of the office, even if he doesn't care what people do as long as they get their work done and don't bother him. Then there's Aidan… I don't really know anything about him, to be honest."

"Why not?" Tom asked. "Did he not speak to you?"

"No," Harry said, "Nor look at me, so I couldn't read his mind. He pretty anti-social."

"I wonder why," Tom said quietly. Harry watched, as Tom appeared to contemplate this for a moment, dropping his gaze from Harry.

"I don't think it's very important," Harry assured him. "Some people are just like that."

"Indeed," Tom said. He looked up at Harry again after a few seconds. "What about the last two workers?"

"Eileen and Emeric. They seem nice enough. They're both only about twenty, and didn't seem to question me too much about my life, which was a relief… To give you an easy explanation of them, they're obviously not Slytherins. Though I'm not really sure about Emeric…"

"Why not?" Tom asked, taking a calm interest in this entire conversation.

"He's almost as quiet as Aidan. Towards me, anyway, he speaks to Eileen a lot. He mustn't like meeting new people, or something."

Tom was quiet for a second after this, thinking about something. "What did he tell you about his life?"

"He didn't tell me anything, but Eileen mentioned how he was forced to become a worker for the Daily Prophet because of his family. Though he wasn't that bothered by it."

"What was he thinking, around that time?" Tom asked.

"I don't really know," Harry replied honestly. He thought back to his conversation with Eileen and Emeric. "He avoided eye contact pretty much constantly, from what I remember."

"From knowledge of Legilimency, or something else?"

"I don't know," Harry said again. He wondered why Tom was so interested.

Tom gave a short hum of understanding, but said no more for a time. "Keep en eye on him, won't you?"

"I don't think he's anything to fear," Harry replied.

"No, he's nothing to fear… I'm merely curious to know what goes on in his head."

"He'll probably be less shy the longer I'm there," Harry said. "I'll be able to read his mind soon enough."

"Good," Tom remarked.

"Who did you meet at work today?" Harry asked to give the conversation more life. Tom had so far rarely met the same witch or wizard twice on his request for them to buy or sell items from Borgin's shop.

"Today I met an elderly witch in Birmingham," Tom said. "She has apparently been collecting various antiques for her entire life, as her mother did before her, and her grandmother too. Borgin was particularly interested in some Voodoo Dolls that originally came from a group of African Wizards from a few centuries ago. Those alone are worth hundreds of thousands of Galleons, though we're hoping to purchase them for a mere two thousand. She needs the money, from all that I could see. Her roof had nearly fallen in completely…"

Tom continued to tell Harry about the various people he had met, and Harry ended up explaining much later on what he knew about Moody, and his injuries. Yet Harry left out the fact of why he was so very interested to know more about Moody's past, telling Tom only that he might read some of Moody's thoughts the next day, to get a clearer understanding of how much he trusted Harry, and how much he guessed about him from his years of being an Auror. But even after all of this, Tom seemed more interested in the idea of Emeric, even though he wouldn't elaborate upon the reasons for his curiosity. Harry didn't dwell upon it too avidly as the evening progressed, knowing that it probably wasn't that important.

It was nearing the end of the day as Harry sat at his desk in the Crime Department Office of the Daily Prophet, talking to Eileen and Emeric every now and then, and finishing off the last report that he would have to do today. It had now been almost two weeks since Harry had begun working for the Daily Prophet, and in that time he had begun to understand the lives of Eileen and Emeric a little more. He was actually almost enjoying the work he had to do here, especially since he had passed Moody's weeklong test of how much work he could and couldn't handle.

But since receiving more important and difficult reports to subedit, Harry had begun to see that some stories sent in were perhaps a little _too_ detailed and mysterious to make it into the Prophet, as opposed to his previous work concerning boring stories about harassed cats and young withes and wizards causing mischief, which were too dull or vague to be published. These new articles were darker, yet occasionally weren't strong enough in facts to make the whole country concerned – unless you happened to work at the Crime Department of the Daily Prophet, and saw how many peculiar stories came flooding in each day.

As for stories concerning Grindelwald, Harry felt as though he saw many, though he knew that he couldn't really be sure. Grindelwald's name itself was mentioned every now and then, for he was a very well known political figure in Germany, even if his true intentions were hidden to a large percentage of the population. But there were odd stories that followed him, and his government. Those stories normally met dead ends, or else were not approved by the Daily Prophet, for constantly unknown reasons.

"Are you almost done with that report, Richard?" Harry heard a voice call from across the room. He looked over to see Eileen was talking to him.

"Yeah," Harry replied, "I just have a few more paragraphs to do."

"Is that the report on the attack that happened up in Newcastle?" she asked.

"No, I finished that one. They didn't know who did it in the end, of course."

A humourless laugh could be heard from the desk between Harry and Eileen. Harry was used to hearing this sound – a sign of pure displeasure. It was, of course, followed by a quiet voice.

"Which means they knew who did it, but can't tell us," Emeric said, "Or that the attackers managed to get away from the Ministry yet again, because they fled to a different country."

"The people who are doing this aren't _all_ from a different country than England, you know," Eileen commented. "Just because there were about five cases when the Ministry tracked them leaving the country–"

"It wasn't _just_ five cases of people out of the country, it was the _only_ five cases of anyone being found responsible for murdering or harming Muggles and wizards this year."

"What about those two wizards who were convicted for the McKenzie murders?"

"They were innocent," Emeric said, turning to face Eileen now. "You were the one who convinced me they were innocent."

Eileen looked unfazed by this reminder as she held her beliefs firmly. "I still think it's biased and shallow of you to claim that all of the attackers in the reports we've seen are not British."

"How do we know that for sure?" Emeric asked.

"We know because these attacks are blatantly not made by the same people each time," Harry answered before Eileen could.

Both of the other workers turned to look at Harry, and Harry was very surprised to see that Emeric didn't avert his gaze his time. He continued.

"If the place and time of each attack hasn't told us this already, then the way people were harmed and the variation of power or force used has. Almost every attacker seems to have had a different motive – to show their hate of Muggles, to make a scene for the Ministry to concern itself with, for personal gain, or to show off the Dark Arts – and this suggests that it's closer to a new _style_ than a statement by one person or group alone."

"But why would people start following the lead of all this crime?" Eileen asked.

"I think that it's just general Muggle hating," Harry replied. "Though Muggleborns and friends of Muggles get dragged into it too. People are just following it because they're Pureblooded and want more power."

"You describe it as being closer to a style than a statement," Emeric observed. "So you think there isn't one particular group out there, managing this?"

Harry thought about this for a second, having to resort to actual guesswork rather than facts he had learnt from the future. "I don't think there is one particular group necessarily… I think there's just a leader, and a bunch of people from all over the world, some of them not even connected to his cause at all, who want to follow him."

He was referring, of course, to Gellert Grindelwald. Even if Harry was sure that Grindelwald had a group of Death-Eater-like worshipers at his command, he was slowly becoming more and more convinced that there were people out there – old and young, male and female, pureblood and purer pureblood – who were just as willing to do what they could for Grindelwald's anti-Muggle messages as any close follower.

Emeric was still looking at Harry as he tried to find another question. There was a slight smile on his lips, but Harry couldn't decide why. Like Eileen, Emeric had brown eyes, though his were a little darker. He wasn't a particularly handsome boy, with his thin face and dark brown hair, but Harry was sure that Eileen probably saw something in him. She thought about him often from what Harry had seen. Harry hadn't been able to read Emeric's mind yet, so he hastened to do so now, as they finally made eye contact. But Harry regretted reading the other boy's thoughts almost the moment he had.

**(**_He's probably one of the most handsome boys I'll ever know, but even if I were a girl, he wouldn't look at someone like me twice. Even if I weren't some sort of freak… I wish I could just stop thinking about him…_**)**

Emeric dropped his eyes from Harry's at this, and Harry stood in expressionless bewilderment for a few seconds, staring at him. Before he could even begin questioning what this meant, he heard Eileen speak. "Do you have any idea who they might all be following, then?"

Harry tore his gaze away from Emeric to look at Eileen, who apparently noticed nothing of Harry's sudden confusion. Harry had to think back to what they were talking about to answer her question. "I don't think anyone can really know. Not yet, anyway."

She nodded. The conversation seemed to come to and end at this, and Harry returned to his work; but he didn't get much done as he stared down at his parchment, thinking. He knew that the idea of Emeric being gay didn't affect him personally very much, yet he really didn't know what to feel or do about the fact that Eileen took such an obvious liking to Emeric, and Emeric now took a blatant liking to Harry. This explained why Emeric was so shy towards Harry, but Harry wasn't sure whether there could have been any worse possible reasons…

It was only around five minutes later when Eileen voiced that she was ready to go home, and Emeric said the same. Harry still had around ten minutes worth of work left to do, so he couldn't follow them out of the office. He was actually quite glad of this fact, on reflection. The rest of the report was very easy to edit, for the ending was quite fine how it was, and the moment Harry was done, he got up to leave. Just before Harry had reached the door, however, he heard Moody speak to him. They were the only two people left in the room.

"Wait just one moment, Plunkett. I want a word with you."

Harry turned to face the older wizard, walking a little closer to his desk so he didn't have to stand up. Harry guessed that perhaps Moody wanted to speak to him about his work, yet he wasn't sure. They had never spoken to each other about their own lives, but Harry knew that Moody wanted to learn more about him. "What do you want to speak to me about, sir?"

"There's no need to call me 'sir'. Moody will do," Abner said. "I heard you speaking to Lawson and Rothwell about the crime we've been seeing a lot of lately."

"What about it?"

"You seem to have some strong opinions on the criminals the Ministry is after, and some damn plausible guesses on who they might be, judging from the facts we know about their attacks."

"Erm, thanks," Harry said, not knowing what else to reply.

"You weren't by any chance thinking about being an Auror one day, were you?"

Harry paused for a minute, impressed and bewildered with this guess. "I wanted to be an Auror when I was fifteen," he admitted. He had almost completely forgotten about this fact, and he didn't know how to elaborate it anymore as his inkling that Abner might bring him closer to his own past again returned.

"Did you not succeed, or did you change your mind about the whole thing?" Abner asked.

"I changed my mind," Harry replied. Though he felt as though he might have done both, in the end.

"Educational difficulties? Family issues? Fork in the road?"

"A lack of moral sense, and a bad twist in life, I'm pretty sure," Harry said without thinking.

The smile that did not reach his eyes returned on Moody's face. "A fork in the road, then." He surveyed Harry for a minute or two. "You could have been a decent Auror, I think. Could still be if you wanted to."

Harry took the courtesy to actually contemplate this idea. He had the mental image of sitting at home with Tom, trying to explain how he wanted to work for the Ministry in catching all the people they knew, and moreover because they 'did bad things'. What was worse was the Ministry would know that Harry was lying about his identity the moment he walked in that building again. "I don't have the proper qualifications needed to be an Auror."

"You wouldn't need examples of the qualifications needed for the job if I suggested that they take you in for training. As long as you could keep up with the work, that is. I've gotten a few people that job without much trouble. Even my own son will be able to get there, no matter whether I live until that time or not."

"You have a son?" Harry asked, taking the opportunity to learn more about Abner's life while he could.

"Yes," Abner responded. "Alastor. First year of Hogwarts in September. He'll be a fine Auror, if he wants to be one."

"Being an Auror is a dangerous job," Harry remarked, "As I'm sure you know. I'm not sure whether I'm up to that."

"You don't seem like the faint-hearted type to me," Moody said. "You walk in here without a flicker of anxiety when this is probably the first job you've ever had, you handle stories like the rest of us that would make some people's hair curl, and even have enough left in you to contemplate why people are being murdered, raped, abused, and beaten to near death every few days. The danger would only make it more interesting."

Harry wondered whether Moody was merely saying this to boost his confidence, or whether he had actually deducted all of this from Harry's short two weeks of being here. Harry decided it was probably the latter. Moody wouldn't bother with him if he didn't actually see something in him, and it would be foolish to trick an inapt person into contemplating this job, unless it was to merely trick or con them. Being an Auror, Moody was also probably nearly as good as Tom in reading people, despite the fact that Tom knew Legilimency, while Moody likely didn't. Then Harry wondered suddenly if Moody knew Legilimency… but that wouldn't affect Harry.

Harry couldn't imagine being an Auror now. To train himself into becoming one would take four years alone, and Harry only had about half of that time before he would move away from England with Tom, and anyway, it was the complete opposite of being a Death Eaters, since the Order of the Phoenix wasn't around yet.

Harry felt as though, somehow, this was very important. Tom would never understand what he was thinking if he mentioned being an Auror at all, unless Tom thought he was going to be a spy. Harry wouldn't leave Tom for it, he decided. Yet here he was, with a very, very rare offer on something he hadn't thought about since his sixth year at Hogwarts.

"See, now I've got you thinking about it," Abner said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. He was smiling again, but fully this time. Harry guessed Moody had read his expression. He had been looking down in thought.

"I don't think it's the right profession for me," Harry said, more to himself than Moody, perhaps.

Moody thought about these words for a minute, his smile falling away for the most part. "Crime is an odd subject for someone to work in if they don't want to help fight against it."

Harry looked into Abner's eyes for a moment, showing neither emotion nor any signs that he would comment upon this. He felt as though he knew what was coming next, and he wasn't sure how he should react to it.

"See, there are only two reasons why people join this office, beyond the reasons they'll give, mentioning family history and enjoying the subject," Adar said, more quietly than before. "The first reason is that people want to warn the public about all the crime in the world, to help in some way. They want to be a part of it, even if it just means conveying a message. The second reason, however, is much less commonly seen – never mind told directly and honestly. Direct and honest is not its nature. The second reason is the entire opposite of the first… for someone to make crime worse, or to watch over it for strictly personal reasons."

Harry determinedly arranged his expression into one unfazed and unreadable. If Moody was to become more suspicious of Harry, he might end up contacting some of his old Ministry friends to look into the name 'Richard Plunkett'. When Abner discovered that Harry didn't actually exist, and that he was using a fake name, Harry would have only two options: run, or get caught by the Ministry. For once, Harry was extremely thankful that he knew Legilimency. "Are you suggesting that I'm a supporter of crime?" Harry asked. "Or even the cause of it?"

"Now, I wouldn't say that so soon." Oddly, this broke the chain of worrying scepticism that Abner had built up – perhaps as he had planned. "I think it's more likely that you're on some form of a revenge kick, which puts you on the lighter side of evil."

Harry still felt as though he was treading on eggshells, despite the fact that Moody didn't think he was a murderer, criminal or spy… yet. "If you think I'm evil in some sense, then why are you suggesting so strongly that I become an Auror?"

Another real smile broke out on Moody's face. "See, this is the interesting part. The best Dark Wizard catchers, the real pros, they aren't the ones who sat around their whole life playing the good child, as much as the Ministry and public wants to believe that. They're the ones who've shattered the rules and lived the life of a criminal at some point in their lives. They can get into the heads of who they're after, and they can track them down as well as they themselves could run away. They know morals back to front, and understand how corrupt they really are… I can tell you've lived at least some of that."

Harry contemplated this, too. He supposed that Moody must have had a point, even if it was quite a bizarre one. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be an Auror anymore even without his reasons of Tom and the past to tell him so, yet he wanted to hear more about what Moody was saying somehow… "Isn't it a bit dangerous to let actual criminals hunt other criminals? They could be faking their morality. In fact, you could be faking your reasons right now, to put me into some sort of trap."

"The danger makes it all the more interesting, as I've said before," Moody smiled, "and you thinking I could put you in a trap is the exact reason why I wouldn't be, and why you would be a notable Auror."

Harry could find no reply to this, having a few contradictions to Moody's words, yet nothing worthy of commenting upon. They stood and sat in silence, every second of which making Moody visibly more sure that Harry would be useful.

"You don't believe me, of course," Moody suggested.

A lie was possible, but Harry didn't use it. "No, I don't."

"But you'll think about this, no?"

Harry hesitated. "Possibly."

Moody scrutinized Harry, still smiling as though he had won something. "Well, that's all I wanted to talk about. I'll see you at work again tomorrow."

Harry turned away from Moody, heading for the door. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

It was almost a month later before Harry and Moody spoke again properly, in which time Harry had neither told Tom about Emeric nor about the offer he had had to become an Auror. He had also not decided how he felt about either of these things, so he tried to avoid any thought of them. It was nearly September, and summer was ending. Harry was busy with a lot of his work, and he quite liked it this way, when he wasn't at home with Tom. It was late one evening when Moody again asked Harry to stay behind after work, when no one else was present.

"Have you thought about that offer I made?" Moody asked him without hesitation.

"I've thought it about," Harry said, "but I haven't decided on anything."

Moody appeared unconcerned. "The answer will come to you soon enough."

Harry nodded. "Is this all you wanted to talk to me about?"

"No, not quite," Moody admitted. "I heard you talking to Lawson and Rothwell again about Aidan Stebbins at lunch today."

Harry still spoke to Eileen and Emeric often during lunch and so on, and he wasn't surprised that Moody listened into their conversations. "They don't seem to know much more about him than me," Harry commented.

"No one knows much about him," Moody replied. "Except me, of course. I used to know him back when we both worked for the Ministry. He worked as an Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries until just a few years ago."

"Why doesn't he still work here?"

"He refuses to," Moody explained. "He saw things that he wouldn't explain to you for all the money in the world – and that's if he _could_ explain it. He keeps secrets that keep him lying awake at night, no doubt – and all night, by the look of him coming into work some days… If there's anything that will affect you more than being an Auror, it's being an Unspeakable. Aurors witness death occasionally, sure, but Unspeakables can witness something far beyond even that. He worked to fight against a lot of criminals, amongst other things."

Harry expected Abner to continue, but he did not. He wondered at this whether Moody expected him to compare being an Unspeakable to an Auror, to see how crime has affected even people like Aidan. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, unable to work it out without guidance.

"No reason, really. Thought you'd just like to know. There are many curious people out there that few can tell the moral senses of. Stebbins isn't all that bad, past his lack of speech and generally ominous appearance."

Harry still felt as though Moody was trying to make him feel remorse for Aidan, so he made no reply to this. They stood in silence for a minute or two. "What made people like you and him work here?" he asked.

"Now, that's an interesting question," Moody remarked. "Now, I don't know how well I can answer for Stebbins, but I'm pretty sure that nowhere else will employ him, especially since he quit the Ministry so directly. The Ministry might have even helped him in getting this job, just to be kind. He's unable to tell any of the things he knows, so it's not a danger to let him work here, even if he's with the press."

"And you?" Harry pressed, not wanting Moody to avoid the question he cared about the most. "Why do you work here?"

"Me? I just like to keep busy, even with all my health problems. I couldn't stand sitting at home, reading only what the papers think is most interesting for the masses. I still have plenty of contact with the Ministry, sure, but here you get some of the stories that people forget to mention, the stories with more layers than sheets of parchment the reporter could manage – which doesn't seem like a lot, with such short reports, but you get what I mean. I want to know what's happening in the world, like a lot of people, except I want it in larger quantities."

Harry couldn't find any more questions or comments to make about this, so he remained quiet.

"But, I'm sure you have places to go, and I don't want to keep you here for no reason," Moody suddenly said. "I just thought you'd like to know about Stebbins. I expect you in at work tomorrow, bright and early. You think about that offer again."

"Yes, of course," Harry responded. "Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye," Moody replied.

Harry left the office, not truly knowing what to think about this short conversation as he made his way down a few corridors, and past the intersection were the tired wizard in glasses sat in the mornings. He supposed, after a few minutes of thought, that Moody could have told him about Aidan Stebbins as a sort of sign that he was trying to be nice, or to get closer to Harry. He had offered information about himself without asking for anything about Harry in return, anyway, and that was always a relief. Harry could see no bad intent behind that conversation, except maybe to ask and remind him about the offer of being an Auror.

Harry was still surprised, no matter how many times he thought about it, that Moody was so willing to accept him while he suspected that Harry wasn't a completely good person. Even if Moody claimed that the best Aurors have the worst pasts, it seemed odd that he would be so open. If he thought Harry would be such a great Auror, did he also thing that Harry had done horrible things? Yet beyond all of these questions, Harry didn't think Moody was trying to trick him. Harry didn't need to be tricked, when his past was so easy to look into.

He should have read Moody's mind, and he thought about this as he walked towards the entrance hall of the building. He seemed to forget that he was able to read the ex-Auror's every thought when he was actually in front of him. From the thoughts Harry had read, Moody seemed to trust Harry more with every time he thought about it, but Harry knew that trust could break in a heartbeat if something didn't go as planned, especially when lies were so simply given as a substitute for all of the information that made up who he truly was.


	33. Jealousy

It was Saturday, a week before the end of August as Harry and Tom sat together in their front room, talking to each other calmly. The sky outside their small apartment was dark and dreary on this late summer day, and a storm was doubtlessly forming. Yet this bothered neither Tom nor Harry in the slightest. Barely anything had change for Harry since he had been offered the chance to become an Auror, yet he couldn't help but feel calm and content as he spent time alone with Tom.

Tom had been describing a few of the new witches and wizards he had to visit at work, as well as the eerie or interesting stories that followed them, when they heard a tapping on the window outside. Two owls stood on the window ledge, evidently keen to get away from the rain as soon as possible as they tapped on the glass impatiently. Before Harry could stand up to let them in, Tom withdrew his wand and opened the window from where he sat.

The owls shook their dark brown feathers to dry off some of the water upon them once they were inside. Both of them were holding letters, which were barely touched by the rain as a result of magic used to protect them. One of the owls looked up, his large yellow eyes resting on Harry for only a second before he flew towards him. Harry help up his arm, untying the letter from the owl's leg, and looking down at it with interest.

"The letters are from Hogwarts," Harry said to Tom, as the second owl landed by Tom's shoulder.

"They must be the NEWT results," Tom commented, opening his own letter.

Though the NEWT results didn't truly matter to either of them by this point, Harry was still very interested to know how he had done on these Wizarding tests. He honestly had no clue how great or terrible he might have been, and he was almost nervous when he quickly skimmed through the introduction letter to see his results.

• **Transfiguration:** Outstanding

• **Charms:** Exceeds Expectations

• **Defence Against the Dark Arts:** Outstanding

• **Potions:** Exceeds Expectations

• **Herbology:** Exceeds Expectations

Harry stared at the parchment, surprised. He had barely even expected one Outstanding, never mind two, and he would have never assumed that he would get three Exceeds Expectations… There weren't even any 'Acceptable' marks, which were one mark lower than EE. Harry smiled a little, satisfied, before looking up at Tom.

"How did you do?" he asked, as the two owls took flight out the window. Harry decided to close it again with a flick of his wand as rain continued to pour down.

"I received seven 'Outstanding' marks," Tom said. "For each of the classes I took."

Harry grinned. "That's brilliant. I got three 'Exceeds Expectation's and two 'Outstanding' marks."

"That's good," Tom remarked. "What classes did you get 'Outstanding' for?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration."

"Neither of them are much of a surprise," Tom claimed, looking content as he examined Harry's results. He paused for a moment, thinking. "It seems a waste that these results might not be put to full use. We already have the jobs we currently desire…"

"This could still be useful," Harry said. "If we change jobs, or if Dippet decides to offer you another –"

From the now closed window came the sound of tapping again. Harry and Tom turned to see a Northern Hawk Owl waiting in the rain, and Harry recognised it at once as being one of the Death Eater's. Tom raised his wand to open the window, and the owl flew towards him at once, a thin letter attached to its leg.

"Who's that from?" Harry asked.

Tom opened the envelope and checked the name of the sender. The letter wasn't very long. "It's from Lestrange," Tom said. "He's asking me if I've made any further decisions on the reformation of our group, amongst other things."

Harry looked down at the letter in Tom's hands, reading some of what Lestrange had written. "There's nothing here about his own life, which doesn't surprise me," Harry said.

"Yet I'm quite surprised he asked me about this all so soon," Tom admitted. "It's unusual of him to ask anything from me without knowing whether I have decided upon an answer or not…"

"It's been more than two months," Harry pointed out. "He's probably just trying to remind you. I can't say I'm shocked that he was the first to speak, anyway."

"True," Tom said. "Very true…"

Tom read the letter through once more without speaking, which left Harry to his own thoughts. Tom had never really explained to Harry what he truly thought about the situation with the Death Eaters, and Harry wondered why now. He guessed, as the easiest option, that Tom himself was merely undecided. But Harry wanted to speak about it now, nevertheless. "So, what are your thoughts on our Dark Arts group?"

"I believe it is too early to reform," Tom replied simply. Harry found that he was somewhat relieved upon hearing these words. "I want a few years, at least, to expand my own knowledge of the Dark Arts before I even contemplate gathering my friends again."

"That seems like a long time," Harry stated. "Especially when most of the people who were in the group are so eager to join now…"

"They will remain eager at any mention of a reformation, I believe," Tom responded. "I have spent too many years working with and teaching them all for them to forget about it. They have seen too much, and are too addicted to the power it gives them all. I could wait a decade, or more, and they would all remain as loyal to me as they are today."

Harry made no reply to this. He was a little startled with Tom's answer, and the confidence that came with it. Harry worried what Death Eaters might do in the time before Tom's reunion. If they were addicted to the power, and if they had seen too much to forget about the Dark Arts, was Tom suggesting that they were scarred for life? Perhaps to the extent of them all slowly loosing their sanity and moral senses?

"Unless you want them to come back sooner?" Tom suggested quietly.

Harry looked back up at Tom, having been gazing at the floor. He knew that Tom must have incorrectly guessed his thoughts from this silence. "No, I don't really… don't really mind when they return. I'm just surprised that you've planned so far ahead, and that you're so sure of what they'll do."

"I must own that a few of them will indeed need more convincing after they've made themselves their own families and so on," Tom said, "but in general, yes, I'm sure that I will lose no one within the next few years."

"What will we do until then?" Harry asked carefully, wanting to know Tom's current answer even if he knew the future vaguely.

Tom took a moment to contemplate an answer to this. "I'm not sure whether I have any set idea of how our lives themselves will go, but in the idea of researching the Dark Arts, et cetera, I have a rough sketch, which I am sure will bore you… To make things simple, we will have to merely see where life takes us."

"How will you know when you're ready to get the others back?"

"A sign will make itself known," Tom replied softly. "One always does."

Harry was about to ask more questions, before he decided that he didn't really need any more information past this. Tom did indeed seem somewhat indecisive, but Harry would know when things would start to change in their lives. He just didn't know what on earth would happen to them after a year or two…

"There's only one thing I worry about," Tom said more quietly than before, prolonging the topic. Tom's eyes were no longer meeting Harry's.

"What is it?" Harry asked, gazing up at Tom's handsome face.

"I'm still not quite sure how I will keep you so close to me with the others interrupting our lives so frequently. They could be even less distant than they were at Hogwarts…"

Harry paused for a moment. "I'm not a problem, I hope?"

"No, of course not," Tom said without hesitation. "My point is that _they_ are the problem. They will be continuously wondering why I favour you above all others. Even if I am to teach you magic far beyond anything they know, they will still be curious about everything concerning you. When – and not 'if' – they discover that you're not who they previously thought you were… they would simply never drop the subject."

"I don't think it will be that much of a problem," Harry said honestly. "It's not as though I'll be anywhere besides with you, training in the Dark Arts, so I won't need a secret identity anymore. We could even tell them something near the truth, by then. They won't be a danger." Harry wondered why Tom was worrying about this in particular, when there were plenty of other thoughts that were more worrying, concerning the Death Eaters… for Harry, anyway.

"They are very valuable, you know… like my personal army," Tom mumbled quietly, speaking more to himself than to Harry, it seemed. "If they all left merely because they found out about us…"

Harry smiled a little, wondering why he found this humorous. "Are you trying to decide which one you would chose?" he asked. "Them or me?"

"No," Tom said quietly. "I'm trying to decide what we would do without them."

"Live happily in peace, maybe," Harry suggested. He thought about it for a moment, and tried to imagine Tom and himself attacking the world alone. He decided that it would probably make Voldemort even more powerful, considering how easily caught the Death Eaters were at times. Tom would merely lack his publicly threatening team. Though maybe he would make an army of Inferi do the Death Eater's work instead… "But they are quite vital, actually."

"Indeed… I don't know what I would do if they found out about us," Tom said again.

"Tom, we're probably the two best liars the others will ever meet," Harry reasoned. "The only reason you ever found out about me is because you were smart enough to see past my lies. Even if the others began wondering about me, they wouldn't think anything of us after we lie to them."

Tom took another moment to mull this over. "I merely wish we weren't so alone in the category of being homosexual. It makes it harder for people to accept it…"

"There are quite a few gay people," Harry said. "Like Dumbledore."

"Yes, Dumbledore, but we're not even sure whether Grindelwald was the same. That makes one wizard out of the hundreds we know."

"Grindelwald was probably gay too, if Dumbledore was," Harry said. "They were together for too long for Dumbledore not to have said nothing."

"So we have two wizards," Tom said. "If we ignore the possibility of unrequited love making Dumbledore the fool he is today."

Harry tried to find something to contradict the idea of them being alone. "It really can't be _that_ rare, if we found each other."

"That was mere luck," Tom said, "and we're read the minds of so many different people, it would be idiotic to assume we missed many – if any – repressed secrets of the sort."

At the mention of minds, Harry remembered something. "That wizard who works in my office, Emeric, is gay. I read his mind, and it was obvious."

Harry wished he hadn't said this the moment he had. Tom turned to look at him, surprised and inhumanly alert, and the atmosphere in the room change abruptly. There was a silence. "What?" Tom asked sharply.

Harry hesitated in repeating what he had just said. He was sure that Tom had heard him anyway, as they stared at each other for longer still. "You told me to read his mind," Harry reminded Tom, "and I did. That's what I found –"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tom asked impatiently.

The truthful answer here would be that Harry had been far too distracted with the offer Moody had made him in becoming an Auror, but Harry wasn't sure whether this particular piece of information was wise to share now. He quite liked his job as a subeditor, and he didn't want Tom to take it away from him because of this. "I don't know, I just didn't think it was relevant."

Tom looked annoyed at this, before he began thinking. With thought, his expression turned blank, and this time somewhat sceptical. Harry waited for him to say something, hoping that he wouldn't overreact to this.

"There are only two ways you could have found out that he was gay," Tom said very quietly, his expression impassive as his eyes burned in reinstated annoyance. "Either he has a particularly lewd mind, perhaps mixed with the loneliness of having pushed everyone in his life away… or he his attracted to you personally, thus giving you access to the obvious hints that run free within his seemingly safe mind."

Tom took a moment to study Harry's reaction to his words, and Harry tried to remain unfazed as he wondered what Tom was feeling, and what he would suggest or explain the probability of next.

"If it were the first," Tom said in nothing above a low hiss, "I am well aware that you would have told me about it with no hesitation, perhaps as an example of the humorously blatant lines between all the people within this world. Yet you instead mentioned nothing. Which is what you would do only if it were the second…"

Harry disliked that Tom assumed only these two options as he attempted to remain unruffled, and he disliked that Tom was indeed correct in his guesswork. He could sense that Tom would twist his every explanation if he were to elaborate upon them… so he decided to skip an explanation altogether.

"Look," he began, "it's not as though Emeric has even spoken to me, never mind voiced his actual emotions. It doesn't even matter – he doesn't even allow himself to like me. He thinks I'm straight, and he's far too shy."

"Why didn't you tell me about him?" Tom asked again. "When did you find out?"

"I don't know, it just wasn't important," Harry said. "I found out about a month ago."

Tom appeared even more infuriated at this, but Harry understood that he was holding in most of his anger, as his expression remained almost completely composed. "You should have told me…" Tom said in a hiss. The room suddenly became colder, and Harry felt a wave of foreboding at Tom's voice.

"I meant to," Harry explained. "I would have told you if I thought it was a problem."

Tom made no reply to this, but he appeared angrier at every word. They stared at each other for a time, Harry's expression apprehensive as Tom's remained maddened. Harry knew Tom was thinking, plotting.

"Tom, please don't take this too seriously," Harry urged, hating the inkling that Tom was contemplating revenge, even more so than the glare Tom was giving him. "I don't even like him as anything more than some vague workmate. We don't even talk most days."

Tom was still mute, and Harry was starting to really worry. It wouldn't end well if a worker for the Daily Prophet mysteriously disappeared, or was found dead in his home, especially when he was part of the Crime Department, and when two or three of his workmates would be more than willing to look into the story more. Harry felt sick at the very idea of Emeric being murdered for this…

Harry reached his hand out to take one of Tom's, and at this Tom finally looked a little less tense and murderous. "I love you," Harry said firmly, gazing into Tom's dark grey eyes. "Please, just forget I said anything."

Tom stared at Harry for a long time, evidently trying to decide whether he should listen to him. He dropped his gaze, appearing less annoyed, perhaps. Harry dearly hoped that Tom would realise that this was nothing to get so angry about, and that so many terrible things could happen if he reacted disproportionately.

Tom looked up only to say, "I love you too, Harry."

~&~

Monday arrived, and Emeric did not show up at work. Harry sat as his desk for the entire morning, a sense of dread, despair and anger filling him with every fruitless hour that passed. He should have known that Emeric would not return when he saw the expression that Eileen had worn since her arrival in the office, but he had been hopeful that it was unrelated. She had not looked up from her desk once to search for Emeric, and she appeared unable to concentrate on her work as she stared into space for tens of minutes on end.

"He sent me a letter yesterday," Eileen told Harry at lunch, her tone distant to shield her sorrow as they stood, neither eating nor truly wishing to engage in heavy conversation. "He decided to resign… I know he always disliked being a subeditor, and I know he was sort of forced into it all, but… it seems rather sudden…"

Harry found that he could not force himself to give her much consolation at this, as his mind froze, and terror filled him. He returned to his work after a few short words, and attempted to overcome his worry. He didn't want to think about where Emeric might be at this moment, dead or alive. He didn't want to think about whether Tom had forced Emeric to write that letter to Eileen, or whether he, Tom, had done it himself in perfect imitation. He didn't want to think about when Tom had managed it, and how.

He both dreaded and longed for the day to end as he worked. He wondered whether Eileen was blaming him for Emeric's sudden resignation, knowing that he had joined an office already too full, but he didn't dare to look her in the eyes again to check. He felt sick. He wondered what would happen when he was to return to Tom tonight.

He went home without delaying his departure, despite his anxiety, and found Tom waiting for him in their flat. When Harry closed the door behind him, he looked at Tom sitting on his armchair, reading. He was so calm, so unfazed… Harry might have believed that Tom had done nothing wrong if he were less intelligent, or less used to Tom's act.

"Hello," Tom said when Harry walked further into the room, closing the door and removing his travelling cloak. He looked at Harry as though he couldn't read his blatant expression. "How was work?"

"What did you do to him?" Harry asked coldly, standing far from where Tom sat.

Tom's only mistake here was answering without as much curiosity as he might have had if he were innocent. "What did I do to whom?"

"Don't bullshit me, Tom. I'm not an idiot. What did you do to Emeric?"

"Nothing," Tom lied. "Why would I do anything to _dear_ Emeric?"

Tom said the word 'dear' with so much hatred that Harry was almost shocked. He hadn't expected Tom to mess up his act so soon, so he guessed that Tom was particularly angry about everything to do with Emeric… Harry knew after this that he needn't do much more than wait for Tom to crack, and he found that he was right. Tom stood up.

"Did you expect me to let him stay near you?" Tom asked, his entire tone suddenly irked and annoyed. "Did you expect me to forget everything merely because he _might_ be too cowardly to act upon his attraction towards you?"

"I didn't _expect_ you to do anything!" Harry said. "Except maybe listen to me and trust me when I tell you that he wouldn't have done anything to –"

"How could I trust your claim that he would do nothing to see whether you care about him, that nothing would happen between you, when it took so very long for you to tell me about him to begin with?" Tom inquired. "You should know by now that I am not so careless as to miss such details, Harry, not so blind as to escape those secrets, those lies."

"I didn't lie!" Harry exclaimed, perhaps a little more affected by this word than he might have been had he actually been born in the forties, and not the nineties. "I didn't keep a secret, either. Do you really think that I would keep this information away from you if I thought it mattered? I only forgot to tell you about it because it wasn't important!"

"In what way wasn't it important?" Tom demanded. "Are you suggesting that it wouldn't be relevant, no matter what happened? That it wouldn't be important to mention it if he got closer to you, for example?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Harry said, annoyed by Tom's twist of words again. "There was no chance of me and him getting close – we were just friends! Barely friends, even. I just want to know what you did to him, Tom."

"What does it matter what I did to him?" Tom asked. "His body could be cold and rotting in his abandoned apartment, or–"

"Don't," Harry interrupted. He felt sick again, but tried to appear stronger than that as he looked at Tom. "Don't tell me how you murdered him… Just tell me if you did."

Tom gave a cold laugh, his lips spreading to bare his teeth rather than to smile. "If you are merely friends, or less than, then why do you care about what I did to him?"

"I care about what you did to him because I don't want you to murder people just for thinking about things!" Harry exclaimed. "It's absolutely insane! He didn't even do anything to you! He didn't even do anything at all!"

"He was inconvenient and dangerous," Tom stated. "What else was I to do besides get rid of him?"

"I don't know, talk to me about it, maybe?" Harry suggested. "You can't just kill people whenever you have a problem with them! It's inhumane! It's…"

Harry suddenly began to realise just how horrible the idea of Tom murdering over this was. He felt sicker than ever.

"It's wrong…"

"What he did, and intended to do, was wrong," Tom replied, still infuriated, "in the sense that he was making a mistake that I would never forgive. I could never have allowed that danger the room to grow–"

"He wasn't a danger," Harry said, trying to stop his voice from sounding fearful. This resulted in his anger leaving, and his tone becoming quiet and perhaps sorrowful. Tom noticed this, and waited for him to continue talking. "What's a danger is the fact that you're so willing to kill people even over this… you're scaring me with this, Tom."

There was a moment of silence as Tom looked at Harry, appearing far less annoyed than before, and far more cautious.

"I don't care about Emeric," Harry said firmly, his quieter voice telling more than shouts in this now silent room, "but please, _please_ tell me that you didn't actually kill him."

Tom appeared expressionless as he gazed at Harry, and Harry was glad to know that this meant he wasn't angry, at the very least. There was another silence of thought, before Tom spoke again.

"I didn't murder him," he said quietly. "He was an inconvenience, not something that will haunt you or me for very long… I went to where he lives and told him that he was getting too involved in some of the Crime Department's work. With what you told me about his theories on the attacks on Muggles, Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, and by extent Grindelwald, it was simple to make him scared enough to leave the Daily Prophet."

Harry was hesitant to choose a reaction to these words. Relief might have been an easy or obvious choice, had it not been for the fact that Tom had given no inclination what so ever that Emeric was alive earlier on in conversation. He hadn't even hinted towards it before Harry explained why he cared… Before Harry made it obvious how much it would affect him. Tom could be lying, easily. It would simplify dealing with Harry, at any rate.

"Do you have proof?" Harry asked, trying to hide his concern.

"Don't you trust me?" Tom asked.

Harry hesitated, and Tom noticed. They stared at each other for a moment, both impassive and unable to read the other.

"There's proof," Tom assured him slowly, understanding that Harry wasn't going to trust him easily. "I could even take you to see him, in secret, if you wanted to. But you will find that his family is not panicking, to begin, that he left work completely only today by sending the Daily Prophet a letter, and that he will soon be applying for a new job, and getting a new home. If you still do not believe me after this, let us wait a week, and watch when no one reports him missing or as a runaway."

Harry nodded, and attempted to say something else, but nothing came out. His mind was empty of ideas. Tom was perfectly capable of faking all of the proof he needed to convince Harry of his sincerity, and it would seem curious to Tom if Harry told him that letters and family appearance wasn't enough. Even seeing Emeric alive with his own eyes again could be faked… but was Harry pushing it too far by thinking this? Was he being too paranoid of what Tom could be, perhaps to the extent of being unable to trust him at all?

"Why don't you trust me?" Tom asked.

There was no true emotion behind his voice.

Had Harry imagined any sorrowful note he might have heard in the past? He feared as though he might have, as he stood now, worrying and mistrusting. "I… I do trust you," Harry said in a low voice, unsure of his words, but knowing that he wanted Tom to be all right if he actually felt worry towards Harry's current state. "I just…"

Tom didn't interrupt as Harry attempted to fight the right words. Harry decided to voice some of his true concern, to fight his fear of lies.

"Why didn't you just tell me that he was alive?" he asked. "Why did you… why were you so angry about it if you didn't do anything more than scare him away?"

"I was merely angry _because_ I had only scared him away," Tom answered quietly, watching Harry from across the room with an unreadable countenance. "Sometimes… I cannot always find an easy solution to relinquishing anger… It is rather rare when I refrain from seeking full revenge upon someone, and I cannot simply walk away from such an event without suffering the consequences…"

Harry stood for a moment, hoping that Tom was being completely honest as he felt himself becoming more relieved with every word. If Tom was being sincere, then he had conveyed some of his true thoughts and feelings to Harry, and he had conveyed them fittingly to his personality and the situation. It would mean that he took Harry's fear from before the meeting with Emeric into consideration, and that he had taken the consequences of murder into consideration too…

"In short, I wished for you to share my annoyance," Tom stated. "Yet I see now that you do not approve of this fact… I wished for you to worry only so I could understand and let you understand what might have happened. Perhaps I was being foolish, or adolescent… and I understand if still you do not trust me."

"No, I trust you," Harry said, deciding that this was indeed a plausible idea. "Just promise me that you won't do that again, please. Not with anything this serious."

"I promise, I won't," Tom said. He took a few steps forwards, nearing Harry for the first time all evening. Harry felt Tom's long fingers closer around his own, and he looked up at Tom, convinced almost completely now that he hadn't killed Emeric, and that he did indeed care about how he, Harry, felt. Harry ignored the idea of psychopathy as he stood, daring to trust Tom, and daring to believe that he was as sincere as Harry could hope.

Harry felt Tom's lips press against his own, and he felt almost happy again for the first time in hours.


	34. To Maintain Fame

November arrived, bringing with it progressively darkening and chilling weather, accompanied by many stories of a similar nature within the Crime Department of the Daily Prophet. Harry found that he was slowly but surely becoming more and more interested in each new piece of work he subedited, as every new article build up the sections of history that he had learnt in his early years at Hogwarts, concerning this era. Attacks were begging to happen weekly rather than monthly now, and the Ministry, Prophet, and general public were finally starting to realise that it was indeed merely the Muggles, Muggleborns and 'Muggle-lovers' who were being attacked.

Many stories had been cut out of the paper, initially – perhaps because of the depressing and morbid tones that were being set upon the paper as a whole – but as the heads of the Daily Prophet began to see just how many stories there were, just how important and powerful these stories were together, and just how much attention and money they were getting for every murder case and disappearance they wrote about, barely any crime articles were being withheld or neglected.

The public craved both a good story and the idea of being informed upon topics as soon as possible, after all, so even if what they got was a vague untruth, it was no great wonder when the Prophet's sales nearly doubled within a few weeks of progressing crime. There were even rumours that well-known and respected reporters had offered to lead – or at least be a part of – the Daily Prophet's coverage on many new and unrevealed reports flying around.

But Harry could tell that around a third of the reports he read through had to be false or misinformed. These reports usually had no traces of evidence, no depth or believable outcomes, and no connections to the growing web of stories that gave an introduction to the impending doom that the entire country was feeling. These false stories were quite unnecessary for the paper, in truth, for there were theories that many attacks on Muggles were not even discovered or registered at all by the Ministry or general Wizarding Community, as bodies of people – young and old, English and foreign – were found as long as days or weeks after being disposed of.

It was difficult for anyone to work out whether general disappearances amongst Muggles and wizards were related to these attacks or not. Harry had read and heard many times that the Ministry itself was fully occupied with investigating every disappearance as quickly as possible, before Muggle officials were to find their citizens floating, dead, in a levitating cage constructed of the darkest magic the wizard murderers could muster, or lying in a ditch with extra limbs, or infectious diseases clearly upon them, or generally murdered in ways that would baffle the Muggle police, politicians, and public.

It came as no surprise to Harry when an attempted terrorist attack was made on the busy and tired Ministry of Magic one cold November morning, but it was a complete shock to him and the rest of the country when it turned out to be completely successful. Unlike the subtle, eerie and powerful incursions Harry had watched Voldemort do upon the Ministry in the eighties, with many Death Eaters acting as seemingly innocent workers, and the most powerful people in the Ministry being murdered when they became a problem, this was a more blatant terror-invoking event. It was early one Friday morning when half of the Department of International Magical Cooperation was blown to smithereens.

It was a shock mostly because of the precautions and protections that the Ministry had installed upon each one of their buildings. Many people had previously deemed the Ministry 'untouchable', because hundreds – even thousands – of years of research had been dedicated to keeping the Ministry safe from any havoc or damage. Many of the greatest witches and wizards known throughout history – including a few of the Four Hogwarts' Founders – had worked upon the magical barriers that kept the Ministry guarded, and the idea of someone finding a way past all of it was simply unheard of, especially when barely even the Ministers themselves were told and taught which enchantments and spells they were being protected by.

The attack upon London that had happened in January of this year had been a mere test, many critics now claimed. Since the Wizarding explosion had happened so close to the Improper Use of Magic Office before, witches and wizards now supposed that the attack was either an experimental assault or a secret failure. Harry could only imagine how the Death Eaters might feel about this, considering how gleeful they had been when the Muggles had been killed in January. They would all know this was about Muggle hatred, as slow as they might be.

Moody had said he was sure that the Ministry would try to cover up this story, as seventeen Ministry workers had died, more than thirty had been injured, and even more Muggles than that had been affected above ground, and Harry soon found that he was right. Yet try as the Ministry might, they couldn't quieten the Daily Prophet with something this big. The Minister for Magic herself was far too busy with the aftermath of the attack to ask the Prophet personally to keep away from the story, and unlike some of the Ministry Department Heads or Wizengamot Members, she felt that the public ought to know about everything, even if it meant a panic.

More bombardments were attempted upon the Ministry and other important Wizarding buildings and organisations as weeks passed, yet the Ministry was far too prepared for any of the attacks to be successful. It was nearing the end of November when the Ministry actually made a successful catch of the terrorists they were dearly searching for, and this was very well publicised indeed – with every Ministry worker's approval and encouragement.

An unnamed wizard had informed the Ministry of Magic that an explosion was going to happen in the centre of a large Wizarding community, and the Ministry, having received quite a few false reports of similar suggestions, had responded to the warning with a careful mix of distrust and preparation. Yet the warning had been true this time, and many now believed that the wizard who had tipped off the Ministry was the same one who told The British Wizarding Government who they were working for when caught, wand in hand, ready to give the newspapers another new story to terrify the public. And if the idea of someone correctly warning them about a terrorist attack hadn't surprised the Ministry, then the answer to who was behind it all definitely had.

"Grindelwald?" Eileen asked in disbelief, echoing the astonishment of the rest of the country. "Gellert Grindelwald, the German Politician?"

"The very one," said Moody. "Seems about right, mind you. With all of the odd whispers we've heard overseas, talking about organizations. It isn't surprising that Germany would end up holding the wizard behind it all – Germany's probably been attacked the most, even with too many other countries suffering alongside it."

"But why would Grindelwald attack his own country the most?"

"I'd guess that would be because he likes it more than the others," Moody said. "Or he might not be from Germany at all. He might have just taken the opportunity to rise to power whilst so many other things are going on. But Grindelwald seems like the type who wouldn't hesitate to hurt his own country, so long as his hatred for Muggles is known."

"So you think he went to Germany because of the Muggle World Wars?"

"He might have even been there before then, for all we know," Moody stated. "But yes, I'm sure he used that to his advantage."

"How many people do you think he has behind him?"

"More than he can count, I'm sure," Harry answered from his table. Moody and Eileen both looked at Harry. They were evidently caught off guard that he had given an answer to this as Eileen stood besides the desk where Moody sat. "I can't imagine that all of the attacks here, in Germany, and across Europe were by people he knows personally, anyway. There are probably followers who are just joining the crowd."

"Like the people you were talking about before?" Eileen asked. "The people you suggested were joining the 'fashion'?"

"Yes," Harry replied. He turned away from his two workmates, knowing that Moody was thinking about how this meant he, Harry, had assumed things correctly from the previous attacks in the paper. Harry didn't want to deal with the idea of being an Auror right now, and he didn't want to talk. He still felt guilty for what had happened to Emeric, and he couldn't bring himself to speak to Eileen properly because of it.

He was also almost scared of getting too close to Eileen, in case Tom took it the wrong way. He felt stupid for thinking like that, yet he wasn't sure whether he was wrong or not. He knew that she didn't like him very much, due to the blatant possibility of him getting Emeric fired… so he didn't attempt to see whether she still wanted to be friends. They now only spoke around once a week – if it was important.

It was a mere week after Gellert Grindelwald was revealed to the public as the main deranged terrorist behind Britain's greatest source of havoc when Harry was given a particular article to read over that startled him quite a bit. The article claimed that the Ministry of Magic had known about Grindelwald, or at least his group, for almost an entire year, which really wasn't all that shocking, but it also claimed that the Minister and a few selective Heads of Departments, et cetera, had been trying to choose a witch or wizard worthy of helping Grindelwald's downfall. What was more, the article suggested that the Ministry's top candidate for the job was no one other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

"It has to be a lie," Tom had said the moment Harry had shared this news with him. "Why on earth would the Ministry pick _Dumbledore_ to bring Grindelwald down?"

"He wasn't the only person they wanted," Harry remarked. "But even so, he's strong enough to take on Grindelwald, in the Ministry's eyes."

"In the Ministry's eyes, yes, but the Ministry has fogged and obscured vision when it comes to such things. Dumbledore is indeed famous for what he as done, but he is simply too keen upon working with light magic to succeed in something like this."

"He worked with Grindelwald himself, Tom."

"Yes, but Grindelwald has done a great deal of things since teaching Dumbledore what he knew at seventeen. He's taken control over many people, and murdered many on his way, as you know only too well. Dumbledore has merely researched shallow subjects based on theory rather than experience, and engaged in a few unchallenging duels that were made out to be more than they really were."

Harry wondered for a moment, upon hearing Tom's words, whether Tom was in denial about Dumbledore not because he felt Dumbledore was weak, but because he didn't want to face the possibility of Dumbledore being the person who gets rid of the wizard who had apparently caused Harry so much pain and suffering in life… As a consequence of this idea being very new and plausible, Harry didn't voice it just yet.

"The Ministry has been waiting for Dumbledore especially to accept or deny this offer to help England," Harry said. "He was one of the only five witches and wizards to be told about Grindelwald's existence and power, and a lot of people are talking about how vital it will be if he accepts this."

"Are you saying that he's their first choice, now?" Tom asked. "You claimed he wasn't the only person they wanted."

"He isn't the only, but he's the main," Harry explained. "I'm just wondering why he hasn't accepted or declined the offer yet."

"The answer to that is obvious," Tom argued. "Dumbledore is hesitant to take on a duel with the man he so long ago fell in love with… This also explains why Grindelwald chose to attack Britain so very late. He's cautious about Dumbledore, for some reason."

"Probably because he's scared," Harry remarked.

Tom went on as though he hadn't heard Harry. "Dumbledore will be perfectly caught between his old love and old hate towards Grindelwald, which makes me wonder whether he still has feelings for his old friend… Yet perhaps Dumbledore is merely unable to choose between his urge to avoid the Dark Wizard, and his obligation to help the county and maintain his fame."

"What do you think Dumbledore will choose to do?" Harry asked, generally curious to hear Tom's answer.

"Hopefully he will accept," Tom said.

"Hopefully?" Harry repeated. "Then you think he stands a chance against–?"

"I think he stands no chance what so ever," Tom interrupted firmly. "Hopefully he'll accept so he can die in the process of fighting Grindelwald, giving us an early warning of when Grindelwald will take over England."

There was a pause. Harry was shocked that Tom said this all so bluntly. "So you think Grindelwald will win?"

"I think it's a little late for the British Ministry to succeed in fighting him back," Tom said. "Grindelwald's tactic for taking control over this country seems to be relating to launching a lot of powerful attacks in places we all believed untouchable. We have no way of knowing what he could manage next, and thus I think England will fall under his power."

"So you think he'll take over all of Europe, or at least Germany, England, and a few other places?" Harry inquired. "You think he'll become the ruler of all of this, and gain power over the Muggles?"

"He'll attempt to," Tom said, "and he'll probably succeed, considering how many people are willing to do what they can to spread Muggle hate."

"But someone will do something to stop it," Harry insisted. "The Wizarding World can't just sit around and watch him seize power – that would be insane! People are already panicking and preparing for the worst, and even if that doesn't mean they're all ready to fight, it has to be on a lot of people's minds… If Dumbledore _does_ fail, there will be tens of others, maybe more, willing to fight Grindelwald themselves. Dumbledore isn't the Ministry, and Grindelwald won't live forever."

When Harry finished speaking, he found that the room was rather quiet. Tom was contemplating something in the silence, but Harry had a feeling it wasn't related to Grindelwald rising to power anymore. Tom never hesitated to give his opinions on things they spoke of, so it was surprising that he hadn't commented upon anything yet. A late reply meant that a new, vital-to-evaluate thought would have to be taking up quite a lot of space in Tom's mind.

"You sound like a Gryffindor," Tom voiced after a time.

At this, Harry was greatly taken aback, though he did not show it.

To be called a Gryffindor by Tom was the equivalent of being called weak, as Harry had learnt from months of being near the Death Eaters. Harry wasn't quite sure how this fitted in Tom's mind, considering Harry's apparent past and relation to Grindelwald. But then Harry wondered whether Tom didn't mean it in a cruel way – his voice was neither accusatory nor hateful, after all. Tom could merely mean that Harry was acting braver than he expected… though this was still an odd choice of words.

"Yet I cannot say that I am surprised," Tom added in reply to Harry's silence. "Many would be this confident or brave in such a situation… Some even more so, if they were born a Gryffindor. But one born a full Gryffindor might have gotten themselves murdered by chasing after Grindelwald thoughtlessly… I shouldn't be surprised that some of these characteristics would come out in you, I believe."

Harry wasn't truly sure what to reply to this either. He wondered whether Tom was hinting towards the fact that Harry would get killed if he tried to take on Grindelwald alone. Maybe Tom was concerned because of this alone…

"We will have to run away, you know," Tom said, quieter than before. "If it is that Grindelwald succeeds in his wish to rule this land."

"I know," Harry replied, dropping his gaze as Tom analyzed him continuously. "But it would be really difficult of him to–"

Harry froze; his eyes locked upon an object sitting on the table besides Tom, which he had evidently overlooked when arriving home. Amongst a few pieces of parchment, some quills, and books dedicated to the Dark Arts, mostly, rested a small black volume, plain and discreet. It was a diary; it's pages white as opposed to aged and yellow, as Harry had remembered it. It was Tom's diary.

Harry wondered suddenly where Tom had gotten it, and moreover when. It didn't look brand new; it looked closer to a few years old. But Harry had never seen Tom with it before now, and he knew that the only explanation to this was that Tom had kept it hidden. Harry didn't particularly care about this fact, had it not been for the knowledge that Tom would not make a mistake if he didn't want the diary to be seen…

"Whose diary is that?" Harry asked.

Tom tore his gaze away from Harry to look at the diary. He watched it for a moment, his expression blank. "It's a journal, actually," he said, "and it's mine."

"I didn't know you had a journal," Harry lied, surprised that Tom had corrected him on what to refer to it as. "I've never seen it before."

"I've neglected it. It's never used at all, actually… not to write in."

"It's a Muggle design," Harry commented, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind whether he was saying this in response to Tom claiming he sounded like a Gryffindor.

Tom took a moment to respond to Harry's words, perhaps because he was ashamed or annoyed by the fact that the diary was indeed Muggle made, or that Harry had noticed it. "Which is why I've never written in it."

"It has your name on it," Harry pointed out carefully.

Tom made no reply to this.

"Which makes me think," Harry added, "that maybe it's only posing as a Muggle Diary."

He watched as Tom's expression changed a little. As opposed to very, very faintly annoyed and brooding, Tom now appeared impressed by Harry's guess, and perhaps a little proud that Harry thought and knew that he would do something like use a seemingly innocent Muggle diary for darker purposes.

"What do you use it for? Why did you make it?" Harry asked eagerly, wanting to hear Tom confess to his creation of Horcruxes. "What does it do?"

At this, Tom's pride and surprise faded away. "It doesn't do anything," he said. "As I said, I've never written in it."

"You can be honest in telling me about it, you know," Harry claimed. "Whatever it does, I–"

"It doesn't do anything," Tom repeated forcibly.

A silence lay here, stronger than any previous one. Harry was confused as to why Tom had suddenly gone from potentially willing to tell him about this secret to completely defensive, annoyed, and determined in his claim that the diary did nothing. He thought again about the possibility of Tom accidentally leaving the diary there. This merely confused him more, as he knew this being a mistake was highly unlikely.

The subject was dropped soon after this, but it was a while before their conversation to become normal again.

—X—

Nearly a week passed before Harry finally understood why Tom had left his diary waiting so clearly on the table, why he had backtracked himself upon perhaps telling Harry about his Horcruxes, and why he had become somewhat quieter and distracted over the last few days. It was raining, yet again, as Harry and Tom sat within their living room, reading separately.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry had seen Tom look up at him between reading frequently, but each time Harry had asked if Tom wanted to say something, Tom had replied a simple 'no', occasionally accompanied by a smile and a comment close to, 'I merely enjoy looking at you.' Harry might have found this believable, had over an hour not passed of this being the only conversation.

It was past midnight when Harry finally got Tom to speak. He hadn't expected Tom to voice his mind any time soon, so he was surprised when Tom interrupted his reading, finally, to speak.

"I've been thinking rather a lot about Grindelwald, as of late," Tom began, as though carrying on an earlier conversation. His voice was only just audible over the sound of the rain falling outside. "About how far he might have ventured into learning and experimenting the Dark Arts, most of all."

"I think most people have probably been thinking about that a lot, lately," Harry replied, looking up from his book. He was unsure whether Tom had started this conversation for the mere sake of it or not.

"Yes, I sure they have, yet it is not merely how powerfully he is in battle that concerns me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I wonder what sort of Dark Magic he has been looking into," Tom explained, apparently choosing his words very carefully as he spoke at a calm, even pace. "There are many different fields, as you and I both know… I worry about the private magic he might be practicing, rather than his soon-to-be publicised shows of strength."

"I don't think we'll ever be able to find out what his personal favourite magic is, if that's what you mean," Harry said. "We could only guess."

"I've been doing quite a lot of guessing, lately," Tom said quietly. Harry waited for him to continue, only to find he wasn't going to.

"What have you worked out?" Harry inquired. "We don't really know much about him as a person, besides for where he was before seventeen…"

"His personal life and where he has been is of no interest to me," Tom specified. "I care only about what his plans for the future might be, and what his preparations are."

Harry truly didn't see where Tom was getting with any of this. "We'll never find out any of that until we hear about it in the papers, Tom. Why are you thinking about this all so soon?"

"I want to be prepared to help you get away from him, no matter what happens," Tom said. "It would be unwise of me to not linger upon every possibility concerning his rise to power, and hopeful downfall."

Harry still didn't see what use these words, and the thoughts behind them, might be. "I really don't see where you're getting, or were you'll get, with this. We don't know anything about him."

"What if I were to suggest that he couldn't die?" Tom asked very quietly.

Harry watched Tom, searching for some sign of an expression upon him as they both contemplated this suggestion. "Do you mean by using a Philosopher's Stone or something?"

"Not exactly," Tom said slowly. "What if I were to tell you that I knew of another way, an exceedingly dark and far more efficient way, for some wizards to make themselves immoral to the most literal extent? What if I were to tell you that Grindelwald could be murdered in any way imaginable – his body ripped to shreds, his soul leaving him completely – and still he could find a way back to the world of the living, just as whole and powerful as he was before?"

"I'd say that was impossible," Harry replied, willing Tom to go on. "No one can come back after being murdered that well."

"It isn't impossible," Tom assured him, "and Grindelwald could come alive again on the very battle field where he and Dumbledore may duel, if it is that he has succeeded in discovering and learning about this piece of magic."

"What is it?" Harry asked, trying very hard to make his act of curiosity convincing. His heart was racing.

"It's called a 'Horcrux'," Tom said, choosing his words more carefully than ever, his words forming slowly. "But rather than it being a mere piece of magic itself, it is instead simply an object of the creators choice… designed to hold and secure a piece of one's soul."

"How?" Harry asked without hesitation.

"There is a long progression of magic involved," Tom began, "but in general, it works by keeping one's soul grounded in the world of the living, so that even if the main shred of soul that lives within you is separated from your body, you will be unable to die completely. The main shred of soul will attempt to return to your body, thanks to the minor shred, stored within your Horcrux, and if it is unable to do that, it will drift for a while, until you are able to possess and another's corpse."

"The main piece of soul will just go back to your old body, if it's still there?" Harry asked, generally curious. "How soon?"

"That depends upon how badly you died," Tom said. "It is usually within a matter of minutes, however."

Harry stared in disbelief. "How long does it take to get a new body when yours is completely destroyed?"

"A few days, maybe a month," Tom replied. "That depends upon whether you care about who you find."

This confused Harry more. "What if you were… blown up, or in some sort of explosion that made you weaker?"

Tom didn't seem to think this question was particularly different from the last. "I doubt it would take longer than a month for one to regain their energy, even as a soul," he said. "But explosions mean nothing."

"What about killing curses?"

"They are more powerful, if used by the right wizard, but much the same."

Harry could tell by his tone that Tom was beginning to become suspicious of Harry's questions here. But Harry was very curious to know why Voldemort had been gone for so many years if he had died from a mere rebounded curse… The only answer to this question that Harry could find was that Voldemort's curse had been so powerful that it pushed him to the very ends of the world of the living. The curse may have even doubled on rebound for all he knew.

Harry decided to move the conversation on a little, sensing Tom becoming more suspicious with his pause. "But how can someone take a part of their soul out, and seal it in an object?"

"They must split their soul," Tom explained.

"How?"

"Through a supreme act of evil. Murder, generally. Thus I believe that Grindelwald is more than capable of making a Horcrux."

"But if Grindelwald has made a Horcrux," Harry said slowly, feigning a trail of thought, "Is there any way we, or anyone, can ever stop him?"

Tom took a moment to reply to this, in which time he surveyed Harry very carefully. "There are ways to destroy a Horcrux," he assured Harry softly. "Very few ways, I must own… yet they work perfectly every time, if one can find the correct equipment."

"What ways are they, then?" Harry pressed, curious to see whether Tom would tell him.

"We don't know whether he even has a Horcrux yet," Tom observed, "so I don't see the use in me boring you with a long description of possible weapons tonight. Yet I believe that, if Grindelwald has indeed made a Horcrux, we stand a chance of destroying it. It would be exceedingly difficult, and could take years or decades of waiting, but it is very much possible… I promise you that."

"So we could get rid of him? You would help me?"

"Well, I can't merely sit around and wait for him to decide your fate," Tom replied, smiling softly.

"But I can't imagine you and I becoming renowned heroes for saving the Muggles from slavery, and for bringing down the leader of all of Europe, somehow."

"We shan't be heroes at all," Tom affirmed. "We shall merely be the new leaders."

Harry gave a faint smile back, his mind gong over the possibility of this actually being the outcome of everything. Both he and Tom thought for a moment, absorbed in their own evaluation of chance. Harry suddenly remembered that he hadn't made Tom admit to the creation of his own Horcrux, or Horcruxes, yet. He struggled to find a lead back to the topic.

"How do you know so much about this all?" he asked carefully. "Horcruxes, I mean?"

"I've merely read about it in passing," Tom lied smoothly.

"It would have to be a pretty hard thing to find," Harry said, "or else hundreds of people dedicated to the Dark Arts would be making them. But from what you've made it out to be, it seems unlikely that even someone like Grindelwald would know about it, somehow. If this was something easily found you would have assumed that Grindelwald made one for sure, no matter how difficult it might be to make, and you wouldn't need to settle with just guessing. It being complex wouldn't stop it being known."

"I study quite a bit more than general witches and wizards who are interested in the Dark Arts, Harry," Tom said. "It isn't unheard of for me to discover rare magic."

"But why did you look into this so much?" Harry asked.

"It was intriguing," Tom stated calmly.

"Why would you remember about it when thinking about Grindelwald?"

"I feel compelled to view each possible outcome to his rise to power," Tom replied. "That was merely one of my many ideas."

"But you don't seem to know about destroying Horcruxes, or else you're hesitating to tell me how to," Harry remarked, "and there would only be one reason behind both of these facts."

Tom paused for a minute when Harry said this. They stared at each other, grey eyes meeting green, and determinedly not looking away. "What reason might that be, may I ask?" Tom inquired quietly.

"You've made a Horcrux," Harry said, "and don't want to tell me, or don't want to know how to destroy one in case something bad happens."

Tom made no reply to this at all, giving Harry a moment to think.

"Though I don't think you would not research how they're destroyed," Harry decided. "Anyone who makes a Horcrux would be stupid to not know everything about them. I think you just don't want me to have weapons against you being immortal. I think you don't trust me."

"I do trust you," Tom said without hesitation.

"So you've made one?"

Tom was mute, frozen in the act of deciding what to do here.

"If you trust me, then you can tell me," Harry said.

Tom remained quite for a time, blatantly trying to see a way out of this again. Yet Harry had trapped him. "Yes," Tom admitted in little over a whisper, so that Harry wouldn't have noticed he was speaking had he not been watching the Heir of Slytherin closely, "I've made a Horcrux."

Merely by hearing these words, some peculiar form of relief was pouring through Harry. Tom had finally owned to his greatest kept secret – with quite a bit of prompting from Harry, but that was surely inevitable. Tom would only ever admit to something so importantly secretive and evil if Harry showed signs of working it out beforehand. It was Harry's duty to be smart enough to catch the hints of such things, in Tom's mind, in the same way that it was Tom's duty to inquire as many facts as he could from Harry relating to his past, to be sure that he felt he knew everything.

But this bizarre feeling of relief was quite a surprise to Harry, who had expected nothing more than subtle satisfaction and perhaps fear at hearing Tom confirm what Harry knew about Horcruxes. Relief was mixing with happiness at being told the final truth, and before Harry could stop it, a grin was spreading across is face. He stood silent for a minute, looking up at Tom with pure elation, and a freedom from worrying about him lying again.

Tom was taking his smile the wrong way, Harry knew. As opposed to being plainly unhappy with having this secret worked out, and accepted, Tom now watched Harry, reading his expression of joy, and thinking that Harry was amazed and awed with his achievement. It was again with no hesitation that Tom spoke, acting upon Harry's reaction.

"Would you be willing to make one too?" he asked.

Harry's smile faltered somewhat, finally. Tom didn't seem to care much as Harry was silent.

"It would be brilliant, if we both made one," Tom carried on. "We would be immortal, and together forever. Think about all of the things we could accomplish, how far we could research the Dark Arts. We could see things beyond our wildest imagination, and go where no wizards have ever gone before us. It would be brilliant."

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought," Harry managed, his smile long gone.

"How couldn't I have?" Tom inquired. "It is an exceedingly useful piece of magic. I would very much like you to be a part of it too – you could have and use the ring as an object, if you wanted."

"I've never killed anyone before, Tom…"

"But Grindelwald is waiting to be killed right now. Who else would be better to split your soul over? He has done so many terrible things to you; it would be the ultimate revenge."

"I don't know," said Harry slowly.

"We would become the rulers of the world," Tom said quietly, the same inhumane smile Harry had seen a few times before creeping up upon his handsome features. "We would have hundreds at our command, doing whatever we wish. We would be the closest things to gods upon this earth, and our power would be inextinguishable."

Harry didn't know what to say to any of this. He hadn't expected this reaction from Tom at all. He felt a sickening sensation spread through him at the thought of joining Tom in these immeasurably deep waters of the Dark Arts… the side of him that was oddly fascinated and enthralled by the offer made this revolted feeling ever stronger. Harry wasn't even able to think by this point.

He looked away from Tom, as Tom watched him intently. The unearthly smile had faded away almost completely now, thus Harry knew Tom was noticing his struggle to fathom this so soon. Harry and heard tom get up to sit closer to him. Tom looked more solemn, and far less deranged as he took Harry's hand. But there was still some sign on madness within his dark eyes, even if Harry perhaps overlooked it.

"I don't want to lose you," Tom said very softly. "I want you with me forever."

Harry gazed into Tom's dark eyes, not wanting to agree with Tom upon the idea, but wanting to deny this offer even less. He didn't want to murder anyone, and split his soul forever, but the idea of staying with Tom for a timeless continuance… Harry was extremely close to agreeing, before Tom spoke.

"You would never have to see the people you've lost again, you know," Tom said in a low voice. "You would never have to face them again."

This did quite the opposite of what Tom was planning, as Harry's heart sank. He didn't know what he felt about his old friends and family anymore. He didn't know what they thought of him, either. Would he have to choose between Tom and his past, if he was to contemplate being immortal? Harry wasn't sure whether he could make that choice.

He remembered, suddenly, what Tom had asked him months ago. _Harry, you aren't avoiding the people you have lost, are you?_ This wasn't the first time this question had come back to haunt Harry, either. To hear Tom guess that Harry was ignoring his past, that he was avoiding and trying to forget about his friends, had scarred Harry a lot, likely because Tom was right. But since Harry had had time to think it over again, he had, of course, begun thinking about his past more and more.

Tom believed that he feared the dead, and wanted to neglect every memory and connection to the people he had lost. He even thought this so strongly that he offered it as an idea to convince Harry to make Horcruxes, and to stay alive forevermore. Harry didn't know how he felt about that. Was Tom right in thinking that this was a bonus to staying immortal, or was he merely projecting his own experiences with losing people? Was Tom, perhaps, scared of death merely because he didn't want to face his mother again, or the people he had killed?

"You could see them again with the ring, if you wanted to," Tom remarked, perhaps catching onto the idea that Harry was now torn between his choices. "You evidently know how to use it, so if you miss them you could always bring them back…"

Harry hadn't expected Tom to find a solution to this so considerately, especially not when only a few minutes ago he had asked Harry so many questions without wavering in his belief that Harry understood his obsession with life, whilst he appeared abnormally enthusiastic about it all. Harry contemplated this, feeling Tom's hand within his own. Now Tom thought of Harry caring about the dead as an option…

"I would like that," he said quietly, "but I don't know about Horcruxes yet."

"What if you killed Grindelwald?" Tom asked. "You've said before that you're willing to do so."

"He might not even need me to kill him," Harry said. "Let's just wait and see what happens."

Tom appeared close to pushing the subject more, but he refrained from doing so. They sat together quietly, moving onto more conversation after this, but remaining with their hands entwined as they contemplated Horcruxes, not sharing another word about it.

—X—

Two days later, Harry was sitting at his desk at work again. It was late in the day, nearing time to go home as he finished up on the last report he would have to edit. Eileen and Aidan had already departed, which left Harry and Moody alone. Harry was still a little concerned about the conversation Tom had had with him, relating to him creating a Horcrux, but he tried hard not to worry himself with it too much now. He wanted to go home, for the office and cold and quiet, and he was bored of working.

It was about half an hour since Eileen left when Harry was finished for the day. He got up from his desk, and made for the door. No sooner had he passed Moody's table, however, the old Auror spoke to him through the silence. "A lot on your mind, Richard?"

Harry turned around to face the older wizard. "Yes," he admitted, knowing a lie was no good here. "How did you know?"

"You're only ever one of the last people in here when something's troubling you," Moody said. "Though I have to say I only guessed. Can never read your expression, even if your silence tells me what I need to know."

"Why are you staying late?" Harry asked, not giving Moody the chance to ask what was wrong.

"I just got a memo informing me about an important article that has to be published for the morning edition. I'll be here until about midnight."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Harry said.

"Don't be," Moody replied. He smiled faintly, his eyes kind this time. "I'll get plenty of compensation for my time tonight. This is even bigger than some of the surprise attacks that have been happening."

"Why don't you just come back in the evening to help with it?" Harry asked. "It will be hours until then."

"I'm staying voluntarily," Moody responded. "I wouldn't miss this, if I could help it. A lot of people are staying around, actually. Minus the reporters."

"What's going on?" Harry inquired.

Moody pointed down to the article he was beginning. Printed in tall, bold letters were the words: _"Dumbledore Accepts; Grindelwald to Fall?"_

"Dumbledore's going to duel Gellert Grindelwald?" Harry inquired sharply. "Tonight?"

"Yes. It was announced under an hour ago," Moody said. "By this evening's edition of the Prophet the whole country should know about it."

Harry's heart was suddenly beating rapidly.

"They might even release a midnight edition for this story. Who knows? Either way, this is very important news. Decides the fate of the whole country, I should think."

Harry didn't know what to do. He wanted to stay here with Moody, to know what would happen straight away, but he also wanted to be with Tom. Yet Tom might react badly to this news, and force Harry to leave England with him. Harry wanted to know what would happen in this battle, and whether History would go as he had learnt. This would decide weather he had messed up anything, somehow, by just being here.

"Are you alright, Richard?"

Harry suddenly remembered what he has said to Dumbledore about Tom not being Grindelwald. Could something like that even effect time? He needed to know what would happen with Grindelwald tonight. He was impatient already to hear about it. But then a better idea than staying around in this office occurred to Harry. He only wondered what Tom might think of it.

"Sorry, but I have to go," Harry said, turning to leave. Moody said nothing as he headed for the door, but Harry caught one last glimpse at him before he left. He was smiling, whilst also appearing somewhat concerned – about the duel, or Harry himself, Harry didn't know. He didn't think about it much as he hurried down the corridor.

Past many floors and up many flights of stairs, Harry soon found himself in the entrance hall. There were people all around, and the building was as busy as it was in the mornings, which was rare. But instead of the usual morning talking, there was only one subject being voiced by the reporters and general workers of the Daily Prophet now: the potential downfall of Gellert Grindelwald.

Harry hurried past the crowed and made his way to the exit of the building without stopping. It was snowing outside, and he headed straight home. Tom was his only concern as he found their flat, and went inside, climbing another staircase to reach their floor, three stories up. With a tap of his wand the lock on their door opened, and he hurried inside.

Tom was waiting for him, quietly contemplating something as he sat on an armchair; a few neglected books close by. When Harry closed the door, and didn't remove his travelling cloak, Tom seemed more interested in his arrival. When Tom saw that Harry was somewhat unsettled, he stood up.

"Dumbledore accepted the Ministry's plead to fight Grindelwald," Harry managed breathlessly the second he could.

Tom stared at Harry, bemused. "Have they fought yet?"

"No, but they're going to soon."

"Where?"

"In England," Harry said. "I heard some of the reporters mention it was going to be near Northumberland."

"One of the least Muggle populated places in England," Tom remarked.

"Makes sense," Harry replied. He walked further into the room, trying to think properly.

"Where are we going to go?" Tom asked. "Where shall we flee?"

"We have to go and see the duel," Harry stated.

Tom froze, and looked at Harry as though he wondered whether he was joking. "You want to go and watch the duel?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," Harry replied firmly. "Think about it; we'll be able to Apparate away the second something goes wrong, and we can even see for ourselves if he's immortal, if he dies and comes back to life on the battlefield."

"What if it's a trap?" Tom demanded. "What if they try and kill anyone who watches the battle?"

"We won't get trapped," Harry assured him. Then an idea came to him. "We can bring my invisibility cloak of you want, to be sure we're safe."

Tom still didn't look at all willing to agree to this.

"If you don't go, I'll go alone," Harry said.

Tom stared at him. "It would be foolish to go there, Harry."

"It would also be foolish not to."

"How so?"

"We might never know the truth. The papers could be corrupted, and lie to us the moment Grindelwald wins."

Tom made no reply. Harry had no patience to wait for Tom thinking this over.

"Please come with me, Tom," Harry insisted, moving closer to him from across the room. He took Tom's hand in his own. "I need to know what happens right away. Please trust me."

There was a long pause, as Tom remained impassive, staring at Harry.

"We'll be together the whole time," Harry said. "I promise."

Harry watched avidly, and saw a slight change in Tom after a few minutes. "Will we leave this country the moment something goes wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Harry replied. "I wouldn't risk staying here."

There was a long discontinuation of speech again, before Tom looked away from Harry in defeat, perhaps knowing that Harry was completely decided on going there. "We should leave as soon as possible…"

Harry smiled, feeling both nervous and glad that Tom was actually agreeing with him. He couldn't believe that he was going to go and see the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald as he hurried away from Tom, to search for his invisibility cloak… He just hoped that nothing would upset this vital mark in History.


	35. Altered Assumptions

Only snow was visible through the immense darkness, falling in light twists and curls as Harry walked alongside Tom. Unseen clouds spread across the entire sky, forcing the flakes to fall at a markedly slow pace, as if careful not to disturb the vital events that were to occur. All was silent beyond the sound of Harry and Tom's footsteps, but Harry knew that they couldn't be far now from the gathering crowd keen upon watching Dumbledore and Grindelwald duel.

Harry and Tom were dressed in black cloaks, their hoods drawn, shielding them from both the weather and any onlookers who might be lurking in the shadows. The Invisibility cloak rested securely in Harry's pocket, but he knew that even with this Tom didn't feel at all safe wandering so close to Grindelwald. His eyes never left the horizon as they strode on, and Harry knew he had his wand in hand, hidden beneath a sleeve of his cloak. Neither of them spoke, even as the crowd of witches and wizards they were looking for finally came into view.

There were perhaps hundreds of visible onlookers waiting for the duel. They formed a spacious ring, as if fearing the idea of Grindelwald's followers being near. Harry and Tom were given plenty of room to stand, for at the sight of their hidden faces, numerous groups stepped away from them with haste. Harry saw a few people eerie in appearance standing within his sight, but he doubted many of Grindelwald's followers were around. Most of the sinister people here were more likely interested in what great dark magic Grindelwald might know – and show.

Tom stood close by Harry, his left arm nearly resting against Harry's right. Their breath caused smoke against the freezing air as Harry scanned the witches and wizards standing together in the snow. No one was speaking, but by the expressions he could see, Harry could tell there were few people keener than himself to see the end of this duel. He was sickeningly apprehensive and nervous as the wait dragged on, and he couldn't imagine how Tom might be feeling.

It was a few minutes before Harry realized that Dumbledore was already here. He was standing to Harry and Tom's far left, previously blocked by a group of foreign reporters who had only spoken to each other in hushed voices when noticing Harry and Tom. When they scurried away, the view of Dumbledore was clear. Harry turned to mention this to Tom, but Tom's eyes were already fixed on the elderly wizard. His expression was impassive even when he glanced at Harry.

Dumbledore appeared tranquil, and Harry could barely believe it this time. All of the onlookers stared at him tensely on and off through the minutes that passed, and still Dumbledore remained unfazed. He stared at the falling snow, his eyes rarely resting upon the crowd. His hands were clasped behind his back, and Harry knew he wasn't even holding his wand yet. How Dumbledore expected to defend himself if Grindelwald made one of his signature quick attacks, Harry didn't know.

"He's going to lose," Tom said quietly at Harry's side. Harry didn't turn to look at him. "He isn't even bracing himself."

"He knows what he's up against," Harry replied in a low voice. "He's just trying to be intimidating."

"I fear the fate of this country if that's him trying to be intimidating," Tom claimed. "Taking a walk through a park would make one more prepared than Dumbledore is now. He's standing there as if he believes he can talk Grindelwald out of taking over England."

Harry made no reply to this, secretly agreeing with Tom. He had to say that if Dumbledore was faking calmness, he was doing it rather well. Shouldn't he feel nervous about seeing Grindelwald again, and even more so about having to fight him to the death, supposedly? If Dumbledore had no desire to do more than put Grindelwald in prison, he should at least know that Grindelwald would murder him without a moment of hesitation…

Grindelwald had murdered his sister, and broken up his relationship with his brother, his last relative. Yet here Dumbledore was, as humble as always. Harry wondered again in fear whether he had messed up something in time. Perhaps Dumbledore had forgiven Grindelwald thanks to Harry? He doubted this quite strongly, yet his sense of fear for what might happen didn't leave him. He could barely believe that this was a preparation for a duel. What was Dumbledore's plan, exactly?

Before Harry could get carried away with ideas, he felt Tom nudge him lightly. When he tore his gaze away from Dumbledore, he saw that Tom was looking out into the darkness to their right. Harry wondered why he was doing this, because he couldn't see anything. But a few people were looking that way now, and moving away from that general section of the circle. Harry felt more nervous as he stared into the darkness with everyone else – some of them seeing or hearing something, like Tom, and some of them not.

Grindelwald did not arrive at the scene in a large explosion, or in a way quite as dramatic as Harry had expected. His entrance was instead very quiet, and thus greatly uncanny. The silhouettes of Grindelwald and his innumerable followers arriving from the darkness was a great scare to all who saw it first, and an even greater one to all who felt and saw the rest of the crowd stirring. The very wind picked up, ruffled and keen upon moving away as tens of figures emerged from the shadows beyond falling snow.

Grindelwald glided smoothly towards where everyone stood. His followers were close behind him, all hidden beneath dark cloaks as they formed a neat finish on to their half of the circle – or oval now. Harry couldn't count how many of them there were, for most of them were hidden in the dark, or behind snow and icy fog, yet there had to be over fifty followers present.

Grindelwald was the only one who wasn't wearing his hood up, as he encouraged the crowd to embrace the sight of the new leader of England. He had a long mane of curling blond hair, kept untidy now in contradiction to the pictures that Harry had seen of him in the papers once or twice, from his recently paused days of working at the German Ministry of Magic. The wild, gleeful countenance that Harry had seen in both Gregorovitch's memory and Bathilda Bagshot's photographs was not at all gone, yet Grindelwald was more deranged now, and much older than before.

His smile at the sight of Dumbledore was one that Harry recognised, from seeing some of it upon Tom's face. Yet Tom had never yet smiled at Harry in particular this way. Grindelwald showed signs of the mad grin that Tom wore when he had a brilliant and twisted idea, or when he finally got something that he had worked very hard for – such as information about Horcruxes from Slughorn, or recognition for having powers beyond what was normal and Muggle-like at his orphanage.

Then there was another underlining sight within Grindelwald's grin. A psychotic level of hate, untouched by fear and uncertainty, but guided by what could only be memories of the past, and perhaps the effects of recently remembered emotional scars. Yet Grindelwald seemed like a complete psychopath to Harry, as he looked at him, so perhaps he wasn't at all scarred from his past with Dumbledore. There was an air about him that made him appear ominous, despite his continuously handsome appearance, and Harry was sure he wasn't the only one who felt it.

Harry moved back subconsciously, pressing himself closer to Tom. He was tempted to withdraw his wand, like Tom had, as he looked back at Dumbledore. Regardless of Grindelwald's despising grin, Dumbledore was smiling pleasantly, as though nothing in the world could be better than him standing before his old lover again. The only giveaway to this otherwise perfect act was Dumbledore's eyes. Harry felt relief to see those piercing blue irises burn with what could either be called great dislike, or pure hate. He stared with more hate than even Voldemort had received in Harry's memory.

The audience was mute as Dumbledore and Grindelwald stared at each other, not breaking eye contact. After a moment of dead silence, Dumbledore stood up straighter than before, almost proudly, with no wand in hand yet. Grindelwald was wandless too, Harry noticed, so this was perhaps to display signs of strength and confidence. It was a short time after standing up more formally when Dumbledore spoke, his voice loud enough for Harry and Tom to hear.

"Good evening, Gellert."

Grindelwald seemed just as displeased as Voldemort had always been with being addressed by his first name. Dumbledore smiled a little at the sight of the Dark Wizard's obvious annoyance, Harry noticed.

"Good evening, Dumbledore," Grindelwald replied in a loathsome tone. He had a notable German accent, having never quite lost it fully even through all the years of speaking English, and visiting English-speaking countries.

"You seem to have brought quite a few of your friends here tonight," Dumbledore commented, as though none of this were more exciting or unpleasant than a report of the day's weather. "A potentially wise idea, should you fail to defeat me on your own."

Tom moved by Harry's side, but Harry was too transfixed by the conversation being held to spare a thought for Tom's discomfort at the idea of so many followers being around. Harry wondered whether there were any Aurors present, to help Dumbledore if needed…

"Should I – against all odds – fail to kill you tonight, Dumbledore, there will always be a second chance to. You never could refrain from second chances, after all."

"Ah, but I believe you are quite the exception to the rule, Gellert," Dumbledore stated. "You are simply too far-gone."

"So you believe that I will fall tonight?" Grindelwald inquired. "You believe that no one will take my place should I die? That thousands won't join my army to rise against the British Ministry and beyond, no matter if I am dead or imprisoned? No prison walls can restrain my power, Dumbledore, and I will never die. I am too strongly inculcated into the hearts of wizards who believe in all that I believe. I am too well understood."

"I'm glad to see that you have found one way, at least, to tell yourself that you are immortal," Dumbledore remarked. "However, I think you are sadly mistaken in your belief that your followers alone can continue what you've sought to complete. I doubt whether even you can complete it, as a solitary leader. A panicked group, fighting to choose a new leader, will fall to pieces. The German Muggles have been defeated, and the Muggle World Wars have ended–"

"The German Muggles?" Grindelwald repeated. "The Muggle World Wars? You dare to suggest that I began those Wars, Dumbledore?"

"I must admit that I believe you had a fair hand in them, Gellert," Dumbledore replied. "Perhaps it was only chance, soon after used to your advantage. But your sudden publicised rise to power in the Wizarding World suggests an alarm at the Muggle wars stopping. Was your ploy perhaps sabotaged when the Muggles ceased fighting? As so many other plans have been sabotaged before?"

Something in Dumbledore's words seemed to annoy Grindelwald greatly, for in a movement so quick that Harry barely saw it, Grindelwald withdrew his wand. There was a flash of green light. Grindelwald sent a killing curse towards Dumbledore, and it appeared to hit him, as it was inches away from his cloak before he span on the spot, and Disapparated. He was ten meters to the left and forwards soon after a loud _crack _sounded out. Perfectly alive, his wand rested in his hand now.

"You were always one for quick attacks when panicked," Dumbledore said, causing a pause in the beginning of their duel. "What is it you fear I might say?"

"I fear nothing concerning you," Grindelwald spat, his expression livid, his followers tense. Dumbledore was about to say something more, before Grindelwald began another attack.

There was a flash of black light mixed with orange sparks as Grindelwald threw a nonverbal spell at Dumbledore, but Dumbledore was too quick again. With a swish of his wand, he conjured what looked like a plain sheet of metal. This seemed to be the weakness of the spell, for it smashed into it with a shockingly loud sound, and exploded instead of going through the other side. Harry knew this was a very rare weakness for a spell, and he was amazed that Dumbledore had thought of it so quickly.

"You're showing off your Muggle-related tricks, I see," Grindelwald laughed, his face contorted in anger. His next words were barely audible, as he moved sideways, trying to get a better aim at Dumbledore. "What humorous irony! What shameful hypocrisy!"

What looked like electricity was crackling at the end of Grindelwald's wand. Dumbledore seemed to know what is was the moment he saw it, for he threw a yellow spiralling spell at Grindelwald with no delay, blatantly trying to stop him from using the magic. Grindelwald Disapparated, and appeared twenty meters forwards, smiling in a maddened cross between enjoyment and rage. From his wand shot a bluish stream of powerful electricity, which he pointed towards the sky. The main stream of it went up towards the heavens as little offshoots plunged towards the earth in a millisecond.

Touching the earth and sky at once, the electricity caused thunder to roar in the clouds, and lightning to crash to the floor behind some of the onlookers of the duel. Dumbledore threw more spells at Grindelwald, most of them hitting the earth and causing sizable craters rather than touching the constantly Disapparating opponent. But after a tiring minute of Disapparating non-stop, Grindelwald was finally hit by one of Dumbledore's spells.

It was no longer snowing as lightning formed in the clouds above them all. Even before Dumbledore could catch Grindelwald, thunder was sounding and lightning was crashing towards the earth. It seemed that Dumbledore was the main target for this electric charge, and it was harder for him to dodge the electricity as he caught Grindelwald in a cage made of red light that was apparently hard to get out of.

By waving his wand in a complex movement, Grindelwald commanded lightning to hit the connection between Dumbledore and the cage, and the spell was immediately broken. Grindelwald shot a hex at Dumbledore, another killing curse, just as Dumbledore shot a spell back, a clear blue stream of light Harry didn't recognise. Their spells met for a moment, pushing against each other with equal force before they left the casters' wands and merely exploded in mid air.

There was a whirl of dark purple light streaming from nowhere to Grindelwald's wand on the next spell he cast, building up a form of magic. Dumbledore threw more spells, but Grindelwald deflected them between charging the purple light. Dumbledore then raised his wand above his head, and lightning struck it. Although he seemed to have planned this, because the lightning remained only on his wand as it twisted and crackled downwards.

"He's talking the energy," Tom said quietly by Harry's side. Grindelwald continued to charge his spell as Dumbledore stole the lightning. "I wonder only how strong Grindelwald's next spell will be if he doesn't care about the lightning…"

Harry could make no reply to this before Grindelwald's build up was complete, and he threw a stream of bright violet light towards Dumbledore. It might have even been ultraviolet in some degree, Harry thought as he stared, transfixed. The whole scene around them was lit up better than daylight would manage when the spell was released, and when it met Dumbledore's. Harry closed his eyes to avoid being blinded. This seemed to be the point of Grindelwald's spell – to blind people, perhaps only temporarily.

Dumbledore was losing, and he Disapparated, severing the connection of releasing spells. Dumbledore raised his wand when he reappeared twenty meters away, doing a quick incantation followed by a series of complex wand movements. What appeared to be a shield formed, blocking off the purple light that was now streaming towards him again. The shield made everything past it distorted, but also dulling the light a considerable amount. When Harry opened his eyes fully, he saw that Grindelwald was trapped inside a force field with his own spell.

The walls of the shield were closing in on Grindelwald, and he tried to Disapparate. Yet Dumbledore has blocked the ability to. Grindelwald caught onto this quickly, and with another series of wand flourishes, the light retracted behind the dark screen, and formed into around seven groups. It seemed that if Grindelwald couldn't affect Dumbledore with the power of this magic, he might as well use it in a different way – one that wouldn't kill him in this shield. The seven sections of light were getting duller and duller behind the screen, and soon no one could see what Grindelwald was doing.

There was a silence as everyone stared at the round dome Dumbledore had created. Then with a _bang_, and something shook the floor beyond and shield. The crowd gasped in fear. There was another booming noise, and the ground shook again. Dumbledore used more magic to make the shield smaller as yet another boom followed, causing the floor to crack under the shield. Four more earth trembling crashes, and all seven sections of light were in the ground, Harry knew. Dumbledore waved his wand, and the shield hit the floor. There was nothing underneath it. Only seven deep holes in the ground.

Dumbledore span on the spot to Apparate away, perhaps in fear. He was right to do so, for beyond the crowd Grindelwald had resurfaced. His next killing curse was very close to hitting Dumbledore, but when it missed, Grindelwald remained out of the circle of watchers, doing nothing else. There was a silence as Grindelwald smiled psychotically at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore stared back, frozen in fear. The crowd was confused, and they began talking quietly in panicked voices. A low rumbling noise could be heard.

At the sight of Dumbledore listening, and staying where he was, Harry suddenly realised with a jolt that the seven sections of magic were about to come crashing up through the soil, and there was nothing Dumbledore could do about it. It was no surprise that Grindelwald would attempt to win this battle by seeing what Dumbledore would do if a well-announced explosion were to wipe out the entire crowd. Harry felt Tom move besides him, but before he could even turn to look at him, the spells resurfaced.

Harry knew that Tom had been right in thinking that the crowd would be attacked, and he closed his eyes, unable to think as he heard the explosion happen. But he didn't feel anything hit him, despite seeing light blinding his vision. The noise was soon dulled, and he didn't know how. He opened his eyes only when he knew the light was gone, and he looked up. Roughly ten meters in front of him there was now what appeared to be a pure glass sphere, full of smoke. With a shock, Harry realised that Grindelwald must have trapped Dumbledore with the explosion.

Harry felt Tom grabbing his arm, and he looked up into Tom's dark grey eyes. After a moment of them gazing at each other, Harry realised that the view of the snow and other people behind Tom was oddly distorted. It took him a minute to catch onto the fact that Tom had also concealed them in a dome, to protect them from the explosion. Harry was about to say something, before they heard Grindelwald's cage around Dumbledore break.

With an indescribable sound, vaguely like a large sword being drawn slowly, the sphere faded away, and smoke began rising into the air. Harry soon saw that all that remained of where Dumbledore once stood was a large crater in the ground, caused by the explosion, and by Grindelwald trapping Dumbledore in with it. The smoke travelled up into the clouds that yielded neither snow nor lightning now. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen.

Witches and Wizards began speaking to each other again in worried voices. Harry felt his heart beat sickeningly, as he scanned the scene to try and find Dumbledore. He wouldn't allow himself to believe that he was no longer here. That he was in pieces, in the ground. Harry didn't even take into account that he was actually worrying about the aged wizard as he searched desperately. Dumbledore had to be waiting somewhere, ready to fool the crowd and Grindelwald with his convincing death scene…

But Dumbledore did not show up again.

Grindelwald was walking back towards the circle of onlookers. His pace was slow, almost careful, as people moved out of his way. His wand was still drawn as he scanned the horizon, and then looked down at the hole in the ground. A smile formed on lips when he was convinced that Dumbledore had died. The deranged smile again. He was in the centre of the circle, standing close to the explosion site, when he finally did something. He began laughing.

His laugh was as wild as his appearance, and just as eerie as it reached the ears of everyone watching. The British witches and wizards present stared in shock as the followers of Gellert hardly dared to believe what they were seeing beyond their cloaks. Grindelwald's laugh continued, as Aurors and Reporters looked ready to warn the rest of the country, and those interested in the Dark Arts seemed ready to join Grindelwald now, minus Harry and Tom. Yet no one dared move.

"Oh, what a continuous fool Dumbledore turned out to be!" Grindelwald exclaimed after what felt like minutes of laughter. "He wouldn't even trade less than two hundred of you for his entire country! What did he expect to happen, I wonder? What did he expect to achieve?"

These words were puzzling to Harry. Grindelwald was talking about trading this crowd for the whole country… and slowly, Harry realised that the sphere to trap Dumbledore might not have been made by Grindelwald at all. It was more likely made by Dumbledore himself, to spare the crowd. Harry was too numb to contemplate this fully as fear washed over him. This explained why it might have broken…

Grindelwald's laugh continued, and he appeared almost unable to breath as he found so much humour in the result of this duel. His followers were laughing too, as everyone else remained motionless. Harry felt Tom pulling on his arm, but he didn't look at him. Dumbledore had to be around here somewhere, waiting to jump out of that crater, or waiting emerging from behind the crowd…

"Harry," Tom almost hissed from behind him. "We have to get out of here."

Harry turned to face Tom, his mind frozen. "No…"

Tom looked at Harry in disbelief. "We cannot stay here."

But the battle couldn't be over with yet, Harry thought. He turned away from Tom as Grindelwald began speaking again. "What ever did you want, Dumbledore?" Grindelwald asked aloud, still laughing madly. "What is it that you hoped to gain?"

"_Listen to me,"_ Tom hissed, and Harry turned back to him, the use of Parseltongue having more effect than English.

"What ever could be worth such a death?" Grindelwald exclaimed in the distance.

"Your wand, I believe," replied a soft voice.

Harry turned around quickly upon hearing Dumbledore's words, his anxiety lessoning at a swift rate, and his heart leaping. With one swish from Dumbledore's wand, Grindelwald's wand flew out of his hand. Harry stared, still unable to think, as Grindelwald turned around to face Dumbledore. His expression was of pure shock, as his wand hit the floor with a clatter, and a silence fell.

Then the crowd started cheering. Harry realised that Dumbledore must have been invisible before, waiting for the perfect time to attack Grindelwald. Reporters and general witches and wizards roared and shouted in happiness and relief, some of them looking so shocked that they were close to tears. The Dark Arts fans were trying to Disapparate, but it seemed as though they were all unable to, as were the actual followers of Grindelwald. Upon noticing this, the Aurors moved in.

Grindelwald was still trying to fight even as over fifty wands were pointed at him, from the Aurors who weren't dealing with the followers. Many Dark witches and wizards tried to run away from the Aurors on foot, but it seemed they were unable to outrun them. Dumbledore stood in front of Grindelwald, a sea of people separating them. He didn't say a word as Grindelwald swore and said things in more than one language, threatening the Aurors when he wasn't shouting at Dumbledore, telling him how this wasn't the end. Dumbledore gazed at him for a time, before simply turning to walk away.

Reporters ran up to Dumbledore, and began swarming around him. It seemed that people could Apparate to this destination, even if they couldn't Disapparate, as more witches and wizards popped into view. Harry and Tom stood still for a minute, the only two wizards who didn't belong to some sort of group. When Harry looked at Tom, the latter was impassive. They heard some people Disapparating as soon as all of Grindelwald's followers were caught. Someone had brought down the enchantment stopping it.

Without a word, Harry took Tom's arm, and they Apparated together. After the short but unpleasant experience of moving across the entirely country in a matter of seconds, Harry and Tom were back in Diagon Alley. Harry wanted to smile at Tom, to have a moment of celebration, but Tom was already walking ahead, without taking Harry's arm. Harry was a little confused by this, but he followed Tom anyway. It was snowing in London.

Harry didn't ask what was wrong as they walked towards Knockturn Alley. Maybe Tom just didn't want to be noticed, or seen at all, when Grindelwald's followers could potentially be all over the country? Harry doubted that, in some slight way, as they headed towards their house. They would be stronger than those followers, anyway.

Into their tall apartment building, up a few flights of stairs, and past their door, Harry and Tom arrived back in their flat. Harry closed the door behind them, and followed Tom in taking off his travelling cloak. When they were both done, Harry stared at Tom, and Tom stared back. There was a silence that Harry didn't break.

"We were nearly killed," Tom began.

"We had Dumbledore's protection," Harry remarked, "as well as yours."

"Dumbledore could have saved himself more obviously, instead of saving the onlookers of the duel, and I was a second away from failing with that shield. I might have even made it a second after the explosion…" At this Tom looked away from Harry, appearing concerned.

"But that didn't happen," Harry responded.

Tom shook his head, appearing almost lost in reflection. "We were fortunate…"

"Grindelwald wasn't truly aiming for the crowd," Harry observed. He wondered why Tom was worrying about this so much. "He was just fucking with Dumbledore's head, and moral senses."

"He would have killed us all without blinking en eye, even as a mistake," Tom stated. As he looked at Harry, he didn't appear to have any emotion of his face… but Harry knew there was something wrong.

"Aren't you even glad that Grindelwald lost?" Harry asked, confused.

"Of course I am," Tom replied quickly.

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is that Dumbledore won."

Harry waited for a minute; sure that Tom was going to say more than this, to make his words less nonsensical. "Well… what else was supposed to happen?"

There was a pause, as Tom struggled for an answer. "I don't know."

They looked at each other for a moment before he carried on.

"As you are aware, I did not expect Dumbledore to succeed… In fact, I didn't expect him to stand half a chance against Grindelwald."

"So… you're impressed?" Harry suggested.

Tom gazed at Harry, apparently questioning this suggestion in his mind. His eyes dropped away from Harry's as a silence fell, and he stared into space. "I'm not impressed, exactly," he said very quietly.

"Then what do you feel?" Harry asked almost as quietly, a crease forming between his eyebrows in concern.

"Grindelwald told Dumbledore he could never die… He might have been smart enough to create a Horcrux, despite not being smart enough to defeat Dumbledore."

"Grindelwald is going to be put in prison," Harry said. "Even if he made a Horcrux, it will be years until he actually dies. People will make sure of that, so he can suffer in the walls he built."

"This isn't what is concerning me now," Tom said.

"Then please tell me what is," Harry urged. "I can't guess what you're thinking all the time."

Tom stared at Harry, apparently hesitant to tell him something. Harry couldn't imagine why, and he waited for Tom to speak patiently. "Dumbledore knows quite a bit about me," Tom said slowly. "More than I would like him to know… If he is so strong that he can defeat Grindelwald, I don't know what he might do, or might be doing, to stop me from achieving all the things I want to achieve in life."

"You mean your research in the Dark Arts?" Harry asked. He was bewildered, not because Dumbledore knew things about Tom – for he was well aware of that – but because Tom seemed to be cautious about the idea of Dumbledore now. He seemed almost scared.

"Yes," Tom confirmed. As opposed to being blank and emotionless, some annoyance suddenly appeared on his face. Harry noticed this from his eyes, which winced at his own words. "Dumbledore would simply love to stop me learning and practicing the Dark Arts… How could he resist, when he is now famous for catching great Dark Wizards? He would get the Ministry involved, if he were too cowardly to stop me himself… But he could stop me himself…"

Tom was suddenly pacing the room. He looked as though he wanted to sit down, but he refrained from doing so as he worried. Harry followed him towards the living room, sitting down on their couch after a moment. "Dumbledore isn't our teacher anymore, Tom. He can't stop you from doing anything."

Tom didn't seem confident in this as he continued walking; appearing visibly more convinced that Dumbledore was out to get him. All Harry could do was watch him, and try to convince him that they were safe. "He can report me for doing illegal things…"

"He doesn't know where we are," Harry said firmly, "and even if he does, it isn't as though we have Avery, Lestrange, Dolohov, or anyone else knocking at our door every day. We aren't doing anything illegal at the moment, unless you count reading, and Dumbledore is the only person who suspects you of doing anything bad. Minus him, you're respected by every teacher at Hogwarts."

"The other teachers don't have as much power, as much influence, as Dumbledore does now," Tom said. He looked even more concerned at this, if that was possible. Harry even felt as though he looked a little sick. "_They_ could tell him something," Tom suddenly muttered, "The Slytherins."

"Yeah, if they wanted us to tear them limb from limb and send them in pieces to their mothers," Harry responded. "They're petrified of you, Tom, and are pretty devoted to keeping you happy, even by this point."

Tom might have agreed with this, but he made no sign of it. He merely stopped walking to look at Harry. There was still something wrong with him, and Harry could see it past his sudden frustration. He still appeared sick. The frustration was probably there merely because Tom couldn't understand what he was feeling.

"Why are you worrying about Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Tom replied.

"That's not a good answer," Harry replied. "You _must_ know why."

Tom struggled with thought for a moment, before he began pacing the room once more. "Tell me you won't start thinking about him as some sort of hero. Dumbledore only defeated Grindelwald because he was there first… had he failed, we would have done it ourselves."

"I'm never going to think about him as a hero," Harry assured Tom. After a moment, he decided to add, "He didn't even kill Grindelwald."

Tom made no reply to this as he continued walking. Harry had the strangest feeling that Dumbledore being his hero wasn't what Tom cared about either. There was something else in his mind now as he paced restlessly. After Harry dwelt upon how confident Tom had been before the duel compared to now, believing that Dumbledore would fail, a thought struck him.

"Are you scared of Dumbledore?" he asked.

Tom stopped dead, to stare at Harry. Both of them contemplated this. It would certainly make sense to Harry if watching the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald had altered Tom's assumptions about Dumbledore's strength. Tom seemed to be thinking something along the same lines, but he wasn't happy with it. He stood for a moment, apparently unsure what to reply to this.

"It's fine if you're scared," Harry said quietly.

Tom didn't seem pleased with Harry's reassurance, and he looked very close to protesting against his assumption. But he couldn't find the words. Seeing his chance, Harry continued.

"It is not everyday that you see a shockingly strong wizard defeat another wizard who everyone thought was close to unstoppable. Especially when you know Dumbledore, and despise him."

"Do _you_ fear Dumbledore?" Tom asked, forgetting to comment on anything else Harry said.

Harry wondered whether Tom would feel safer admitting his fear if Harry shared the feeling. Harry didn't want to lie to Tom, but… it would give him an excuse to distance himself from Dumbledore more, mentally. Tom already despised the old Transfiguration Professor, and this was more reason for them to bond upon their feelings towards Dumbledore. What was more, Dumbledore had scared Harry greatly when talking about Tom…

"Yes," Harry said. "There are too many things to be careful about around him."

"Amongst other thing," Tom added. He stood where he was for a minute, thinking, before he sat down on the couch next to Harry. He sat still for a moment, staring into space again. "I don't know what I'd do if I ever had to fight him."

"Just run away until you're strong enough," Harry advised. He moved over so sit closer to Tom. "I wouldn't let you fight him alone, anyway."

Harry took Tom's hand in his own, and Tom examined their interlinked fingers. He now appeared impassive again. "I'm glad that Grindelwald has fallen," he said very quietly. "I only wish I could be more optimistic about it with you…"

"Don't worry about it," Harry replied, knowing this was as good as an apology from Tom. "I don't exactly want to celebrate, even if his downfall makes me happy."

Tom's eyes met Harry again, and he smiled slightly. "At least this means less worrying for you."

"For you too," Harry replied.

"Yes, for me too," Tom repeated softly. "I'm also relived that we're both still alive…"

"We were bound to survive," Harry said. "I wouldn't have gone there if I didn't think we had more of a change to getting out than being trapped."

"I wouldn't have gone there if I didn't know we'd be separated otherwise," Tom responded, his tone light-hearted. Harry smiled a little, and Tom examined his lips for a time. They were silent, lost in each other's gaze.

"I'm glad you came with me," Harry said.

"As am I," Tom replied. He reached up a hand to caress Harry's jaw, smiling lightly as he did so. He gazed into Harry's eyes, watching his reaction to his touch.

Harry kissed Tom, unable to resist any longer. He relished in the feeling of Tom's soft lips against his own again, as Tom's hand fell away from his face to slide along his neck. Harry found himself leaning into the kiss, moving his body closer to Tom's without much provoking. Tom's breath became rougher as Harry positioned himself in a way that pressed Tom closer to the couch behind them, Tom still sitting up. Harry was nearly on his lap, as Tom held his back, sliding his hands along Harry's waist. Harry wanted to pause for a second, to tell Tom he needn't worry about Dumbledore or anything else, but a greater need overpowered this as Tom's hands continued to travel his body.

They were safe at home now, at any rate, and Tom didn't seem at all keen upon stopping to evaluate the situation again. Harry was sure he had forgotten about his worries concerning Dumbledore as he kissed Tom passionately, wanting nothing more than to continue what he had started.


	36. Hepzibah Smith

Tom listened to the sound of Harry's deep, slow breathing as they lay in bed together. His arms were wrapped around his lover, and their bodies were close. Harry was still asleep, while Tom had been awake for quite a while. He had no desire to move away from Harry, or to get out of bed soon this morning. His eyes were closed as he thought about the day ahead of him, and about the boy in his arms.

Harry had been acting a little different since the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, yet Tom knew this was only to be expected. For Grindelwald to be defeated before his very eyes must have been both awe-inspiring and terrifying for Harry. Tom only wished that he understood what Harry might be feeling. No matter how long he thought about it, he couldn't decide. It was always as though the thoughts in his head vanished when he attempted to decipher another person's emotions, or even his own, so he normally gave up trying. It frustrated and annoyed him, and in the case of Harry, left him with an odd sensation he couldn't describe.

But he wanted to know very badly what Harry was feeling. Harry could always work out Tom 's emotions quickly, even before he himself could, at times, and Tom wanted to know how to do that too. He worried that Harry might admire Dumbledore for what he had done, for he didn't feel fully satisfied that Harry feared Dumbledore enough. Tom had brought the subject of Dumbledore's power up with Harry numerous times, and he wasn't blind to see that Harry couldn't quite grasp how important and dangerous it was that Dumbledore alone was more powerful than the wizard who had almost taken over all of Europe.

Grindelwald had wiped out countless people who were against him, almost counting Harry. Tom still wasn't quite sure how that was possible, since the witches and wizards who had lived with Harry must have been both intelligent and powerful. Harry seemed to occasionally know small pieces of magic that even Tom himself had never heard of. This was rare, of course, but a shock each time it happened. Harry was also better at the Dark Arts than any of Tom's other students had ever been. Tom had realised this even before he began treating Harry as more than a follower, and he had been cautious about it at first. Now he thought of it as a good thing – a useful thing.

Harry seemed to look at the Dark Arts with an eye predictable for a wizard who had grown up in the fuzzy grey line between light and dark magic. Tom wanted to lead Harry closer towards the Dark Arts, and he was succeeding in such a wish, but only very slowly. Harry hadn't given Horcruxes much thought yet, for example. Thus Tom had been reminding him about them every few months. Each time so far Harry had claimed that he was again unsure, before changing the subject.

Tom sensed that Harry was still indecisive about everything relating to the people he had lost, but he didn't know why. They were dead, and nothing could change that. Tom had repeated many times that Harry could see them with the ring, but somehow this didn't appear to be enough. Tom could not fathom this, and he contemplated whether Harry merely didn't want to live with him forever. This thought felt odd inside Tom, so he didn't think about it very much.

Harry had appeared changed when Tom asked if this was the reason, but Tom didn't know in what way. Harry didn't drop the subject lightly, what was more; he in fact persisted many times that this wasn't why he wouldn't make a Horcrux. Tom didn't see why repeating it was needed, but somehow that foreign emotion lessened within him. He had only asked Harry this question because of his unusual response to the thought, which had gotten stronger as weeks passed. He felt better when Harry denied it.

It was currently around November as Tom lay in bed with Harry, eleven months since the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Very little had happened in that time, except Tom had told Harry a little more about Horcruxes. Tom had even told Harry that the Diary was a Horcrux, and he had explained why he was taking such a long time to work on it. Tom needed careful years of perfecting this invention. It was rather important, after all. It would be put to great use.

When Tom told Harry that he was going to make more than one Horcrux, and when he explained what a revolutionary concept this was, Harry had been impressed, and this satisfied Tom. He found that the more he told Harry about Horcruxes, the better he felt about this secret being known. He trusted that Harry would never turn against him, even if he had the information on how to. It would be worth Tom's greatest secret being known when Harry ended up making a Horcrux, or Horcruxes.

Tom felt Harry stir, which broke his trail of thought. Harry turned over in his sleep, and Tom allowed him to, lessening the hold of his arms. One of Tom's hands ended up on Harry's waist, and Tom enjoyed the feeling of it there as he looked down into Harry's handsome face. Tom enjoyed the sight of Harry's eyes, which were beautiful even with the irises and pupils hidden beneath his eyelids. Tom enjoyed the sight of Harry's lips too, and his nose, and eyebrows, and scar…

It was only a minute later when Harry opened his eyes. Still very tired, he closed them again and stretched. When he looked at Tom properly, he smiled. Tom couldn't help but relish the sight of Harry's happiness, and he smiled back. In moments like this, it wasn't the same smiling with Harry as it was smiling with other people. Sometimes Tom couldn't stop himself, and he didn't have to force his lips to mimic the characteristic of a grin, or else didn't know he was grinning at all until the unusual gesture began to feel odd upon him. It wasn't mechanical with Harry, yet wasn't like smiling with, or at, his old school friends either.

"Good morning," Harry said, still appearing content.

"Good morning," Tom replied, examining Harry's alluring emerald eyes.

"How long have you been awake for?" Harry asked, before Tom could do much more than analyze him.

"Not long," Tom replied. "Perhaps three quarters of an hour."

"That's quite a long time," Harry stated. "What were you thinking about?"

"You," Tom answered. Harry smiled again, and Tom followed.

"What time is it?"

Tom didn't know the answer to this, having forgotten that it was relevant. "I'm as of yet unaware."

Harry turned towards his bedside table, and checked his watch. Tom examined his neck and jaw as his head turned, and his bare chest as some of their blanket fell off of him. "We should get up," Harry said, yet he didn't seem completely sincere in this suggestion.

Tom wasn't very keen upon the idea either, as he was unable to think about anything else besides seeing the rest of Harry's body. They were both unclothed, and were rather close again as Harry turned back. Tom kissed Harry, unable to resist any longer. The feeling of Harry beneath Tom's fingertips, or pressed close to him, was incomparable to anything else Tom had ever felt before. No people that Tom had been with prior to this had been a tenth as effective as Harry was, because Tom's need for Harry was somehow beyond meaningless lust, in a way that Tom couldn't fully understand.

Every inch of Tom's body yearned to be close to Harry, and with a kiss, this craving became yet stronger. Tom's hand slid across Harry's waist as Harry's lips pressed against his own. His breath was rough, and full of desire even before Harry's hands caressed his face, and slid lower to his neck. Tom's tongue slid across Harry's lips. He very much enjoyed taking his time before entering Harry's mouth fully, and Harry's lips were already slightly parted, waiting for him. Their tongues met, and their kiss deepened at a quick rate.

Tom's heart was beating quickly as he felt Harry pushing him back. This was another reason why Tom adored being with Harry so much. Not because Harry dominated him, but because he attempted to. No one else had ever been confident enough to do that to Tom, or brave enough, if they knew his power. Tom enjoyed the competition, no matter whether he won or lost – it was all the same. Tom pushed Harry back before he was lying on the bed fully, however. He didn't want to be dominated today.

Harry's hands had made their way up the back of Tom's neck, and were soon entwined in his hair, pulling it lightly. Their breath was irregular as Tom continued to kiss Harry, and Harry kissed him back just as passionately. Tom was moving to lie above Harry properly, his lips travelling from Harry's mouth to kiss his jaw, neck, and ear. Harry's hands moved from Tom's hair to his back by the time Tom's hips were closer to his.

Tom hissed words of Parseltongue in Harry's ear, sucking on his earlobe and feeling Harry's strong responses to it. His hands travelled Harry's body, and his tongue flicked across Harry's skin longingly. He wanted to kiss and caress Harry's entire body, and he was encouraged to do so as Harry struggled to stay composed. Tom felt as though they were made to be together while he felt the divine experience of Harry as a whole. His hands slid across Harry's chest, along his waist, and lower. When his lips found Harry's once more, Harry bit him in lust. Tom kissed him deeply after this, his desire close to overpowering…

Both Harry and Tom were in fine moods when they finally got out of bed a little later, and began getting ready for the day. It was a Friday morning, and there was still a lot of work to do at the Daily Prophet for Harry, and at Borgin and Burkes for Tom. "Who do you have to visit today?" Harry asked Tom as they made their way towards the door, grabbing their travelling cloaks on the way.

"Merely Quentin Bones at noon, and Hepzibah Smith at four," Tom replied, fastening the clasp of his cloak. "As well as working in the general store."

When Tom spoke, he watched Harry carefully. Harry had only recently fallen into the habit of asking Tom whom he would be visiting at work, and it was a curious thing. It was curious most of all whenever Tom mentioned Hepzibah Smith. This always triggered the same bizarre reaction within Harry, which Tom couldn't quite place.

Tom had thought, at first, that Harry was perhaps jealous or cautious of her. It was true that Tom visited her very often, but he had warned and confessed to Harry since the first day of meeting Smith that he would often convinced her to sell her antiques because of his looks and charms alone. Harry had claimed that he didn't care who Tom charmed, as long as it didn't become an issue, but despite this he was still blatantly edgy about something concerning Hepzibah Smith. Tom hadn't pressed the subject very much yet, even as it confused him.

"That seems like a reasonable day," Harry replied to Tom's words. He walked towards Tom once his cloak was on, and they kissed again. Tom was tempted to continue the kiss, before Harry pulled away. They were already close to being late.

"I'll see you after work," Tom said. With a tap of his wand, the door leading to the corridor beyond their flat opened. "I may be a bit late upon coming home, but not by much."

"That's fine," Harry replied calmly, following him into the corridor.

They spoke very little as they headed down a few flights of stairs, and onto the street outside. Harry headed for Diagon Alley after a few more words, and Tom watched him go, before walking towards Borgin and Burkes. The witches and wizards of Knockturn Alley were just as surly and distant as always when Tom passed them in the street, but he quite liked them this way. It saved him the bother of having to act falsely polite and interested in the boring lives of common people.

A few minutes of walking led Tom to arrive at Borgin and Burkes, Number 13B, Knockturn Alley. The store was vast, and darker in both appearance and impression than any other shop within the alley. Shelves towered towards the ceiling, displaying only part of the massive collection of items that the store had to offer. A large and notable fireplace could be seen a little within the shop, for clients to use if they wished to visit without attracting unwanted attention. With artefacts of powerful properties and fuzzy histories, Borgin and Burke's shop was a notorious success to dark witches and wizards from all over the country.

After a few years of joining the wizard world, Tom had been introduced to this shop. The friends Tom had at Hogwarts had talked about it often, but he had seen it himself even before that. Having hated his orphanage as much back then as he did now, he had taken daytrips, alone, into Diagon Alley and beyond frequently. He loved everything about this store, but favourite part of it had to be the collection of books it held. They were almost all dedicated to the Dark Arts, and free for Tom to read now, no matter how rare and costly they were.

When Tom entered the shop now, he found Burke sitting at the counter, examining an artefact of an unusual nature. Burke seemed intrigued by the item, but he stepped away from his work as soon as he saw who had entered his shop. He greeted Tom from where he stood; reminding him of all the things he would have to do today. The business had been going well this past year and a half, and Tom knew from reading Burk and Borgin's thoughts that they felt he was the best thing that had happened to this store in years – besides the fourth return of a cursed opal necklace Borgin and Burke seemed very fond of. They made a true fortune off of that necklace, having obtained it back without paying three of four times so far.

After a few minutes of being informed upon the exact work he would have to do in the shop today, Tom was left alone by Burke to begin his work. The day passed at a reasonable pace, and at noon Tom left the shop to visit Quentin Bones, returning a little over an hour later with a successful deal made. More work at the shop was done, and four O'clock was drawing near. Tom stopped arranging and reading a large stack of volumes to leave once more, heading for Hepzibah Smith's house without meeting Borgin or Burke again.

Hepzibah Smith lived in a small Wizarding Village in northwest England. The village had only a few hundred residents within it, and Hepzibah's home was by far the grandest of every house nearby. Tom visited her at least at least six times a month, for she continuously arranged new offers to be made upon some of the antiques she hoarded. Borgin and Burk challenged her offers eagerly, knowing she would only refuse Tom what he wanted a few times. Tom couldn't say that he enjoyed visiting her in any way, but he was at least entertained with charming her out of her money, and seeing what items she had in her house.

Tom was contemplating Harry's odd reaction to the idea of Hepzibah Smith as he stood upon her doorstep, and looked down at his watch. It had just turned four O'clock, so he rang the bell, and took a step back patiently. Tom contemplated how many more months it might be before Hepzibah gave up on him, or got bored of flirting. Tom wouldn't care if he stopped seeing her soon, for it would stop Harry from worrying…

There wasn't much of a pause before the door to the house opened, and Tom saw Hepzibah's House Elf looking up at him. The House Elf was very thin and elderly, with the highest of voices as it bowed for Tom, and said, "Good afternoon, sir! Please, come in."

Tom followed the elf into the house after a few words of greeting, the door closing behind him on its own. Hepzibah's house was crammed with thousands of trinkets, antiques, and pieces of jewellery that were stored within cupboards, packed upon tables, and placed anywhere else imaginable where they wouldn't fall down or break into pieces. With careful movements, and memories of visiting this house so often before, Tom succeeded in travelling behind the tiny elf, arriving smoothly in the room where Hepzibah stood.

Hepzibah's eyes were fixed upon him when he entered the room, and they were shining with the same craving and admiration that he had seen since the very moment of meeting her. She was a very materialistic woman, evident from her house, and Tom was another object in her eyes, one that she adored without any investigation what so ever into what characteristics he might be hiding inside.

Tom walked towards Hepzibah like he always did upon visiting her house, and took her hand within his. It was like holding air, despite the weight, when they touched, and when he gently brushed his lips against her plump little hand. In contradiction to Hepzibah's obviously wave of emotion at this simple gesture, Tom felt nothing at her touch.

"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, conjuring a bouquet of roses from nowhere.

"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" Hepzibah exclaimed. She took the roses joyfully and turned towards a conveniently empty vase upon the nearest table, which Tom had noticed upon entering the room. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom… sit down, sit down… where's Hokey… ah…"

Once they were seated, the House Elf darted back in the room, having left a minute before. Hokey was carrying a tray of small cakes, which she rested upon a table near her mistress.

"Help yourself, Tom," Hepzibah said, smiling. "I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop. I've said it a hundred times…"

Hepzibah smiled affectionately, enjoying the act of pampering Tom as he forced his lips to copy the features of a smile.

"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" Hepzibah asked, her eyelashes fluttering.

"Mr Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armour," Tom replied, pretending he hadn't noticed the true intent behind her words. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair –"

"Now, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" Hepzibah said, a teasing petulance clearly upon her.

"I'm ordered here because of them," Tom stated quietly. He felt a light shade of annoyance, but he ignored it. She was nothing in levels of annoyance compared to Slughorn or Dumbledore. Tom decided to find the nearest path back to business, and now towards her weaknesses. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr Burke wishes me to enquire –"

"Oh, Mr Burke, phooey!" Hepzibah exclaimed. "I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr Burke!"

Tom couldn't help but think what Avery or Dolohov might say in response to this claim. He withheld a small smirk; surprised his old friends had come to mind.

"Can you keep a secret, Tom?" Hepzibah asked, appearing more like an old lady than she had before. "Will you promise you won't tell Mr Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom, you'll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it…"

At this, Tom was somewhat interested. As irksome as Hepzibah might be, she had a great many treasures in her house. There were already some objects around that caught Tom's attention, though not enough for him to do anything about them yet. "I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," Tom said softly.

Hepzibah giggled girlishly. "I had Hokey bring it out for me," she said. "Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr Riddle our _finest_ treasure… in fact, bring both, while you're at it…"

Tom watched the little elf leave the room, and return a minute later with two small leather boxes held high above her head. "Here, madam," the elf squeaked as Hepzibah reached out her hands to take the boxes carefully.

"Now," Hepzibah said happily, placing both boxes on her lap, and paying attention to the bigger one first. "I think you'll like this, Tom… oh, if my family knew I was showing you… they can't wait to get their hands on this!"

To add a dramatic effect, Hepzibah opened the box simultaneously to finishing her sentence. When Tom's eyes found the small, golden cup that rested within the case Hepzibah held, he wasn't surprised that she would take such pride in showing off this rarity. Two finely wrought handles rested on each side of the cup, and a very delicate carving could be seen upon it. It was very beautiful.

"I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom?" Hepzibah breathed. "Pick it up, have a good look!"

Tom did so, being very cautious as he held it by the handle. Where the cup was from was even more obvious at a closer view. "A badger," he murmured, referring to the design engraved upon it. "Then this was…?"

"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" Hepzibah said, leaning forwards. A loud creaking noise sounded as her corsets stretched, and she reached out a hand to pinch Tom's cheek. None of this was registered in Tom's memory as he analyzed the cup. "Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess, too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here…"

There wasn't even any room in his mind for surprise as he gazed at the Hufflepuff Cup. This was precisely the sort of thing Tom been had waiting to find these last few years. As prised as the Chamber of Secrets, and a ring made by Grindelwald himself (for all the knowledge Tom had gathered), this historical cup would be a brilliant addition to his collection.

Before Tom knew it, Hepzibah was taking the cup off of his finger to place it back in its box. She then busied herself with it's wrapping, which gave Tom a moment to think. He knew that it would be very possible to convince Hepzibah to sell this to Borgin and Burke's, no matter if she said she wouldn't sell it. From there he would be able to steal it more easily. There would be less anti-theft enchantments around it, for a time. Though Tom could easily break any enchantments here too…

"Now then," Hepzibah continued, "where's Hokey? Oh yes, there you are – that that away now, Hokey –"

With the Hufflepuff Cup now zooming across the room in its box, Tom's attention was drawn to the second, flatter box in Hepzibah's hands. "I think you'll like this even more, Tom," she whispered. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see… of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone…"

She slid the hinged lid of the case away with her stubby fingers, to reveal a heavy golden locket resting upon handsome scarlet velvet.

Tom's hand moved involuntarily towards the object this time, but he couldn't find it in him to care as he gazed at the ornate, serpentine 'S' engraved onto the gold. He felt his heart leap. He could almost feel the power within this object as he held it up to the light, the chain entwined in his fingers. This was ever better than the Hufflepuff Cup, and Tom could barely believe it. This was the locket…

"Slytherin's mark," he breathed.

"That's right!" Hepzibah responded in a hushed voice, enthralled by Tom's interest. "I had to pay and arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value –"

Tom's hand suddenly clenched around the locket's chain, and he was unsure for a moment whether he had heard Hepzibah correctly. Tom had been searching for this object for years – the question of where it had gone having never left his head properly. _"Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"_ Morfin might have been shouting from behind Tom, in this very room, echoing the words that haunted him, that entranced him. Tom had wanted to find the locket very, very badly, and here it was.

He stared at the object in front of him almost blindly, trying to stifle the intense fury that overtook him. He didn't move, and couldn't think, as his hand clenched into a fist. This object had been the thing to decide his entire fate before birth…

"– I daresay Burke paid her a pittance, but there you are… pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe…"

She reached out her hand to take the locket, and Tom hesitated. One swish of his wand and she would be dead, leaving him free to steal both the locket and the cup. Tom couldn't see how else he could break free of his anger. He couldn't see how else this would end… Except there were people who knew Tom was here. It would be unwise to kill her this very second…

Without really making the decision, Tom let the locket slide between his fingers. Hepzibah smiled when it was back in her hands. Once she put it away safely, she gazed up at Tom again. "So there you are, Tom, dear, and I hope you enjoyed that!"

Tom could think of nothing to reply to this. He remained sated where he was, battling with his anger. He looked at her just in time to see her idiotic smile faltering. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Oh yes," Tom lied very quietly. "Yes, I am very well…"

"I thought – but a trick of the light, I suppose –" Hepzibah said. She appeared different, and Tom couldn't describe how. He supposed after a moment that she was scared, and he found that he enjoyed this idea. "Here, Hokey, take these away and lock them up again… the usual enchantments…"

Their conversation towards the end of Tom's visit was blunt, with only half-hearted comments from Hepzibah, relating to her initial underlying intention upon inviting him to her home. The more time that passed, the less suspicious she seemed, but Tom knew she was still a little startled by something. He tried to be less obvious when he left her home. He walked along the street of the little wizarding village without looking back, thinking only lightly about how easy it would be to slice her short little throat in half.

The little wizarding village was deserted, despite the hour. Tom didn't want to Apparate back to work, or back to Harry. He was blind to everything around him as he walked. The time was only around five thirty, but that was late enough on this cold November day for the sun to be setting. There were clouds above England, and leaves on the ground. Tom felt as though he was abnormally calm. He supposed it was because he wanted the Hufflepuff cup and Slytherin locket, and didn't want to do anything irrational.

His footsteps echoed through the silent street, and through his silent mind. He had found Slytherin's locket. His breath was even. It had been in this plump old woman's house, of all the places in the world. Sold by the very shop where Tom worked. The heirlooms that he had been shown this evening were a brilliant find, and would be a fine addition to his collection. Still Tom's mind was ghostly empty.

He didn't see the village as we walked along it. His whole being was dedicated to focusing on his thoughts. Yet there were none. There was a crowd in a theatre, but no actors present to display emotion and reflections. Tom thought of what historical objects the cup and locket had been, historical to the entire wizarding world, as well as to him. Tom felt a light touch of annoyance, which faded away before he could appreciate it fully. Tom wondered how much his mother had received for the locket. Whatever it had been, he was sure it hadn't been enough. Otherwise his mother wouldn't have died, and he wouldn't have been born alone.

The annoyance returned, and changed swiftly into loathing. Tom tried to overcome this, but he was unsuccessful…

Burke was not the type to buy anything at its worthy price, if the seller was clueless about the objects they had. He also wasn't the type to pay a decent pittance, even to a pregnant and dying witch. Tom felt anger take over his quickly beating heart, spreading irritation through his entire body. He tried again to become calm, before more thoughts formed. His mother had died while giving birth to him, despite having the power of magic to help her. Tom didn't know how that was even possible, unless she had been both idiotic and pathetically weak. She had become a Muggle, perhaps. Which explained why Tom had to live amongst those filthy excuses for humans for so many years.

Tom's heart was beating even faster, and his mind was creating waves of fury-provoked thoughts within. His hands clenched in his pockets, his nails digging into his palms. That locket was rightfully his. He wasn't going to wait however long it would take to convince Hepzibah to sell it. He wasn't going to allow her to gain money back from it, and he certainly wasn't going to allow Burke the satisfaction of thinking that it was his again. What they had done to Tom before he was even born would come back to haunt them at last…

He was going to murder them both. At the thought, a sickeningly glorious sensation spread through Tom, guided by loathing and detest. Murdering them was the only solution. It was the only way Tom could get rid of his anger – the only way such a crime could be even slightly repaid. What of Borgin, Tom wondered? He felt a magnificently satisfying smile spread upon his lips. This was amongst the grandest of smiles that Tom had, truer than any for Hepzibah and Slughorn, and as strong as any created for Harry, despite it feeling far different.

Borgin would murder Burke, in fact. Borgin had done less wrong, perhaps, than Burke, thus he deserved nothing more than to suffer for the rest of his life with the anxiety of having killed his partner without reason. Unlike Tom, he will have had no cause to murder, and will have done it far less slyly. Tom would use the Imperius Curse upon him, and see how lucky he might be, how smoothly he might be able to talk the Ministry out of suspecting him for the slaughter.

Death would be in a similar form for Hepzibah Smith, but perhaps it would be slightly less violent than Tom was planning for Burke. Tom would use the House Elf to murder Hepzibah. Again with the Imperius Curse, he would allow the elf to slip poison into her food. Hepzibah would die sooner than Burke, much sooner, because Tom would be waiting at the house, ready to modify the House Elf's memory, and to steal the locket and cup. He would then go back to Borgin and Burke's shop one more time, and put his curse on Borgin, shortly after modifying his memory too. The effects of Tom's Imperius Curse would stay on Borgin for at least a month, until the Ministry –

A cough interrupted Tom's thoughts. His eyes began taking in what they were seeing again, and he heard that the cough had sounded from a little to his left. When he turned, he saw an old tramp bending forwards as he wheezed and gasped in the cold November chill, sitting upon some blankets and coats on the ground. Tom was standing still, staring. The tramp was a Muggle, evident by the Muggle-brand bottles of alcohol near him, by the way he dressed, and by the fact that he was homeless.

Other, Muggle, towns surrounded the little village where Hepzibah lived, and after a moment, Tom realized that he must have wandered into one of them. The Muggle tramp continued wheezing and coughing, while Tom stood where he was. The street they stood upon was empty. There was a long and tall brick wall behind the Muggle. They were in a sort of alley, overlooked by neither doors nor windows. Wind rustled along the pavement, blowing leaves and trash around. The Muggle stopped coughing, and still Tom stared.

The tramp looked up, blatantly surprised that Tom was still here. It appeared as if he wanted to ask Tom for money, but after a moment of eye contact, something put him off the idea. There was a pause, before Tom noticed that the tramp distrusted the way he looked at him. Tom enjoyed his distrust, his fear. The sun had set, and the sky was a blackening shade of navy blue. Here sat a Muggle, the lowest in terms of all Muggle positions. A tramp. These were the beings that Tom's mother was so fond to be united with, and look where she had ended up because of that… because of them.

The tramp averted his eyes from Tom now, appearing very uneasy about him standing in this dark alleyway, just staring. Anger continued to pulse though Tom. This Muggle caused him to remember his past, his days at the orphanage. It enraged him when he thought about the orphanage. All those years of suffering with inadequate and idiotic Muggles, who had never understood him, and who were inferior to him, as he had always known. He had hated everyone there, and he still did now. He hated all Muggles, in fact, for everything they had done wrong to wizardkind, and to him personally.

It was not the fact that wizards had to live in constant fear that annoyed Tom. No, his hate was far beyond that. It was the fact that they were simply less powerful than wizards, less able and less intelligent. They had ruined half of Tom's life, and evidently the life of his mother, as foolish as she may have been. Tom's hate went past resentment, past abhor, and past loathing. He never wanted to speak to another Muggle again, never wanted to hear about their bland lives, to remember his suffering, or to do anything but spread hate towards them amongst fellow Wizards. They had caused only the most terrible parts of Tom's life. They were worthless vermin.

Tom's hands seemed to move on their own as he withdrew his wand. Adrenalin was pumping through his veins, and he conjured a knife. The Muggle tramp couldn't see what he was doing at first, but one look into Tom's eyes told him it wasn't anything good. He appeared close to shouting something out, but it was too late. With a flash of silver, the knife within Tom's hand dug a sizable gash into the Muggle's flesh. With another slash of his knife, a second gash appeared, this time deeper. Tom raised his knife again, and again, and again, until the Muggle was positively screaming in agony. There was no one to hear him as Tom waved his wand, to stop his struggling without touching him. Tom raised his wand again, and put the knife aside as he preformed the Cruciatus Curse, wanting the Muggle to see and experience magic, and wanting the effects of the curse to dig into all of his injuries, for the fullest effect… It was the only way he could abandon his loathing.


	37. Moral Uncertainty

It was around five forty-five in the evening as Harry sat in the living room of his and Tom's flat, staring down at a book in his hands. His eyes were not moving across the pages, for he couldn't truly get into the volume, even if it talked about magic that was pretty interesting. Harry's mind was too distracted by the fact that Tom was late. Tom was never late – and Harry didn't think of this in the sense that Tom was 'never _usually_ late' or '_rarely_ ever late', either. It was simply that it was not in Tom's nature to do something unusual one day, not without cause…

Yet Tom had said, "I may be a bit late upon coming home," Harry reminded himself. It had only been forty minutes more than usual, so maybe Harry was worrying too much… Harry didn't feel this was enough to rid his unease. He couldn't stop thinking about the fact that Tom was with Hepzibah Smith. When Harry had first heard her name mentioned by Tom, he had felt anxiety pour through him. Every time Harry thought of her again, that anxiety returned, and today it was especially prominent.

As Harry read, his mind kept reminding him of the memory he had seen with Dumbledore, concerning Hepzibah, the cup, and locket, and Tom. What was unusual about the memory coming to mind today was his brain was playing the memory in order of what had happened when. Harry could almost quote the exact words Hepzibah and Tom had exchanged, and that wasn't to do with the dreams that had haunted him concerning this scene, he was sure. There was even a point where Harry felt he had seen the cup being held before his very eyes, as Tom might have seen it. But when he blinked, he was staring back down at the ink written on paper from his volume. Even more strongly, the locket had appeared, again from the angle Tom might have seen it at, and Harry's vision of it had been so strong that he was sure he could have drawn an exact picture of it. It was strange, and he tried to ignore the fact that it happened.

Harry knew he must have just been worrying too much, as he sat in this empty flat. Without much thought, he slowly closed the book in his hands. There was a minute of silence. He wanted something to distract him, but there was nothing to do here but read, or spend time with Tom. Harry was waiting for something… perhaps just for Tom to return home soon. He felt empty. He couldn't see how, considering he was worrying only a moment ago. His mind was blank, and he sat at the edge of his seat, staring into space. Somehow, he couldn't shake away the feeling that this was the beginning of an event like a tsunami. Water was receding out to see, leaving the shores bare of water…

After a moment, Harry stood up, and made his way towards the kitchen. He felt oddly detached from his own body. When in the kitchen, Harry stood for a minute, unsure what he wanted to do next. He was neither thirsty nor hungry. He examined the tiles of the floor as he rested against the counter top. A few minutes passed in silence, as he waited for thought. There was something wrong. This fact or idea stayed in his head for a moment. It caused him anxiety, for perhaps no reason. Harry remained where he was, until he felt he was getting nowhere with standing, just waiting.

He poured himself a glass of water, placing the glass upon the counter top after drinking very little of it. The sky was pitch black outside, and the lights in this flat were dim to say the least. Harry sighed. He didn't know what was wrong with himself today. It was past six O'clock now, and still Tom was not home. Harry walked back into the front room, planning on picking up another book. There were a few upon one of the bookshelves that were of particular interest to him. He was walking past the couch and chairs, heading for the shelf, when it happened.

With the feeling like a white-hot knife being dug into his skull, Harry felt his scar burn. He hadn't expected this in the least, and the pain blinded him, causing him to yell in agony as he clutched at his head, trying to stop the torture. He was standing before the dark figure of a man lying on the ground. Unable to run away from this alleyway, the man withered and twisted on the floor, desperately trying to get away from the blade of the knife in Harry's hand. All Harry could feel was pure loathing spreading through his body; elation on the act of cutting deep gashed in the man his only relief.

The sliced and bleeding face of the man could be seen through Harry's eyes, and at the shock of viewing it, Harry suddenly returned to the present, as if he had woken up from a dream. Except his scar was still hurting. Harry was lying on the floor, his hands clinging to his head as he pressed his eyes closed tightly. It was pain beyond belief. Harry stopped himself from yelling, even if he knew the neighbours wouldn't hear him anyway. Very slowly, and almost unnoticeably, the pain began to fade away. But Harry remained on the floor for perhaps minutes, until it was bearable enough for him to stand.

He felt dizzy, to no surprise, and his scar still throbbed as though it was burnt. He didn't know what had just happened, and he was now more confused than ever. Who had that man been? Why had Harry just seen him, and attacked him as if he were really there? And most importantly, why had Harry's scar hurt in the first place? Harry's heart was beating quickly, and the aching from his scar was disrupting his thoughts. He knew that there could only be one answer to all of this, yet he was hesitant to contemplate it. He had only ever felt something like this before when the connection between Voldemort and himself allowed him to see into the Dark Wizard's mind…

But that was impossible now, surely. There was only Tom around, and there was no immediate connection between them… unless having the same shred of soul within them caused Harry to be connected to Tom just as much as when he was the missing piece, for Voldemort. Maybe this fact made them even more connected, somehow. But Harry knew his own attraction towards Tom went past souls. That was merely an addition. He had never expected his scar to still react this way, even if Tom got angry enough to somehow cause a connection again… or to make a previous connection known. But Tom was with Hepzibah Smith, and Hepzibah hadn't been in Harry's vision.

Tom could have been lying about visiting Hepzibah, Harry thought. But why would he lie, and where would he be, if not at Hepzibah's house? Would he have left to go and kill that man? Harry didn't believe so, somehow, yet by denying it he felt more confused. Tom was only going to kill Hepzibah Smith… History told Harry so. Dumbledore had suggested so. Harry winced a little, his face suddenly displaying disapproval. Dumbledore had said, promised, and suggested a lot of things…

Harry was standing in the middle of the front room while he thought. He was very confused now. Maybe all of that had just been a part of his imagination… Yet if all of that had been a part of his imagination, Harry didn't think he'd be working at the Daily Prophet, editing simple newspaper articles. He'd probably be stuck in a hospital, on second thought. It was a quarter past six. Tom was over an hour late now. Harry remained standing where he was, too shocked to do anything else for a further ten minutes. He then sat down. It seemed to take hours for another ten minutes to pass.

It was after this when Tom arrived home. Harry glanced around as soon as he heard the door opening, and he stood up when he saw Tom come inside. The small half-room that made up the entrance to their flat, separated from the front room only by an archway, was poorly lit. Tom did not dwell within the entrance after throwing his cloak to the side, however. Harry smiled when he saw Tom, relieved and nervous that he was back. When Tom stepped into the light, Harry's smile faltered.

Tom was covered in blood.

All of Harry's fears, all of the things he dreaded most, came flooding back to him in an instant. Tom had killed someone. Harry stared at the taller Slytherin from across the room, his face pale, drained of all colour. Tom's eyes met his for only a second, before he turned towards their bedroom. Harry followed him, watching as he headed straight into the bathroom, leaving the door open.

Neither of them spoke as Harry watched Tom. He took off his suit jacket, and threw it to the ground, leaning over the sink with his hands on either side of it, his head bowed. Harry's heart was hammering, and he felt sick. His scar was still prickling. Tom's white shirt was bloodstained all over, but Tom did not seem to notice this as he rested with his eyes closed. Harry wanted Tom to say something, anything, as he struggled with his own voice, but Tom was mute.

Harry was standing behind the Heir of Slytherin, distanced from him in this small room, and nearly resting against the wall behind him. Harry couldn't guess what had happened to Tom tonight. He couldn't fathom how anything happening was possible. He stared at Tom's back, trying to work it out. "What happened to you?" he asked after a time, his voice shaking slightly.

Tom made no answer.

Harry then thought of where Tom had gone this evening. He wondered if maybe his mental images of the locket and cup had been real, to some extent. "Was this something to do with Hepzibah Smith?"

Tom's knuckles whitened against the sink, but still he did not speak, did not look up.

"What happened with her?" Harry asked quickly, encouraged with this slight reaction from Tom. "Why are you covered in blood?"

It felt like Harry was speaking to a brick wall, as Tom remained where he was.

"Who did you murder?" Harry asked quietly. "Was it for Horcruxes?"

There was a pause, before Harry realised that Tom had begun shaking. Harry watched him, thinking this was happening in fear or anger, but he was wrong. Tom was laughing. It started slowly, but quickly escalated into the sounds of hysterics. Tom's voice echoed around the bathroom, ringing in Harry's ears, as he remained clutching to the sink, his head still bowed. When his laughter subsided, over a minute seemed to have passed.

"Of course it was for Horcruxes," Tom breathed, a smile still audible in his voice.

"Who did you kill?" Harry inquired, not truly knowing whether he wanted to hear the answer to this.

"A Muggle," Tom replied without hesitation. "A tramp."

Harry felt nauseated. His heart was pounding. It terrified him to hear how calmly Tom spoke these words, how carelessly. "Why did you kill him?"

Tom laughed again, less severely than before, and turned around to face Harry. "Why not?"

Harry was terrified and confused with everything, especially the look upon Tom's face now, the face he loved so much. Tom was smiling the creepy smile Harry disliked. His eyes were wide and alert with a mad happiness that Harry had never seen in anyone else. Tom was psychotic, confident that Harry would feel the same amusement and satisfaction that he felt from the murder he had committed. Tom's smile only widened with Harry's silence, so perhaps he mistook Harry's expression of confusion for awe.

"The Muggle was inconvenient," Tom said, "and as filthy as can be. I'm glad I had the chance to rid him of this earth… glad I put him in his place."

Harry stared at Tom in concern and disbelief. "What did he ever do to you?"

Tom laughed once more. "It was more the fact that he was there at the wrong time."

His smile faltered after a few seconds, and his eyes moved away from Harry's. This was in anger rather than regret. "What happened at Hepzibah's house?" Harry asked. He still didn't work out the whole story behind what had happened.

"It was all rather sudden…" Tom replied. After a moment he walked towards Harry, past the doorway, and into their bedroom. He was running his fingers through his hair, and he appeared tense, until his smile returned, and he faced Harry again. "I found it."

Harry was standing just past the bathroom door. "Found what?"

"The locket," Tom replied. He appeared feverish, deranged. "Slytherin's Locket. My uncle spoke of it, as I told you once. She had it, at her house… as well as a Trophy made by Hufflepuff."

"So you killed her for it?" Harry asked. He hoped that Tom hadn't killed Hepzibah, or wasn't planning to until two days from now, like Dumbledore had told him after showing him the memory so many years ago.

"No," Tom replied, "but I'm going to." He said these words so simply that Harry realised Tom must have honestly believed that he would think of all of this as a success, a triumph.

This was perhaps why Tom didn't try to hide it from him, Harry thought. Tom could have composed himself before returning to the flat, cleaning himself of the Muggle's blood and acting as though nothing unusual had happened. Harry found this idea even more frightening than the sight of Tom covered in another man's flesh and blood, laughing hysterically. He was almost glad that Tom hadn't concealed the truth. It meant Tom trusted him with accepting what he had done, and that was… Well, Harry couldn't say that was better, exactly.

"When are you going to kill her?" Harry inquired, trying to stop his voice from shaking. Tom was standing past their bed, and on the complete opposite side of the room.

"As soon as I can," Tom responded. He appeared neither frightened nor annoyed with this idea. He was just stating facts. "I'm going to kill Hepzibah first, using –"

"First?" Harry repeated, genuinely shocked by this comment.

A smile broke across Tom's face, this time to merely bare his teeth. There was no humour behind it. "It turned out that Burke was a part of this too…"

"A part of what?"

"He bought the locket from my mother," Tom said, nearly through gritted teeth. One of his hands curled into a fist as he stared into space. He began walking again, pacing. "He bought it when she was pregnant with me, no doubt. I don't know how much he bought it for, but it evidently wasn't a fortune… It was never his to take, and he's going to pay for his thoughtlessness now."

Harry was bewildered, caught between fear of Tom's plans to murder more than one person, and curiosity at the sudden thought of whether Burke deserved it or not… Harry remembered seeing the memory of Burke, hearing him say how he bought the locket for a mere ten Galleons. Burke had known only too well that Merope was pregnant, and on the verge of death… Harry shook the thought away, unable to decide on anything. "You can't just go around killing all these people, Tom!"

"They deserve it," Tom stated, "and I have the perfect plans to murder all of them. Hepzibah and Burke will die in the same way. I'll use Hepzibah's House Elf for the first murder. Using the Imperius Curse, I'll force the Elf to slip poison in Hepzibah's tea. I'll be at her home, waiting for her to die, and when she does, I'll modify the elf's memory, and it will admit to the Ministry that it remembered putting poison in Hepzibah's tea. The Elf is so old, it would be no wonder if something like this happened."

Harry felt sick as Tom paced the room, evidently finding enjoyment, finding support in speaking this ideas aloud. Harry hated how Tom referred to the House Elf as an 'it', how he knew exactly how to leave evidence lying around, and how he had planned all of this so quickly, a mere two hours after seeing Hepzibah, at most.

"Borgin will kill Burke," Tom announced. "Borgin will be driven mad by the murder, not knowing why he had done it… I'll modify his memory too, so he forgets that I was there, and forgets how the Imperius Curse feels. The Curse will be put on him for around a month, until after Hepzibah's murder is looked into, when they realize that I'm long gone. As soon as I am reported missing, Borgin will commit the murder. The Ministry will care about this story more than the idea that I am gone. They will think that Borgin and Burke had something to do with Hepzibah's murder. Borgin will be left to talk his way out of Azkaban, as messy as his murder may have been…"

It was like Tom was planning nothing greater than a play, was becoming enthusiastic from nothing more than the idea of his actors creating the most convincing drama the world will ever see. Even if he himself could only watch from behind the stage when the crowds viewed his work, he would be satisfied by the thought of the show, and by hearing people's reactions to it. All of this was too easy for him. It was too satisfyingly and hilariously simple, yet very effective. It came naturally for him, and this terrified Harry. He stared at Tom with continued concern.

"We will be miles away when this happens," Tom remarked, perhaps trying to reassure Harry, noticing his loss for words. He walked forwards, grinning. "Together we will flee the country – and go to Albania, perhaps. There are many dark witches and wizards there who could teach us great things, and who would leave us alone when we aren't visiting."

Tom was standing close to Harry now, gazing down at him. He smiled as Harry looked at him, and his smile refreshed itself before he spoke. "We will see many glorious things, concerning the Dark Arts or not concerning them, when we run away together," Tom said, standing closer than ever. "We can move away from dreary England, and away from this tedious interlude in our life."

Harry paused for a moment, staring into Tom's dark grey eyes. The putrid smell of blood was stronger when Tom was closer to Harry, and Harry suddenly couldn't believe that Tom looked ready to kiss him any second. "Is this turning you on?" He asked in disbelief, glaring at Tom.

Tom's lips twitched at Harry's comment and glare. "No, but you are," he replied.

"You're covered in blood, back home from murdering a Muggle tramp for no reason!" Harry exclaimed. He felt suddenly angry, as opposed to fearful and disoriented. He looked at Tom, ready to argue with him as Tom's smile slipped away, and he took in Harry's observation.

There was a pause where Harry felt as though Tom's OCD was returning. Tom looked down at his hands, which were stained crimson. Before Harry knew it, Tom was pulling at his bloodstained and dirty shirt, taking it off as quickly as he could. Tom headed for the bathroom as he did this. Harry wondered whether Tom would finally see what was wrong with all of this as he ran the tap in the sink, and splashed water on his face. Was the weight of his murder hitting him yet, Harry wondered?

Unsatisfied with the sink, Tom began taking off the rest of his clothes to take a shower. Harry remained outside the bathroom, and headed for their bed. He sat on its edge, putting his face in his hands. Harry didn't know what he was going to do about this. He hated that this was all happening so soon. He didn't want it to… he just wanted to stay where he was with Tom forever. Harry could imagine Tom in the shower now, causing the water to run red. He could image Tom stopping in the street to murder that Muggle, just because he was there. Harry supposed he had walked from Hepzibah's house in shock, trying to think things over. As Harry's palms pressed against his eyes, he could see the knife digging into the Muggle's flesh…

Harry put his head up, and opened his eyes. He stared at the sink in the bathroom, the only thing visible from this angle. Harry didn't know what he was doing. This fact struck him very fast, and he remained staring at the sink, realizing that he had been procrastinating. When he thought about Hepzibah Smith showing Tom the locket and cup, he had been sure that he could convince Tom out of murdering her. But Tom had murdered someone else before he could accomplish this. Tom's mind was now set upon two more victims, and Harry hadn't been able to say a word against it before the plotting was done. The thing that Harry wondered, as he sat upon this bed, staring into space, was had he planned to do anything to stop Tom, really?

Tom had finished his shower, Harry heard. Had Harry ever wanted to stop Tom from becoming Voldemort, Harry wondered? Had he known deep down that Tom was already broken, already a dark wizard even before he and Harry met, and created a bond? Tom had murdered his father and grandparents, and Harry had known this all along. Tom walked past to find clean robes, but Harry didn't look at him. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Nothing he could say would stop Tom going after Hepzibah Smith and Caractacus Burke, just like with Emeric… even if Emeric hadn't died. Nothing he could do will change the fact that Tom had killed someone tonight.

Harry remained where he was as Tom put on robes behind him. He wondered what Tom was thinking about. Was Tom worrying about the discovery of the Muggle tramp's body, perhaps? Or about the Ministry looking into it when magic was found to be the cause? Tom had doubtlessly used magic, after the knife. Harry wondered why he had used a knife at all, before he decided that he didn't care to know. Or was Tom planning their escape from the country at this time? Harry closed his eyes. Tom began speaking.

"We'll leave in two days," he said. "The night we kill Hepzibah. I want the locket and cup in my possession mere hours before we reach Albania… We'll go by Apparition mostly. It will be days after we leave before anyone from work sees we're gone. We'll leave this apartment without–"

"I'm not going," Harry interrupted quietly. He had succeeded in withholding most of the strain in his voice as he sat, still not looking at Tom.

There was a pause, where Tom might have been staring at the back of Harry's head. "We can't stay here," Tom said. "Not in this house, not in this country. Even if the Ministry doesn't suspect us of anything, there's the risk of Dumbledore and Borgin working something out concerning all of these coincidences and connections."

"No," Harry said, standing up. He turned to face Tom, their bed between them. "You can go where you want, and you can run from whoever might suspect you of your murders, but I'm not going with you."

At this, Tom appeared changed. There was no smile left upon his lips, and no anger or wild satisfaction at the memory of his murder within his eyes. He looked as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing, as though he felt Harry might be playing some cruel joke. Most of all, he looked the same way he had a few months ago, when he had inquired the reason behind Harry not making a Horcrux. It now appeared that Tom's fear had been right. Harry didn't want to spend the rest of forever with Tom.

"Why not?" Tom asked, as though he hoped there could be a double meaning he was blind too recognise in his bewilderment.

Harry looked away from Tom, not wanting to see his face. "I… I can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what?" Tom asked quietly.

"I can't live with the knowledge that you murder people for your own benefit," Harry replied, staring at the ground as he attempted to sound calm and tranquil. His attempt was unsuccessful. "I thought that maybe you would stop doing it, would evaluate the situation with help from me and realise that what you're doing is wrong, but… it's too late."

Harry should have listened to Dumbledore when he said that Tom was a psychopath. He should have done something about it then, yet like now, Harry wasn't at all prepared to do anything. Harry was only managing to say these things to Tom now because the idea of three murders, and not one, was scaring him. There was a silence in the room as Tom thought, and Harry stared at the floor.

"I won't let you go," Tom said.

"You can't make me stay," Harry replied almost angrily, without hesitation. He glared at Tom for a moment, not hiding his desolation very well. He dropped his gaze again, his voice quieter when he continued. "I know all of your tricks… I'm too strong for you to keep via force."

Tom seemed to know this was true, and he was silent for a moment. "You've accepted what I've done in the past," he began, his voice suggesting that he was confused. "We've talked about it a hundred times, and about the murders you've seen. You…"

Tom broke off, and didn't seem to know what to say. Harry stood in anticipation; sure that Tom would finish this sentence. He thought that Tom always knew what to reassure people, what to remind them of, and what to con them into thinking. It was what Tom was good at, and what he was apparently programmed to do. But here he was speechless. Harry lifted his eyes slowly to meet Tom's; to be sure there wasn't another reason for his discontinued sentence. Tom was gazing at him as though he knew this would be the last time he would see him.

There was sorrow in Tom's eyes, and Harry was sure that he mistook this at first glance. A few moments passed, and Tom remained the same. Harry realized now that Tom's expression was merely a more prominent version of the expression he had worn when he asked Harry if he didn't want to live with him forever. There were no tears in Tom's eyes, but he appeared unsure with what was happening, as anguish could be seen clearly upon him.

Harry was overwhelmed that Tom was not gazing at him with resentment, anger, obsession, or mere impassiveness. Tom's expression was mirroring his own in many ways, and Harry felt a stronger wave of misery than ever before. He couldn't help but think of the agony both he and Tom would feel if Harry left. And where would Harry go? There was no one else in the world left for him besides Tom. Harry had placed all the trust and attachment that he had had left within Tom… Harry didn't know what he would do without him, and he didn't know what to feel, as Tom remained gazing at him, unable, like him, to say a word.

Before Harry knew what he was doing, he was walking towards Tom. He kissed him, their lips pressing together as they stood in a passionate embrace. Harry's body was alive with the feeling of Tom beneath his hands, and pressed close to him. His fingers were running through Tom's hair, and they remained there even as Harry pulled away from the kiss to merely hug Tom. His closed his eyes, holding Tom. Sorrow tore through him, affecting his entire body. His heart ached as his eyes burned… all be wanted to do was stay in the arms of his lover.

Harry wasn't sure how long they stood there for. His face was buried in Tom's shoulder, and he didn't want to think. He just wanted to feel, even if that hurt. Yet thoughts of what options Harry had invaded such a wish. There was no way he could change Tom, and he wasn't going to try such a hopeless endeavour. He didn't know what else he could do. He didn't know whether there was anything else he could do.

Tom finally spoke, after what felt like both a very long time, and no time at all. His voice was quiet, as Harry had expected, but not strained with any emotion. He merely spoke calmly, as he rested with his head against Harry's. "You're the only person I have… the only person I've ever cared about."

Harry remained with his eyes closed, listening to Tom's voice so close to him. After a moment of Harry not saying a word, Tom pulled away from their embrace. Grey eyes met green, and they gazed at each other for a moment, Tom's hands falling away from Harry. He hesitated for a moment. "There's no one to stop either of us, Harry," Tom assured him quietly. "No one to tell us we're doing something morally wrong, as we seek revenge upon those who have made our lives the way they are. We've no one but each other…"

Harry was curious as to why Tom had said this. It made him think of the people he had lost, perhaps as Tom had intended. Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to think in relation to them now. They would want him to leave Tom, and run away to Dumbledore, or something. Harry hated this idea greatly, and he pushed it out of his head. The dead might also suggest for Harry to live on his own, but to do what? Wait fifty years, until he could do something about the Battle of Hogwarts? Train in the light arts until then? Live alone, and become maddened in his solitude, thinking about Tom?

"You told me you would kill Grindelwald if you could," Tom remarked. "For revenge, you seemed to understand the urge to murder."

"For revenge," Harry repeated quietly. "You killed a man tonight for nothing more than amusement."

"I killed a man tonight because he reminded me of my past, and interrupted thoughts of my mother, how little she was paid for an heirloom of Slytherin's, and how she wasn't able to survive after selling it, when she could have lived to a decent age, and not died in a Muggle orphanage at the birth of me." Tom said these words without the faintest trace of sorrow left. He merely appeared angry at the thought.

Harry couldn't help but think this was somewhat rational, but he didn't voice this yet. Two more planned murders was a lot for Harry to take in… but Harry thought back to some of the stories Tom had told him about the orphanage. There were stories from that hadn't even been caused by Tom, which sickened Harry, and scarred him. Harry wasn't sure whether many of the orphans left that building with perfectly sane mentalities…

Many people sought revenge upon others when learning how they had effected their past. The people who didn't seek revenge, who didn't find some form of relief, normally found some way to kill themselves, generally very slowly. By drinking oneself to death, while regretting the past, or by lying to oneself and putting on a lovely show for the rest of the world to see, few people could get over anger and resentment. This was not to say that murder was the best option – in fact, murder was the worst thing one could do, for oneself, as well as others. But Tom had had reason, even if he had made terrible mistakes…

"Why are you scared of this now?" Tom asked quietly.

"I was always scared of it," Harry responded.

Tom didn't seem surprised by this, merely confused. "I don't see why. I'm never going to affect or hurt you when I murder."

Harry contemplated this. He didn't know what to reply.

"I'm never going to hurt you," Tom repeated, "and we will neither be caught with this nor scarred by it. I don't understand why you hate it so much."

"Because it's murder!" Harry suddenly exclaimed. "It's wrong!"

"Murder being wrong is a mere popular belief," Tom said. Harry stared at him in worry, but didn't interrupt. "What Burke did to my mother was wrong, and ended in death, but was that severe enough to get him a cell in Azkaban? The Ministry murders wizards all of the time for committing crimes… am I not allowed to do the same thing? Most people believe that murder is a bad thing, even as they sit and watch a wizard being executed for murder in the first place. Hypocrisy is sweet on the tongues of those who do not wish to speak the blatant truth. Those too weak to seek revenge will fool themselves that the Ministry is seeking it for them, and the rest of the country, yet they are wrong to think this."

Harry looked up at Tom, and didn't know what to think. He was unprepared to face the fact that he felt Tom's every word was reasoned. Tom was powerful enough to look after himself no matter what happened with the Ministry or other people… No one would go hunting Tom for murdering the Muggle tramp, Hepzibah, or Burke. Tom would leave too much evidence for the murders of Hepzibah and Burke for the ministry to bother looking further. What was more, Hepzibah and Burke were indeed two of many people who made Tom what he was. Voldemort, a murderer…

"The world is a corrupt and damaged place," Tom said quietly. He moved a little closer forwards Harry. "Little or nothing can fix it. But I believe I can improve it."

"Through murder?"

"Through research," Tom affirmed. "Murder is merely for my own gain."

Harry didn't comment upon this. When he dropped his gaze, thinking, Tom took his hand. "Please come with me to Albania," he pleaded, taking his other hand to caress Harry's jaw.

"I don't know, Tom…"

"Won't you agree that what I have to say is rational, in some small way?" Tom asked.

Harry was hesitant to reply the truth, even as he gazed into Tom's eyes. But he didn't want to lie, and the truth was for once an easier option. "I can understand where you're coming from in some ways, but…"

Harry couldn't find an ending to this.

"You don't have to think about the murder," Tom said. "I could do it all myself before we go and –"

"No," Harry said. Tom looked at him, surprised with his interruption. He seemed to be wondering whether Harry was about to say he wasn't going again. "I want to come with you."

"You don't have to," Tom said.

"I want to," Harry responded. "I want to see that you're not just ruthlessly killing people."

Tom gave a weak smile, which faded away after only a few seconds. "If that's what you want, we shall go together…" He continued touching Harry's face, holding his hand. He leant in to kiss Harry softly. "I love you, Harry."

"I love you too," Harry replied, but he didn't prolong the kiss. He instead stood for a moment, thinking. He very much liked the idea of running away to Albania with Tom… but he felt there was still something left to say. "I'm not going to murder anyone, though," he stated the second the thought arrived in his head.

"Of course," Tom replied. His eyes fell to Harry's lips. "You won't have to murder anyone."

Harry wanted to say something about Horcruxes, but he thought better of it. He knew he would have to do a lot of thinking soon, but for now he didn't know where to begin. All he knew was that he wanted to be with Tom… no matter what. He kissed Tom, allowing himself to get lost in the feeling of their embrace yet again.


	38. Away With Murder

The small wizarding village where Hepzibah Smith resided was almost completely obscured by darkness on this cold November evening. The sound of footsteps echoed against the small, humble houses, which were evenly spaced along the winding road where Harry and Tom walked. Their pace was even, yet conversation was absent. They held nothing in their hands besides their wands, as a precaution. Their trunks had been left at home, for they wouldn't be leaving the country just yet.

Hepzibah's home was prominent amongst all others for it's height and lavishness as Harry and Tom edged closer to it through the darkness. Only a few ignited torches and fires could be seen within it, on the ground floor of the four-storied building. This meant that Hepzibah hadn't gone to bed yet, despite it being close to midnight. Harry and Tom reached the gate at the front of Hepzibah's house, and stopped before it. Tom turned to face Harry, his face barely visible in this dim lighting. "Are you sure you want to join me in this?"

"Yes," Harry replied instantly, surveying Tom's shadowed face.

"You could wait here," Tom suggested, "I'd be done in less than–"

"I'm not waiting outside," Harry stated forcibly, turning away from Tom.

He stared ahead of them, into the tall windows of the house, which displayed a collection of valuable objects crammed beneath high ceilings. Harry wanted to add something else, but he couldn't think what. He wanted to remind Tom again that he was only doing this to make sure he, Tom, wasn't merciless with his murders, yet he knew Tom was already aware of this fact. He would be repeating himself, running in circles…

"It'll rise suspicion if I'm caught standing here alone," Harry said quietly, "and being there with you won't make me the murderer…"

Tom strode forwards after giving no reply to this, and Harry caught a glimpse of his face as he passed. He seemed to be smiling, which surprised Harry, but he couldn't be sure if he had actually seen this in the darkness. Tom raised his wand, and began performing counter-curses to the enchantments placed upon the tall gate in front of them, which kept Hepzibah's house safe from trespassers. It didn't seem very difficult for Tom to break in, as he mumbled long incantations that he knew by heart. Harry knew that Tom was remembering which spells they would have to put up again before they left, and concentrating on making as little noise as possible with each barrier that shattered.

Harry would have offered his help in the task of breaking in, but after only a minute of waiting, his guess that no help was needed was proven right. Tom lowered his wand, and muttered _'Avis'_, conjuring a flock of small, chirping birds. The birds began flying in every direction, many of them making it through and over the wrought iron gate. Tom took this as a sign that his work was done, and he tapped the lock upon the door, pushing the gateway open.

They walked across a long gravel path and towards the front door, making as little noise as they could manage. Tom took another minute to unlock the front door, and Harry waited a few steps behind him, withdrawing the invisibility cloak. When Tom was done, a soft _click_ sounded, and they both stood for a moment, patiently making sure that no one within the house had heard this. Harry moved a little closer, ready to enter the house with Tom. His heart was beating quickly, but he knew nothing could go wrong tonight…

Tom turned to face Harry, one hand on the door, which now stood ajar. They gazed at each other, their faces easier to see from the light that poured from the window to their right, about five meters away. To Harry's surprise, Tom planted a kiss on his lips, lingering at the touch. Harry couldn't say that he was opposed to such a gesture, exactly, but he disliked how his heart now beat in elation instead of apprehension, doubtlessly as Tom's did. Harry looked at Tom once he pulled away, wondering why he had kissed him in the first place. Harry guessed from Tom's expression that this was just his way of saying that no matter what happened his love would remain. Harry had a feeling that this wasn't related to the question of what would happen if they got caught for the murder, however…

They turned to face the house gradually, their eyes travelling across the hallway as the door swung open. Tom walked in, closing the door behind them when Harry followed, pulling the invisibility cloak out of his pocket. He began draping the cloak around Tom and himself, and it just about covered them – better than Harry had with Ron and Hermione, anyway. Harry pushed memories of his old friends out of his mind as he and Tom crept along the entrance hall. The sound of music could be heard coming from a room to their left, and Harry's eyes scanned that side of the house as they passed a few rooms. Tom, however, led them to the right. In the distance, the sound of dishes clattering could be heard.

Hokey was working when Harry and Tom made it along the corridor, and into the kitchen. As dishes cleaned themselves in the sink, and Hokey busied herself with putting away all of the clean and dried ones, a kettle was boiling on the stove. Everything here almost seemed to be waiting for Tom to say the simple incantation that would cause Hokey to make one wrong move in preparing Hepzibah's tea… Harry and Tom were standing slightly past the doorway, and Hokey wouldn't have heard their footsteps even if Tom hadn't muffled them with magic.

Harry felt Tom stirring, and he watched Tom withdraw a small glass container, no bigger than a matchbox, full of white powder. This was the poison, of course. It appeared to be so easy for Tom to raise his wand, and whisper _'Imperio'_. There was no flash of light; instead it merely appeared as though a current of air had somehow made its way into the kitchen. When the Imperius Curse hit Hokey, she remained where she was, putting away the last of the dishes, and holding a teacup and saucer in her hands. Her eyes became unfocused, and she stared into space, under Tom's complete control.

The kettle began to boil, and Hokey's attention was drawn to it, on Tom's command. With a levitating charm, Tom placed the poison on the counter top, ready for Hokey when she turned back, kettle in hand, to the teacup, sugar, milk, and tea, which rested on the table. Harry watched as she began to make the tea, putting all of the normal ingredients first. She seemed to do all of this rather slowly, yet Harry was sure this was due to her old age, rather than his own unease. Hokey took a teaspoon in her hand, and began adding sugar. She then opened the poison.

It seemed effortless, and almost elegant, as Hokey poured teaspoon after teaspoon of poison into her mistress's tea. Her eyes were staring in the general direction of the teacup dreamily, her mind empty and waiting to hear Tom's next command. She couldn't possibly know that this seemingly innocent act would render her homeless, and more alone than ever. Harry stared as she picked up the tea, one hand on the saucer, the other on the handle, all ready for her mistress.

Harry and Tom followed her out of the kitchen, and into the living room, where music was no longer playing. Hepzibah was sitting on a couch by the fire, staring into space idly. She smiled when she heard the house enter the room. It escaped her notice that the House-Elf's eyes were blank as she looked down at Hokey, and sat up a little straighter. "What took you so long?" Hepzibah demanded. "The record has been off for over a minute!"

Harry's eyes fell upon a gramophone that rested to Hepzibah's far left. The record upon it was still, but Harry knew it wouldn't take anything more than a simple spell and a flick of her wand for Hepzibah to change the record herself. He wondered if maybe she took pride in having her House-Elf do everything for her, for she even waited for Hokey to bring her the tea without her having to reach it in any slight way. She was the evident queen of her own home.

"Play another Warbeck, won't you Hokey?" Hepzibah asked.

Hokey followed her order, or perhaps Tom's, and headed for the gramophone. She was so small that Harry was unsure for a moment whether she could reach the record. Yet his attention was brought back to Hepzibah before he could see Hokey using magic to begin the music. Hepzibah held the teacup and saucer above her lap, and leaned in with the cup's delicate handle around her stubble little fingers.

The record began playing, and a deep male voice sang harmoniously. Hepzibah's lips pressed against the glass, and she drank. Harry and Tom stood, transfixed, as Hepzibah lowered her cup, taking in the warm tea. Hokey stood in the corner, facing her mistress beside the gramophone. Hepzibah raised her glass again, but blinked many times after taking another long sip. She appeared to know that something was off this time, and she frowned, looking at nothing while taking another, shorter, sip.

"Hokey," Hepzibah said, her voice only just audible over the music as she turned to face her elf, "take this away, it seems as though you –… as though…"

Her voice faltered, and Harry knew the poison was working. Her breath began to shorten, and her grip on the teacup loosened. The glass crashed to the floor, and spilt upon the carpet as she brought her hands to her face and neck, coughing and gasping for breath as though she thought this would rid the suffocating feeling. Harry stood in awe, watching her. She withered and tried to call out as she slid towards the edge of her seat. The sickening sight mesmerized Harry, before he felt Tom move besides him.

Tom got out from under the invisibility cloak, and walked across the room. Hepzibah appeared shocked and confused when she saw Tom, and she fell off of her seat. She was struggling and panicking as she lay on the floor, and Harry wondered whether Tom wanted to make sure she knew who the criminal was as he walked closer. It appeared as though Hepzibah wasn't too stupid, after all, to not realise that Tom had done this. Her glazed eyes were fixed upon him, and she stared in fear, trying to either plead for help or scream.

Harry took off the invisibility cloak, knowing it was no use now. Hepzibah was unable to make a sound beyond her choking. Harry looked up at Tom's face, standing besides him, above Hepzibah's fidgeting body. Tom appeared neither amused nor loathsome as he gazed down at Hepzibah, and Harry wasn't sure whether this was a good thing. Tom stared with only soft curiosity, as if he wondered what the afterlife would be like for Hepzibah. There was an inner hate that could be seen through his eyes, but Harry knew he didn't loath Hepzibah for what she had done, he merely loathed his own suffering…

Yet Tom certainly looked as though he felt this was the right punishment for Hepzibah as she struggled with death. She would be off to the one place that Tom believed he would never go, to the world of the dead. It was where Tom would send all of his enemies. Better than Nurmengard Prison for Grindelwald's foes, or a complete new section of the world for some people, death would supposedly never touch Tom. Harry knew Tom was convinced that he would be separated from all the people he hated forevermore.

Hepzibah made her last few movements when Harry pulled his gaze away from Tom, and he felt greatly repulsed. Her breath stopped completely, her noises ceased, and her flailing arms lost all of their energy. Her eyes remained open, like her mouth, as she lay on the floor. Harry wondered how long it was going to take before she was completely dead. A few seconds now? Or minutes? She appeared dead, her body an empty shell while Harry viewed her, but he couldn't be sure. It took everything within him to push out the thought, the lingering question wandering through his mind as he stared. Was that it?

The Warbeck record was still playing, but Harry didn't hear it for over a minute. Tom was the one who had brought his attention to it, for he turned, and lifted his eyes to the gramophone. He looked ready to throw a curse at it, to get rid of some of his building frustration, but he refrained from doing so. It would leave evidence, and Tom wouldn't risk being caught for this now. He perhaps did this for Harry, or else by knowing what a bother it would be breaking out of Azkaban… or perhaps he still had the idea of working at Hogwarts one day as one of his strongest aspirations.

Tom flicked his wand, and the music stopped. When the room was silent, Harry felt emotionless. They were done. Hepzibah was dead, and there was nothing else to it. As his eyes travelled from the body on the floor, to the possessed elf, and to the piles of motionless antiques upon tables and within cupboards, he felt as though everything was unreal, like props of a movie set, or the pieces of a dollhouse. Harry's eyes stayed on Tom most of all, for he was the only thing that was moving, and the only being in the room who was thinking properly.

Tom walked over to stand in front of Hokey. With the Imperius Curse still on her, he began performing magic to get rid of all the memories in her head relating to Harry and himself being here, and relating to the feeling of Tom's curses hitting and staying on her. She would only remember adding something in Hepzibah's tea, and watching her die after she put on the Warbeck record. It wouldn't matter if she couldn't quite explain how she had felt because the information had been wiped away from her mind.

Tom straightened up when he was done modifying the House Elf's mind, and told Hokey to stay in this room as his last command. He then turned to face Harry, speaking as he started walking towards the door. Harry followed him without really deciding to. "Slytherin's Locket and Hufflepuff's Cup are hidden behind a painting, upon the main stairwell…"

"How do you know?" Harry asked, as they walked down a hallway.

"The Elf's mind," Tom replied, opening a door towards the centre of the house. "It's protected by more magic than the house itself, yet I am sure it will be no problem to break into… Do you have the cloak?"

"Yes," Harry replied. He had placed it back in his pocket subconsciously. "Why?"

"The portraits will see us otherwise," Tom said.

Harry made no reply to this as they headed down a shorter hall, and saw the staircase, probably in the exact centre of the house. Tom stopped walking, and Harry took out the cloak, throwing it over himself and Tom. They began walking quietly towards the portraits that lined the walls of the staircase, the occupants of each painting sleeping, or pretending to sleep.

Harry felt as though this was all a vivid dream as they climbed stairs. Hepzibah was dead, but there was no gore, or even a sense of alarm about the whole situation. Perhaps Harry felt no pain from the crime because he was with Tom, or because he himself hadn't killed her… Tom was analyzing every painting they passed. The only thing that concerned Harry was that he felt unfazed about the murder. He hadn't expected to feel nothing…

Tom found the safe on the third landing, and began cracking it upon beside Harry. He knew all of the magic needed from Hokey's mind, as well as his own, and Harry didn't have to help in any way. A tall portrait of an elderly Wizard holding a curious instrument guarded the safe. The wizard was dozing off to sleep as Tom used nonverbal magic, or else only whispered the counter-curses and incantations. The Wizard in the portrait awoke when his painting swung forwards, but he was the only person in Harry and Tom's sight who noticed this.

A tiny room was hidden behind the painting, and Harry and Tom entered it together. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with as many objects as ever for Hepzibah's house, but in way back of the room there was a low-set table that held only two items – the leather boxes containing the locket and the cup. They edged towards this, Tom not noticing how Harry knew exactly what these objects were. After a minute of more counter-curses, the two leather boxes were in Tom's hands.

Tom gave Harry the bigger box of the two to hold, which contained the Hufflepuff Cup, as he took the locket for himself. They remained under the invisibility cloak as Tom opened the case, gazing down at Slytherin's heirloom. Harry personally didn't want to look at either the cup or the locket. They were neither fascinating nor awe-inspiring to him. He merely wanted to leave now, while Tom stared down at the locket, a strange scarlet gleam in his eyes. He closed the locket's case, and took the cup from Harry's hands.

"_It will be months before her family realises these are gone,"_ Tom hisses, using Parseltongue so no portrait would hear them. _"There are too many items in this house… too many hiding places…"_

He seemed content with this idea, while Harry was unresponsive. _"We should get out of here,"_ Harry commented.

"_We need not go even with an hour,"_ Tom replied. He examined the cup for a moment, taking in as much as it as he could, without picking it up. Harry could tell he was satisfied that these items were in his possession. It took a moment of thought for Tom to do anything but bask in the glory of this accomplishment.

"_You can swoon over the locket and cup when we're in Albania,"_ Harry said, wanting to leave. _"Borgin and Burke won't both be easy to curse forever."_

"_Burke will be plenty easy to curse soon,"_ Tom responded, smiling humourlessly as he examined the cup. Thought of revenge seemed to prompt Tom into closing the leather box carefully, and placing the cup in the pocket of his robes alongside the locket. _"Yet we should indeed leave…"_

They headed out of the tiny room, and Tom threw a Memory Charm at the sleeping wizard in the portrait as the door swung closed. They didn't speak as they ascended the stairs, exited the house, and walked towards the gate. Tom replaced all the magic that guarded the house, and Harry helped this time, wanting to get away from here as soon as possible.

When they Apparated to Borgin and Burke's shop, all of Knockturn Alley was quiet. A few witches and wizards lurked in the dark shadows of the street, but Harry and Tom were invisible under the cloak. Borgin and Burke both lived in their shop, Borgin above it and Burke below it. It would be more than simple for Harry and Tom to get to either of them, for they were sure that their shop was perfectly safe from the thieves and crooks of Knockturn Alley itself.

The shop had only a little more protection than Hepzibah's house. It was very dark, and almost the same as Harry had remembered it from the nineties, with different items around in the same places. Harry and Tom passed many shelves full of strange items, past the fireplace that Harry remembered entering the shop in for the first time, past the counter where Borgin and Burke dwelt in the day, and towards a door that led to the back of the shop.

Once there, Harry and Tom met two wooden staircases, one leading up, and the other down. They headed up the stairs quietly, Tom casting a spell upon their feet for silence. Harry's heart wasn't beating particularly quickly. The worst part of the night was over, and this was just easy revenge for Tom. It wasn't necessary for them to make Borgin kill Burke, so even if they were caught for it there would be no problem. Both Harry and Tom on their own could fight their way out of this, if something went wrong, but it wasn't as though either of the shopkeepers were keen upon getting the Ministry involved on any level.

Harry and Tom met a door at the top of the staircase, and one simple spell unlocked it. Tom pushed the door wide with magic very quietly, and he and Harry peered inside the room. Borgin was sitting with his back the door, writing by candlelight. They walked into the room silently, their breath the only noise as they stood behind Borgin. The shop owner looked as though he had heard something, for he straightened up a little, but he didn't turn around.

Tom threw an Imperius Curse at him, causing nothing in the room to stir or change – except Borgin's state of mind. There was a long pause, where Harry was sure Tom was giving Borgin clear instructions on how to kill Burke. Borgin was still, the quill resting in his hand dripping blots of ink across the parchment he was writing on. Harry watched Tom staring at Borgin, controlling what Borgin would do within the next month. When Tom looked away, Borgin began writing again, doing everything very mechanically as he cleaned the ink away with his wand, and continued like normal.

"_Let's go,"_ Tom hissed.

He turned to leave, and Harry followed slightly hesitantly. This too seemed very simple… _"Is that it?"_ he asked, before he could stop himself.

Tom looked at him under the cloak, surprised with this comment. _"What else did you expect?"_ he asked calmly. _"We cannot kill Burke tonight, or do anything worse to Borgin."_

"_I know,"_ Harry replied, not meeting Tom's eyes. _"It just seems so… unchallenging." _

"_The most efficiently planned jobs always are,"_ Tom assured him as they closed the door to Borgin's room, and headed down the stairs.

Neither of them spoke as they stepped into the shop again, walking past the counter. They were about to pass the fireplace, before Tom pulled Harry arm to make him stop.

"_Wait,"_ he said.

"_What?"_ Harry asked, a very light shade of alarm becoming apparent.

"_The volumes,"_ Tom said, _"We need to steal some."_

"_What?"_ Harry repeated, his tone disbelieving this time. _"We can't take anything, Tom. That's too obvious as evidence –"_

"_Evidence for what?"_ Tom asked. _"There's no crime here, yet. Burke won't die for another month, and there are countless books that aren't even registered or accounted for in their records yet. I assure you, I know no one will realize the books are gone. Not for months, anyway."_

"_We don't need them,"_ Harry said, not wanting to dwell within this building any longer.

"_One always needs more books,"_ Tom responded, glancing at Harry for only a second before getting out from under the cloak.

"_Tom!_" Harry exclaimed,_ "You shouldn't risk being caught now for a few books!"_

"_You'll like these ones, Harry,"_ Tom said, ignoring Harry's warning as he moved across the room. He walked past many shelves, going to the far left corner of the shop. Harry followed him, to soon see that Tom was now standing in a part of the shop surrounded by only books. _"They have a large variety of books dedicated only to the Dark Arts, of course,"_ Tom said.

Harry looked around, and read some of the titles that were printed on the spines of the volumes surrounding them. He recognised quite a few of them, but refrained from mentioning to Tom that this was indeed a fine collection. Tom began taking books, and making a pile on the floor. _"How many are you going to take?"_ Harry asked.

"_Only six,"_ Tom replied. _"I've had my eye on them I began working here…"_

He placed the sixth book on the pile, and picked them up. His eyes travelled across the room, searching for more. He spotted one just behind Harry, who was still partially under the cloak.

"_Seven books, actually…"_ Tom corrected himself, moving forwards to collect the last one. _"These are neither the most expensive nor the most cared for here. They are merely the most useful to us both."_

"_Great,"_ Harry said. _"Can we leave now?"_

Tom smiled, placing the last book on the pile in his hands. _"Yes, we can leave."_


	39. Abandon Reflection

"Take my arm," Tom requested.

The streets of Knockturn Alley were as dark as can be. It was far past midnight now, and not even the silhouettes of the buildings besides Harry and Tom could be seen. A thin layer of white snow was on the ground, and everything above it faded into the cavernous heavens, while unseen clouds covered all of London, blocking out the stars and moon. They stood upon the street, ready to leave this country, but Harry couldn't exactly say he wanted to take a last glance at the Alley. He certainly wouldn't miss this place in any way…

Harry could think of no objection to Tom's words, so he walked towards his lover. In spite of it being almost an hour since murdering Hepzibah, Harry still felt hallow, and lacking in thought and emotion. He had spent about the last twenty minutes just standing in their flat, doing nothing as Tom double-checked his trunk, placing the locket and cup safely and securely within it, and even going so far as to lock it with complex, and probably dark, magic.

Harry's strange, quiet, and distanced state hadn't gone past Tom's notice, but he had made no comment of it inside. Now, as they stood upon the cold street, Harry looked up at Tom to see that he was analyzing the younger Slytherin with calculating eyes. Harry wondered why he was staring. He felt as though he should say something… but he couldn't think what.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked.

"I'm fine," Harry replied automatically.

"You can tell me if the murder was too much for you to take," Tom said quietly, unconvinced of Harry's words. "I shouldn't have let you join me in–"

"I'm fine, Tom," Harry repeated. He wasn't angry, embarrassed, or at all changed from his vacant state, but he felt as though this was the right reply to give.

"I would prefer you tell me if there's something wrong," Tom said, pressing the subject.

"I'd be sure to tell you if there was," Harry said, averting his eyes.

He was unsure whether Tom believed this. He wasn't sure whether he himself cared. They'd be in Albania within a few hours, and perhaps then Harry could rest. He felt that would do him good. Upon both Harry and Tom's trunks rested two brooms. They would have to Apparate to the south of England, to the exact end of the country, and fly to France before Apparating across it, flying over the border to Italy, Apparating across that too, and flying to Albania.

This was the only way they wouldn't be tracked by any Ministries, and it was almost impossible to do, especially in one night, if you weren't educated on the magic required for it. Harry trusted that Tom would get them out of England, France, and Italy without being caught, however, and without much struggle.

Tom didn't make another comment about Harry's well-being, but Harry knew he was still thinking about it. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry replied honestly.

Tom span on the spot, and at the sound of a loud 'c_rack'_ they disappeared into thin air. After a minute of suffering the sensation similar to being forced through a thick rubber tube, Harry found that he and Tom had Apparated to the seaside. Tall buildings of white and brown mostly could be seen upon the land, as Harry and Tom stood only a few meters away from the sea, upon the hard rocks of the beach. There was no sand here, only pebbles.

Harry saw the bright streets deserted of many people behind them, and a pier in the distance, out at sea. The people who were still awake, and upon the streets were laughing from far away, but they could neither see nor hear Harry and Tom. It was dark where they were. "Where are we?" Harry asked.

"Brighton," Tom replied.

He was looking out at the sea, and Harry followed his gaze, which rested on the pier. They stood in silence for a minute.

"There's a Muggle theatre there, currently," Tom said quietly. "There used to be another pier called the Chain Pier, but it was demolished in a storm, in 1823. At a very convenient time for the Muggles, who wanted it taken down, anyway…"

Harry didn't know why Tom was telling him this. "How do you know that?" he asked, as the cold sea air blustered around them.

"I came here once, as a child," Tom explained. "A day trip, with the orphanage…"

"Oh," was all Harry could reply. He wondered for a second whether the cave where Tom would one day hide the locket in was near here, until he remembered what the sea and rocks had looked like when he and Dumbledore had visited. It had looked nothing like this place… and anyway, Tom wouldn't hide a Horcrux in such a populated area.

"We should go," Tom said, turning away from the pier to look at Harry, and then at his trunk. He began untying his broom, which rested on the back of the travelling case, and Harry followed. There were handles on their brooms for their trunks, and they secured the locks and buckles on it, Tom adding magic to be sure their possessions were safe. "How well can you fly?" Tom asked distractedly.

Harry was almost confused by this question. "I was a seeker at eleven," he replied.

"You played sports?" Tom asked, looking at Harry as he stood up straight.

"Well, yeah," Harry responded, until he remembered what his past was supposed to be. "Er… It was important for us to play stuff like Quidditch. For teamwork… or maybe just because it was annoying for the carers to look after all of the kids twenty-four hours a day."

Tom smiled lightly, paying more attention to his trunk again.

"Did you ever play Quidditch?" Harry asked. They were both ready now.

"No," Tom replied. He smirked again. "But that doesn't mean I cannot fly accurately… Are you ready?"

Tom was on his broom by this point, floating about a foot from the ground. Harry wasn't sure why, but he smiled as he got onto his own broom. He had made his trunk lighter, as Tom had, so it was easier to fly. "Ready," he said.

They began flying southeast, Tom leading the way to begin, before Harry caught up, at a quickening rate. They were racing across the sea, England fading away from them slowly but surely. These brooms weren't half as fast as Harry's Nimbus 2000 had been, and certainly not as fast as his old Firebolt, but it felt good to be in the air again. Tom was a decent flyer, and Harry would bet that he could have been good at Quidditch, if he had wanted to.

They were always in each other's sight as they sped across the sea, the tall waves tens of meters below them. Harry's lack of emotion seemed to have been left in Brighton. Now he felt more alive than he had in days, and almost happy. It was easy to forget about everything that had happened, as he travelled besides Tom. They were running away from every danger, every crime…

From Brighton, they travelled to Calais, in France. They didn't spend much time on land, and only ended up walking and talking to each other in a short break, before Apparating to Nice, in the southeast of France. They flew to Sanremo, northwestern Italy, and after another short break Apparated to Lecce, southeast Italy. The flight from Italy to Albania was longer across the sea than England to France, but Harry quite enjoyed this fact. When they landed in Vlorë, Harry was nothing but jubilant.

They Apparated only one more time, to a small Wizarding village that Tom said was near a Muggle town named Berat, or _Berati_. They were close to a river, and the houses were all coloured in white, brown, and grey, with cobblestone paths and unique stone structures for every building. There were probably only a few hundred wizards that resided here, and that was better for Harry and Tom.

Harry felt so much better, as they stood upon the rural streets that were far different than those of London. Because it was the beginning of winter, most of the trees were bare of leaves, and there was snow all around them, but Harry no longer felt the cold. He and Tom had gotten off their brooms, and were now standing in the centre of the wizarding town, snow falling blissfully in the utter darkness. Tom was looking around at the buildings that he could see vaguely. When his eyes fell upon Harry, a soft smile crossed his lips.

"That was marginally easier than I could have hoped," Tom said.

"What? Escaping and entering four countries within two hours without so much as a pedestrian knowing, never mind a ministry?" Harry asked, grinning. "No, that was a breeze."

Tom seemed to enjoy the evident amusement Harry found in this, for he smiled too as they began walking. "That still took quite a bit of research, as you and I both know."

"Yeah, but instead of suffering for years, practicing and testing the magic between borders, with our Guinea Pigs being sent to Azkaban constantly, we managed it in one night, with no assistance." Harry wasn't sure why he couldn't wipe the smirk off of his face, though honestly he wasn't fighting it too much.

"So much is true," Tom remarked. "Yet I must add that we are somewhat more equipped and advanced than the average Wizard wishing to flee a county… Here we are."

They had stopped outside a short, long building near the centre of the village. There were a few lights on inside, regardless of the hour, and upon a sign made of old, chipped, wood was a painting in faded colours a wand, alight with magic, besides a sleeping lynx. There was something written in Albanian that Harry couldn't understand, yet Tom could evidently read it. Harry guessed that it must have been an inn, for they headed towards the door. Tom knocked a few times, before turning to Harry as they waited for an answer.

"If they say anything to you that you don't understand, Legilimency always helps," Tom advised.

Harry nodded, knowing that Tom understood Albanian perfectly anyway. They heard footsteps from inside, and the door to the inn opened to reveal a stooped, elderly Wizard with a long grey beard, and watery eyes that appeared weary. The Wizard said something in Albanian, and Tom replied to it. The language was very quick and complex, to Harry's ears. After only a moment of conversation, the Wizard let them inside his inn, smiling kindly.

They entered a small entrance hall, with a few doorways leading to other parts of the house, and a stone staircase leading upstairs to their left. The floor was made of smooth, dark stones, placed together to form a patternless collection. The elderly wizard continued talking to Tom, leading them further into the house as he closed the front door.

"A jeni vëllezër?" he asked Tom.

"Jo," Tom replied, "ne jemi miq."

The wizard was now climbing the staircase as Harry and Tom followed him, levitating their trunks, towards an empty room on the second floor. Tom continued conversing with the innkeeper right up until they were all standing in a bedroom. Harry wondered how long Tom had been planning to move here, as he spoke what sounded like perfect Albanian. Their bedroom was small, with tall windows and many rugs upon the stone floor.

Harry then contemplated how Tom had gotten them another room for two. It hadn't looked as though he, Tom, had used the Imperius Curse, or a Confundus Charm… though Harry hadn't been looking that determinedly, and it was always difficult to tell when Tom used a spell slyly. The wizard only spoke for around a minute more, before leaving the room.

Tom turned around to face Harry when they were alone. He appeared content, and he examined their room for a moment, viewing the beamed ceiling, curtained windows and red and brown carpets. His eyes rested on Harry when he was done. "We got away, after all," he commented.

"We don't know that for sure," Harry replied. "We're pretty far away from any English news and so on."

Tom smiled, turning towards his trunk. "The old Slytherins are still sending letters, as you know. We could always ask them for news."

"That's true," Harry said, distracted by watching Tom unlock with trunk with magic. After a moment, Tom found the locket and cup, hidden beneath a few items. Harry watched as he opened the cases, examining his treasures carefully. He was glad when Tom didn't pick up either heirloom. "They might be suspicious if we keep asking them for the news."

"We'll let them be," Tom replied. He replaced the lids of the cases, and paused, before standing up. "It keeps them interested, at the very least."

"When will we ask them to rejoin us, do you think?" Harry asked, curious to know whether Tom's answer had changed.

Tom took a moment to think about this, appearing unconcerned. "It will still be years before a full reunion. Yet we may meet a few of them every now and then… depending on where we all are."

Harry nodded, but could think of nothing to reply.

"Do you want them back?" Tom asked curiously.

"Not particularly," Harry replied. They smiled. "Why would I?"

"They're decent protection," Tom said, "and can be powerful, past their flaws."

"We don't really need any more protection or power," Harry reminded him, "and I prefer being alone with you, even if they can be amusing sometimes."

"Ah," Tom replied, "I almost forgot about what a rare occurrence being properly alone together had become…"

Harry smiled, and walked over to sit on the end of their bed. He was tired now that their travelling was over. He rubbed his face with his hands, before saying, "I can't believe we've run away this quickly. It seems like weeks ago since I was last at work…"

"I quite agree," Tom said, sitting next to Harry. "Yet the greatest changes in life are always this quick, and exotic… from my experience, anyway."

"No, it's the same for me too," Harry said. He wondered whether Tom was referring to the change from the orphanage to Hogwarts. That had certainly been as fast paced and new for Tom as it had been for Harry, the latter was sure. "Though I have to admit that the bad times of life arrive just as quickly."

"Yes, but unlike bad times, there is nothing foreboding about this," Tom said.

Harry couldn't help but agree, after a moment of thought. Everything around them was so different, and nothing was connecting him or reminding him of the terrible things they had done. Not even Tom, somehow. They had run away from everything, and now they were free. The only thing that could stop their freedom would be if they were caught for the murders, but Harry would be confident that they were safe even if he didn't know the future. This was what Tom was good at…

Harry wondered how long it would be now until Hepzibah's body was found. He then remembered about Hokey. Would the House Elf contact the Ministry, he wondered? Had Tom ordered her to, knowing it was what she would have done, had she actually poisoned her mistress from elderly confusion? Harry didn't feel like asking Tom about it, somehow, even if he wondered about it… Tom felt nothing in relation to the deaths, perhaps as Harry did… They were only happy. Perhaps just because they had gotten away…

"I didn't think it would be that easy," Harry said quietly.

"Didn't think that what would be easy?" Tom asked. "The murder, or fleeing the country?"

Harry tried to smile, but he found he couldn't, suddenly. He began, slowly, to realise that maybe his happiness was worse than feeling nothing… but he pushed that thought away. He was tired. "Both, I guess. Murder and vanishing without a trace are generally pretty hard to do without being caught, after all."

Tom smiled, but Harry felt he was watching him more carefully than before. Had he noticed Harry's smile falter? Harry soon decided that if Tom had, he was glad… Maybe Tom might help him to not worry over this, if they could generally avoid the subject. But was avoiding the subject worse? If they thought about it as neither a bad thing nor a good thing, but just as what happened, in plain facts, would Harry and Tom be complete, heartless, criminals?

Harry thought that it was perhaps a little too late to wonder if they _might_ be criminals… But Harry hadn't murdered Hepzibah… What did all of this make him? Harry had neither stopped Tom nor encouraged him. Yet he had wanted to see Hepzibah die… But only to see if Tom was still sane, Harry reminded himself. Harry was now greatly confused. Why was he thinking about all of this? He preferred being ignorantly happy, like before…

"It's getting late," said Tom quietly. He had been watching Harry, as Harry stared at the ground in front of them. He might have seen a change in Harry, but he made no comment of it.

"What time is it?" Harry asked, still staring at the stone floor.

"Around four in the morning," Tom answered. "English time. Albania is an hour later."

Harry made no reply to this. He felt as though the weight of his crime might be catching up with him… but before he could elaborate upon this thought, he felt a hand clasping around his own.

"You seem quiet," Tom said, entwining their fingers. "What are you thinking about?"

"The murders," Harry replied honestly.

Tom took a while to reply to this, as he gazed at Harry. "I would only expect as much…"

Harry was relieved that Tom hadn't reminded him yet again that they wouldn't be hunted down for this… Harry wouldn't care even if they were convicted of the murder. They would get away, easily, and the fact that they had committed the crime in the first place was bothering him more… as well as something else he couldn't quite grasp.

"You'll forget about it all, over time," Tom assured him. "It's not easy to forget it all, exactly… but possible."

Harry had a feeling that what he had to forget, in relation to the murder, wasn't quite the same as what Tom would have to… But he appreciated that Tom at least tried to understand what was bothering him, even while Harry knew, someone deep inside, that Tom could likely never understand his, or anyone's, emotions fully.

With Tom's hand still linked to his own, Harry lay back on the bed, sighing. He was exhausted. He felt as though he could fall asleep exactly where he was, especially when he felt Tom lay down besides him. Tom lay on his side, slightly, watching Harry on and off. Harry wondered if he was worrying about the likely idea that Harry would never make a Horcrux. Harry couldn't imagine what killing someone personally would be like…

They talked quietly for a while after this, neither of them full of any sort of energy. When they fell asleep, less than an hour later, and within each other's arms, Harry had dreams full of dark crimes, fuelled by much guilt, remorse, and fear. When he woke up, not many hours later, he knew he should have really expected nothing less… Anyone with moral sense as strong as his, having committed or witnessed murder, should feel the weight of the crime heavily…

It was a week since arriving at the inn when Harry sat on the side of the bed, in front of the tall windows of their little room. A forest was visible, far in the distance, and past the roofs of the houses within the village. He and Tom had gone walking a few times in the woods nearby, but Tom had explained that these were nothing compared to a few in other parts of the country. There were many interesting creatures around, be they magical or not, or kind, or evil…

Had he given up on light magic, Harry wondered? He had been practicing the Dark Arts for two whole years now, with Tom. He had thought of himself as a grey wizard, but now he felt he was doing worse, heading towards the darkness. Harry wondered whether he was completely immoral, and whether he was weak for staying. He wanted to stay, for many reasons… for more reasons than to leave, and for stronger reasons. He cared too much for Tom…

It was not long after this when Harry heard and felt Tom move behind him. Tom had been asleep before, but had awoken a few minutes ago, to see Harry gazing out the windows. Harry felt Tom move behind him, making his way across the bed. He said a tired "good morning" and wrapped his arms around Harry as he replied the same. Tom kissed Harry's neck, and causing Harry to close his eyes in desire. After a moment, Tom rested his chin on Harry's shoulder, taking in the same view of the world outside.

"We should go to the forests again today," Tom said. "It is very nice, despite the season."

"Yeah," Harry replied. "That'd be good."

They didn't carry on the conversation past this. Sunlight was pouring down weakly through the clouds, lighting up the white snow, and the dark trees that were covered with it. A bird or two could be seen occasionally, flying across the cold scenery. The village was silent, the smell of burning wood notable at times.

"Has my soul been ripped apart?" Harry asked in a whisper.

He had been thinking about this over the last few days. Even if he hadn't been the one to place the poison within Hokey's reach, commanding her, via the Imperius Curse, to poison her mistress, he had been there to see it all, and he hadn't stopped it at all… The thought made him feel somewhat forlorn, and voicing it made him even more so. He was thankful, now, that Tom couldn't clearly see his face.

Tom was contemplating Harry's words thoroughly. "I don't know."

Harry preferred to hear this answer, rather than a false one to lift his spirits. He wondered whether Tom had known this might happen before, or if he had decided through recent examination that Harry was suffering a change, likely a shattered soul. "What was it like when you killed your father?" Harry asked.

"It felt good," Tom replied. He thought for a moment. "It never exactly healed anything, nor relieved me from the hatred I felt towards him… but it felt good, very good. It was a worthy vengeance…"

Tom had had reason to kill his father, Harry thought. Harry had noting against Hepzibah personally… unless you counted the connection through Tom. But was that really a good enough reason to kill someone?

"You must feel the same, or worse, with the capture of Grindelwald," Tom said. "With him being neither dead nor caught by you personally…"

Harry didn't offer any comment to this, in case of ruining Tom's idea of Harry's hate for Grindelwald. In full honesty, Grindelwald was the furthest thing from Harry's mind at this time. He was too worried about Hepzibah's death… they had actually murdered someone… Harry could see her glassy eyes staring into space…

"What are you feeling, relating to what happened?" Tom asked.

"With what happened to Grindelwald, to Hepzibah?"

"Both," Tom decided.

Harry thought about this for a time. "I'll never forgive Grindelwald, but to be honest I don't care how long it takes for him to die, as long as I don't have to see him… and as long as he will die, eventually. As for Hepzibah… sometimes I don't feel anything."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Tom asked.

"No," Harry replied. "I don't feel anything at all… No remorse, no guilt, and definitely no happiness… but it's all still there, somehow…"

"Can you feel me?" Tom asked.

"That's physical," Harry replied without thinking.

"Not always," Tom said quietly. Harry was a little surprised that Tom had pointed this out, and rightly so. There was a pause.

"I meant right now," Harry clarified. He felt Tom plant another kiss on his neck, perhaps smiling. He tried to focus on what he was saying again. "I just don't know what to think about it…"

"You don't have to think about it," Tom said, as a suggestion rather than a fact. Their room was very quiet past their low voices. Harry enjoyed the feeling of Tom upon him, even as he continued to try and work out what he was feeling. "We've left it all behind us successfully… We would do well to not bring it here. To abandon reflection for as long as we can, and to heal from it long before we need think about it would be the easiest solution."


	40. A Final Decision

The ground beneath their feet was frozen solid, and the dark branches of the trees surrounding them drooped slightly from the weight of the snow, which no longer fell from the sky, but occasionally fell from a branch, stirred by a soft wind, or by a quiet animal. Sound didn't travel very far in this thickening wood, as Harry was used to from all the other forests they had wondered through.

There wasn't always snow in the woods, nor in the villages that they visited. A lot of the time it was snowless in these early December days, whilst exceptionally cold, and occasionally dreary. As opposed to most of the villages that Harry had seen, however, the woods were full of life. Depending on the time of day, Tom and Harry would see various creatures within the forests they explored, including Thestrals, Unicorns, Trolls, Hippogriffs, and, according to Tom, creatures such as Dragons and Giants.

"Yet it is highly unlikely that we'll see anything truly interesting, besides the odd Thestral and so on, within these woods," Tom explained as they walked. "Most breeds of Dragons live further north, in the mountains there, and the Giants are very well hidden. We'll have to look for them deliberately, and research their locations."

"What would we do if we found one?" Harry asked, keen to hear what Tom was thinking about in relation to these magical creatures.

Tom thought about this as they strode past trees and snow. "I would be eager to keep track of where the Dragon or Giant was, especially if no Ministry was yet aware of its location. They often aren't, as you and I both know."

They walked further on, Harry glancing a few shadowed birds in one of the trees above them as he contemplated wording something on his mind. "You know that letter that you sent to the groundskeeper at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, "Hagrid, or whatever his name was?"

"Yes?"

"I asked you once whether you were trying to scare the groundskeeper with the knowledge that he had a giantess mother," Harry said, "and you said you were."

"Indeed. What about it?" Tom pressed, as Harry paused for a moment. Harry glanced at Tom, seeing that he appeared longing to hear Harry's thoughts on the matter as he glanced back. It looked as though he was suppressing a smile.

"You want him to help you track down and tame giants eventually, don't you?"

Tom allowed his smile to show softly, as he looked forwards. "Very much so."

"Did he ever reply?" Harry asked.

"No," Tom admitted, "But he might."

"And if he doesn't?"

"We find someone else," Tom said, unconcerned. "Someone more willing to help us in any way, even if they are not quite as connected to the Giants themselves."

Harry thought about this, their footsteps becoming the only thing they could hear once more. Tom decided to speak before Harry could.

"I discovered the main flaw, the greatest loophole, in the Ministry's approach to controlling Giants and other powerful magical creatures in my early years at Hogwarts. The Ministry has always treated these powerful beasts with distance, and a great lack of communication. They play to only one of many weaknesses of the creatures – their natural fear of pain."

"Wait, you don't think they should be put in pain, for training?" Harry asked quickly.

"No, I think that pain should be used amongst other persuasions," Tom clarified.

Harry wasn't particularly thrilled with this correction, so he let Tom carry on without comment.

"The Giants, mainly, need to believe that they are getting something useful out of helping us," Tom said. "The Dragons, due to their blatant lack of verbal communication skills, need not any more persuasion past a threat of pain and an offering of a reward if they comply with our wishes…"

"So, you're planning on stealing all of the Giants, Dragons, and whatever from different Ministries?"

"Yes, some of them," Tom said simply. "We shall do it rarely to begin, and only with the groups of creatures who blatantly aren't being watched. We'll have to keep them all well hidden while we train them, of course, with much magic protecting them so as to not draw the eyes of the Ministry, no matter what country we are in."

"You don't mean to say we'll do this on our own?" Harry asked, disliking the idea of trying to tame magical creatures with just Tom, or at all.

"No. Our friends will do it, for the most part," Tom said. "We will regulate it all, getting the others to watch the Ministries, the magical protection we have, and the creatures themselves as we do other things too."

"What happens when the Ministries work out what we're doing?"

"They might panic," Tom mused, "but we will be careful about it, and I'm sure it won't affect our research in the Dark Arts too much."

Tom seemed to think that smuggling massive, violent magical creatures out of the Ministries' grasp without them noticing was simple compared to the difficult endeavour of researching the Dark Arts as efficiently as he was planning to. After a few moments of thought, however, Harry wondered whether Tom was actually right in thinking this.

"What's your plan, for the creatures?" Harry asked carefully. He didn't think that Tom was planning on attacking any Ministries or anything just yet, but…

"With the long histories that these creatures hold, and the general lack of research and training that have been practiced upon them by Wizards, even when the beasts are in full captivity, we could learn a great deal from the Giants, Dragons, and a whole number of other creates," Tom said, appearing enthusiastic about the very idea of this all. "We could teach them new things, and they could teach us new things. We could even experiment with putting more magic into them, as a energy or in the shape of a spell–"

"But that sounds insanely dangerous," Harry interrupted. He was nervous about the idea of fifteen foot Giants, and Dragons of who knows what size, trying to fight against them and the Death Eaters, and putting up an even better fight thanks to the experimental magic they would be practicing upon them.

"Isn't the danger what makes it interesting?" Tom inquired.

Harry then noticed how Tom was becoming progressively more fanatical about the idea with every second. The fervent and inhuman smile was on his lips again, but Harry felt he was getting used to it now.

"We could create an entirely changed generation of magical beings," Tom said, "Changed to be far more powerful, through proper training or magical manipulation – it wouldn't matter which. They would be completely under our control, and we would be renown for our vital, our shocking, breakthroughs on the subject."

Harry didn't know what to say. He stopped walking, Tom having walked in front of him slightly to make him do so. He looked into Tom's eyes, which were burning with the fervency and happiness of his plans being revealed successfully. Harry knew that Tom hadn't purposely withheld this knowledge from him these last few years, he had merely never found the correct time to let all of his ideas out. Perhaps he hadn't even meant to tell Harry all of this at one time. He normally did these things slowly, as Harry knew.

Harry didn't know what to make of Tom's ideas. From what he could gather, it didn't sound as though Tom aspired to raise an army of more powerful creatures to murder Muggles and attack the Ministries… Not yet, anyway. It sounded more as though Tom wanted to unlock every secret that these fascinating beasts kept resolutely hidden. He wanted to gain their trust – perhaps in some twisted and manipulative way, perhaps not – and he wanted to train them to the best of his abilities, for the sake of research as well as protection.

The only thing that bewildered Harry was the knowledge that this was a mere side project to what they would be doing in five or ten years' time.

"We _would_ end up learning a lot from them," Harry said slowly, moving to the side of Tom to continue waling. Tom's smile refreshed, and he followed.

"We could do endless research," he said. "We could have an enormous collection of magical creatures at our command, continuously growing in numbers, and we could teach many of our friends how to look after them well, to train the beasts better and better as the years pass by…"

Tom trailed off into thought, and Harry was left to do the same thing. The mention of a 'collection' had stricken a thought in his head, however, so his silence was short. He decided to approach the subject that bothered him at a light angle.

"So… that's why we're here?" Harry asked, "In Albania? To look for interesting and useful magical creatures to track, steal, keep, and train?"

There was a short pause, which would have gone unnoticed, had Tom not glanced at Harry in an attempt to read his face, his smile gone.

"It's one of the things that draw me here," Tom said quietly, "as well as the Witches and Wizards who reside in this land, who share a general interest in the Dark Arts, and the beauty of the country."

Harry wondered whether Tom sensed that he knew there was more to their visit. His enthusiasm at the idea of his plans was swiftly being exchanged for a calm, soft tone of voice, which suggested he was being careful with his words.

Tom hadn't yet explained the situation with the Diadem fully – in fact, he hadn't even mentioned the Diadem itself properly. Tom had given Harry hints to the fact that they were searching for something in the forests, but he hadn't explained anything, and Harry hoped that he wouldn't pretend that creatures were his only interest now. It worried Harry to think this.

"I mean, we can't _just_ be searching for helpful beasts," Harry pointed out, "we could get any of the others to do that for us. Most of them aren't busy with any work, nor unwilling to do something so important for you."

"That's the point – this is an important job," Tom stated. Harry's heart sank. "To get another to do it for us would mean explaining to them most of what I just explained to you, and sharing plans so openly is always a dangerous thing to do, especially at such an early stage. They would need proof that we weren't merely sending them here for nothing, and they would attract more attention than us."

Harry could think of nothing to say. Was Tom trying to hide the idea of his Horcruxes? Was he hesitant to tell Harry anything more about them, perhaps because it was, as he had just said, 'always a dangerous thing to do, especially at such an early stage'? Harry was nervous about these ideas, these doubts in Tom's trust towards him. Did Tom not trust him enough to explain details on his Horcruxes? Did he think Harry knew too much already?

"There is also the fact that we needed somewhere to go," Tom added. He had been thinking, like Harry had, as they trudged onwards through the forest. They could see a lynx in the distance, which was rare for the wizarding forests, but not as astonishing to them now. Tom perhaps expected Harry to carry on from here, but Harry didn't.

"I thought it was a wise location, in my quick determination to think of a plan," Tom continued quietly. "It was far away, unexpected to someone like Dumbledore, or even our friends, and it yields many opportunities for us to get things done. To set up some plans for the future."

"You mean with finding Dragons and so on?" Harry asked attentively. "Or with the people we meet, and the research we can do?"

"With all of that," Tom said. There was a pause. He seemed to be trying to avoid something, and Harry hoped desperately that it wasn't the Diadem as a whole. "We also, obviously, needed to get away from the crimes we committed in England quickly. There was no point dawdling there."

Harry didn't know whether he should just ask Tom directly about the Diadem, for although mentioning the item itself would be an unwise thing to do, if he hinted towards the general subject maybe Tom would understand that he wasn't completely unaware of what was happening. On second thought, maybe Tom was waiting for a sign that Harry was able to catch onto the idea that something was a little off. Tom might be waiting to make sure that Harry wouldn't become anxious at the mention of murder again, to make sure that Harry was aware enough to see that he was hiding something…

"What are your plans with the objects you stole from Hepzibah?"

Tom appeared a little surprised with this question. He had kept the locket and cup stored and untouched in his trunk since arriving in Albania, and not much had been mentioned of them… Though, they had only been here for just over three weeks, Harry mused, and a lot of that time had been spent by him personally thinking about the death of Hepzibah, and generally worrying about it. Tom wasn't the type to approach a subject if he was unsure whether Harry was willing to take in what he wanted to say.

"I plan to make them into Horcruxes," Tom said honestly. The scenery around them was silent beyond the sound of their footsteps, almost as if the wildlife sensed Harry's foreboding.

Harry was about to comment on this, before he saw a mistake in Tom's words. "Horcrux_es_? You mean you can make more than one of them?"

Harry could tell that Tom regretted this slip.

"Well, it's been theorized that it is possible," Tom began quickly. He seemed a little put off, and Harry couldn't blame him. He wondered which of them was more surprised that Tom had overseen this one detail. "You've read a few books about it, as I know. Though it isn't mentioned commonly, I'm sure it's perfectly possible."

Harry was reluctant to think back to the time he had attempted to read up on Horcruxes. It had been a year since Tom told him about this way of immortality, so he had had a lot of time to build up the courage to open one or two of the volumes talking about it. However, any endeavour to begin learning the subject had been forcefully cancelled by Harry himself. The books were darker and more sinister than any other Harry had read before. He didn't enjoy it by any stretch of the imagination… Though he had to admit that the words of the books had stuck with him quite effectively, in their haunting way.

He pushed the thought out of his mind.

"It's been done before though, right?" Harry asked, knowing this was a question he would likely ask, if he hadn't known the answer already.

"There are theories and hints that strongly suggest that it has been done before," Tom assured him, blatantly discomfited with being asked this question. He was attempting a cool, tranquil tone, but Harry heard past it. "I began researching the subject the moment I read a suggestion of numerous Horcruxes – I've even gone so far as to ask Slughorn about it… I regret asking him, occasionally, but it was worth it, for I know now that it is perfectly possible."

In full honesty, Harry wasn't worried in the slightest about whether Tom would be unsuccessful in creating more than one Horcrux. He knew Tom would succeed, pushing the boundaries of such dark magic further than anyone before him. "Just tell me you know exactly what you're doing? You're completely sure of this?"

"I am," Tom said, "I promise. I wouldn't risk being immortal at the price of death."

Harry didn't doubt that. They were nearing the centre of the forest now, evident by the fir trees that Tom said resided only at the heart of the woods. They had been walking for a little over two hours now. Harry quite enjoyed these walks, but the fact that Tom was withholding something from him ruined his concentration on the beautiful scenery around them. They could see a pack of pure white, silver, and gold Unicorns slowly edging away from them in the distance.

"What items are you going to use for Horcruxes?" Harry asked. "That Journal you have, the locket, the cup, and the ring?"

"Not the ring," Tom said. "I want you to have it."

"I can still have it as your Horcrux," Harry pointed out.

"You know that's not what I mean."

Harry chose to ignore this comment. He knew that Tom would use the ring, in the end. "How many Horcruxes do you want to make? Just three?"

"Six," Tom answered honestly.

"The magic number," Harry observed quietly. "Counting the seventh piece of soul in you."

Tom smiled. "Which is a reasonable number, if I may say so myself…"

"But that means you have two or three more items to get," Harry remarked.

"Quite."

Tom did not elaborate, and Harry took this as a sign that he would need to press the subject more.

"We're looking for one now, aren't we?"

Harry waited apprehensively as Tom decided upon an answer for this. His smile had left him, and he seemed tense upon hearing this question. There was a long pause.

"Yes," he said, "We are lightly searching for it now."

Harry felt relieved, thankful, but also suddenly annoyed that Tom would wait this long to tell him if the answer would be given so simply. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Tom glanced at Harry, plainly noticing his accusatory tone. He seemed surprised with Harry's reaction. "Why didn't I tell you that I was searching for an item to store a piece of my shattered soul in after the murder we committed just over three weeks ago?"

"I can take the murder," Harry said reproachfully.

Tom was watching Harry, and Harry again felt slightly annoyed by it. He hated to see Tom looking at him in concern, as if he was unable to be as strong as Tom was. Even with the fact that Tom probably had a lack of conscience, Harry suddenly disliked that he was being treated like an infant, and was no longer being trusted as much as he should be. But somehow, after reflection on these thoughts, Harry felt as though him feeling pure annoyance, and nothing else, didn't quite fit.

He was worried that Tom might become bored of him, due to Tom's recent inability to talk openly. Harry looked away from Tom as this thought struck him. He had seen Tom tiptoeing around him for the last fortnight because he was able to see that Harry wasn't very good at taking in Hepzibah's death. Tom didn't understand what Harry was feeling, but Harry knew he felt compelled to change something. Did he expect Harry to ever get over it? Or was he unsure, like Harry was, whether something like this could be accepted? Did he worry, as Harry worried, that this might tear them apart?

"I don't care if this connects to the murder again," Harry said quietly. "I just hate that you felt you had to hide this from me."

"I didn't feel that you were ready," Tom explained, his voice just as soft as Harry's. "I didn't want to tell you something that would make you further regret the death we caused."

Harry stopped walking, and Tom did the same, still watching him. Snow was beginning to fall. "You can tell me anything," Harry said, gazing up into Tom's handsome face. "If I can't take it, then… we can just work out another way, can't we?"

"There are very few other ways to the plans I make," Tom responded. "I cannot lie that there will always be an alternative path leading to the finishing point of my aspirations."

This remark managed to annoy and worry Harry to a greater extent. "So you're not willing to change anything?"

"I am willing to change some things," Tom said, "but I cannot promise constant satisfactory compromises for the both of us when you are reluctant to join me in everything I wish to do."

"Which means the same thing; you don't want to do anything for me," Harry asserted coldly, in an attempt to hide how this conversation was truly affecting him.

"It doesn't mean the same thing at all," Tom claimed. There was a suggestion of irritation in his voice too. "I can barely comprehend why you blatantly care about death so much, especially in your position, and I know this will lead us to a impossible point one day."

Tom's words distressed Harry, who remained staring at Tom, hardly able to fathom why he would say this at all. Did he not want to even help Harry in overcoming the shock of Hepzibah's death? Was he, as Harry feared dreadfully, getting bored of Harry's lagging upon the subject? Harry could feel a pain in his chest, but he chose to ignore it.

"So you chose Horcruxes over me, all in all?" Harry asked, trying hard not to care, and to mask the sorrow he felt. His eyes were burning lightly as he glared at Tom. "You chose researching the Dark Arts over me?"

Tom appeared as annoyed as Harry was, but he wouldn't allow himself to glower back at his lover. He was exasperated, evident by his tone of voice. "I chose you loving me for who I am over living a lie."

These words seemed to shock both of them equally as a silence fell. Despite the hateful tone Tom had used, hearing this thought aloud struck great desolation in both of them. Tom studied Harry, his eyes travelling over all of the features on his face. He might have been attempting to read what Harry was feeling, calculating how intensely these words had affected him. The sky was darkening, and thick snow was making its way through the tall trees.

Harry was speechless. It felt like a very long time later when Tom finally spoke, not a trace of indignation visible anymore. The forest was silent, and Harry was struggling to hide his despondency.

"Please don't force yourself to do this for me," Tom said in little over a whisper. "Don't hurt yourself over me, if you cannot proudly accept the crimes that I cannot mourn for in any small way, to repay past incidences, or the many ambitions I couldn't change at any price. I know it causes you pain to even think about either of us killing another – you cannot hide this fact from me. I couldn't bear to live with that forever if another option was available, one that wouldn't cause you pain."

"I'm not leaving you," Harry said the moment Tom had stopped speaking. His voice was shaking, but he no longer cared. He knew this is what Tom meant. "I won't leave you now, not after all this time –"

"It would be better now than later," Tom said, still watching Harry determinedly, "before I hurt you more with committing further crimes –"

"Why are you saying this?" Harry asked, shaken by this turn in conversation. "How can you even suggest any of this?"

He could feel anxiety mix with his sorrow and bewilderment. This felt worse than when he himself had suggesting that he should leave, and worse than his reflections on Hepzibah's death. Did the fact that he chose to stay even after his own suggestions of departure not prove that he was both unable and unwilling to even contemplate moving away from Tom?

"Please don't hide it if you want me to leave for other reasons," Harry whispered, his voice shaking more than ever. "If you're tired of me, and don't want to deal me anymore–"

"No," Tom interrupted; moving forwards subconsciously, "That isn't it."

"Then what it is?" Harry asked.

Tom seemed unable to answer this. He was evaluating his suggestion again, Harry knew, and Harry allowed him to do so for over a minute, before he found words again.

"I love you," Harry said, his voice stronger. "Please, just try to understand that I need more time to adapt to this."

Tom gazed at Harry, taking in what he had said with much caution. "I will learn to understand it," Tom assured him. "I love you more with each passing day. But promise me that you will without doubt adapt? Promise me there is hope that I won't cause you to suffer for an unbearable time?"

"I promise," Harry said. His heart was pounding in a terrible mix of emotion. He could see the expression upon Tom's face that he had only seen on rare occasions, when they both felt so much sorrow.

"You'll follow me?" Tom asked. "You'll accept what I do, and learn to do the same, eventually?"

There was pause. Harry looked up at Tom, examining his dark eyes, which were full of concern. Tom stared back at him, but spoke before he could give an answer.

"This is the final question of whether you can accept everything I do," Tom said. "We are forced constantly to have these horrible arguments, and we won't last much longer if we continued to ignore the fact that you are trying to find a way around the truth. It is too late for me to change, and I won't lie to you like this."

Harry didn't know what to say. They had argued like this too many times. They were forming a pattern, and Harry knew, as Tom did, that they would never get out of it at this rate. Harry could see no other option, unless he was to leave Tom. He wouldn't allow himself to leave Tom… As he had reflected too many times now, he just couldn't face being away from the wizard he loved so dearly.

"I'll stay with you," Harry whispered, "no matter what happens."

Tom appeared tentative to believe these words. He remained where he was, his lack of comment suggesting that he wanted Harry to know the sincerity of this final decision. "I won't stop murdering people," he said. "I won't cease to make Horcruxes, nor to despise Muggles, nor to go ahead my research on the Dark Arts. You will have to join me in all of this."

"I want to join you," Harry said. "Not because I enjoy any of it at all… but I love you."

Tom took the last few steps forwards, reaching for Harry's hand. "I love you too, Harry."

He was close to Harry now, their cold hands entwined and their visible breath quickened from their hammering hearts. Tom reached up a hand, to touch Harry's face. He slid his fingers along Harry's jaw slowly, then up to brush his hair behind his ear. "Don't hesitate to tell me, if you change your mind," Tom urged, evidently hating the idea, despite his suggestion.

"I'd tell you," Harry assured him quietly.

Harry relished in the feeling of Tom's fingers around his own, and upon his face. He knew it caused Tom pain to have this conversation, and it made him wonder whether his psychopathic ways were lessening, due to Harry or the soul within him. He knew he could never change Tom, or take him away from the Dark Arts, but Tom loved him, against all odds. Harry could barely believe it, but he knew it must be true.

Tom moved closer, to press his lips against Harry's softly. Harry knew he might be an idiot for choosing Tom over his moral senses, but he also knew that Tom wasn't just manipulating him. There were other, easier ways to do that, to get the same reactions from him. Tom's kiss made Harry feel better about everything. Their lips moved softly and slowly as they stood in the silent forest. Harry could hear and feel Tom's every intake and exhalation of breath, and could feel what Tom liked in their kiss, and how much. He could feel that, despite his uncertainty of the future, he would always have Tom, and he was the only thing that mattered anymore.


	41. A Hiding Place

The arrival of spring had pushed the time of sunset to a later hour, but the sky was already darkening in front of Harry's eyes at not yet five O'clock in the evening. As opposed to the thick clouds carrying excessive amounts of chilling snow to spread across Albania that Harry had gotten used to over the last few months, above him a threat of pure rain was encouraged by the flash of lightning, and the delayed, distant roar of thunder. It was going to be a heavy storm.

Currently, the new flat where Harry and Tom stayed was empty, with the exception of Harry himself. They had rented this apartment rather than stayed in a nearby hotel because unmanaged forests surrounded this wizarding village, and it would take a very long time for them to explore all of it. Trees expanded for hundreds of miles around, becoming wilder towards the northeast, in the heart of the wood. It was one of the wizarding world's most recognised forests, thanks to its' dark reputation, and the strange stories and legends that linked to it, so it was the perfect place to look for powerful magical creatures. But Harry personally couldn't imagine Helena Ravenclaw ever visiting it, never mind hiding the Diadem there.

Tom had left the flat early that morning to explore more of the forests, and Harry, having become so used to constant ventures into the woods, had decided to stay home. He did this often, sometimes joining Tom on his search after he returned for lunch, and sometimes joining the exploration in the mornings. In the evening, Harry and Tom would study various subjects via books. They had now collected what one might consider a sizable library, and though Harry himself mainly stuck to the more enjoyable, lighter books, he forced himself to read up on Horcruxes and other dark subjects as often as his mind would allow him.

Reading and exploring become the only activities that Harry and Tom did anymore, and neither of them worked. Harry had asked Tom one day where all their money was coming from, and Tom had admitted casually that their old school friends were of some help with that, as well as some vague savings he had made in the past few years. Harry couldn't say that he was too concerned with not working, because it gave Tom and himself more time to work on other ideas and pieces of research in the day, at least.

Tom had begun speaking to Harry about Horcruxes and the Dark Arts as normally as he might have done before Harry's trouble with Hepzibah's death, and though Harry was still a shade edgy about these discussions, Tom guided him into the subject by thoughtfully mentioning the aspects that fascinated Harry most in the literature they read, and so on. Harry knew that it was this same sly behaviour that made Tom so good at convincing people to do and think what he wanted them to, but Harry couldn't help but smile a little as he reflected that Tom had no ill intentions to deceive him. Harry knew Tom too well now, and Tom barely even tried to hide his schemes towards him.

As Harry sat upon one of the comfortable armchairs of their new living room, holding a heavy volume about Horcruxes in his hands, he had to admit that Tom had definitely gotten what he wanted. Harry was contemplating Horcruxes, slowly but surely, and he was staying with Tom perhaps forever. He told himself that this research was only to be sure that Tom didn't mess up anything concerning Horcruxes, but somewhere in the back of his mind he understood well that nothing he had done would change the fact that Tom would succeed in being more immortal than anyone in history had before.

Though maybe, thought Harry, they had both gotten what they wanted in the end – each other, and each other forever. It's not as though Harry disapproved of loving Tom for as long as he could. He, in contradiction, very much enjoyed the thought of spending an eternity together. There were just many things he knew he had to work out before ripping his soul apart over Tom, as much as he loved him.

Harry was split between three desires that he couldn't negotiate in any way. He wanted Tom and himself to be on the same page of opinions and aspirations, he wanted to live in vague peace with Tom, and he wanted his past to change in some way, without the only people he loved dying in front of his very eyes again.

He couldn't imagine much of this succeeding, unless he was to meet Tom halfway between grey and black, whilst restricting the Death Eaters from spreading fear and destruction, and finally with Harry trying as hard as he could to stop The Battle of Hogwarts from happening at all. This would all be whilst making sure forever that Voldemort never caught onto the fact that there were gaps in Harry's intentions, and only slight reasons behind opportunities missed…

Harry couldn't convince Tom to stop the Dark Arts, and he wasn't foolish enough to try. The Dark Arts were Tom's passion, what he felt he was placed on this earth to do. He was better at it than any subject he knew, and either because of this, or as a result of this, he felt elation towards it that Harry could never bring himself to stop.

What Harry disliked about Tom's love for dark magic was that with Tom's ability to convince people to do what he wanted them to, he had inadvertently created a group of followers who now felt the same fervency and obsession that he felt for the subject. The Death Eaters were addicted to the powerful magic that Tom had shown them, and they craved to feel it soaring through their veins, relieving them of some strain within as they practiced the Dark Arts. Harry understood this idea more clearly the more he thought about it, and the more he himself experimented with darker magic. They were addicted to the sensation that Harry had denied the existence of for so long.

It terrified Harry to think of the Dark Arts as an obsession, but also fascinated him. He didn't like to acknowledge any compulsion for these morbid subjects, because he feared that having these thoughts running around in his mind was dangerous. He worried if he was somehow broken, cracked, and these thoughts were the result of what he had held in for so long seeping out as a dark liquid over his mind and body. It was fascinating only because he understood exactly how unpredictable letting his mind explore the possibilities of the Darts Arts was now, and he wondered whether cautiously allowing his thoughts to wander over subjects was better than holding it all in.

He wasn't quite sure where his intuition to allow and accept all thought came from. He no longer wanted to avoid wondering what would happen to him and Tom in the future, he no longer wanted to avoid thinking about what the Death Eaters did, and what he himself would have to do in the future, concerning making Horcruxes and surviving. He didn't feel this was as a result of interest, he knew very well, it was just the result of hating the lies he told himself, and hating having to pretend everything would work out for him in the end somehow, as it almost always had in the past.

It was perfectly possible that not a thing would work out well in the end, and Harry could fall to pieces and break beyond repair, but he realised now that he would rather know about it, and see it before it happens, rather than hold everything in and refuse to see anything but a beautiful ending to his life, or his relationship with Tom. It was best that he knew what was happening, so he had at least some control over his life. He wasn't going to go about everything as if he were blind anymore. He understood how vital it was that he remained strong enough to stomach any change, and he was sure that talking with Tom in the woods a month ago about splitting up had triggered all of this. It felt better to him, to stop lying to himself. He felt stronger, as if his very being was finally agreeing on something.

Harry closed the book he was holding. He no longer felt like reading. It was getting late, and the storm was getting closer, but Tom still wouldn't be back for hours. It had begun to rain, and the room was dark beyond the fireplace, which held a quiet fire. Harry hoped Tom would come home early because of the rain, but he knew Tom probably wouldn't. He'd just use magic to repel the water, and carry on his search. He wanted that Diadem very badly, after all.

On the table in front of Harry, amongst a pile of books not yet replaced on any of the bookshelves that lined the walls, rested six or seven letters addressed to Harry and Tom separately. These were, of course, from the Death Eaters, who had begun sending letters about once every week or two for Harry, and quite a bit more often for Tom. The Death Eaters didn't know that Harry and Tom lived together, of course, so the two Slytherin leaders were both spoken to very differently, and for very different reasons.

The letters addressed to Tom were generally giving updates on any relatively interesting piece of news, asking Tom vital questions as slyly as Nott, Lestrange, Dolohov, and any of the others could manage. They were trying to get more information out of their leader without annoying him or bombarding him with inquiries as to how the future might go. Tom seemed to enjoy their letters, and he certainly didn't find the constant flow a bother, so Harry would say the Death Eaters had succeeded in their mission.

To Harry, the letters were as casual as the Death Eaters had always been to him. Avery wrote the most, talking about past events and present events with the others, who he still hung around with Avery quite a lot in daily life, it appeared. Avery, and a few others, often asked Harry what he was doing, and whether he wanted to join the rest of them in whatever they were doing, but Harry had so far managed to reply to every invitation with a polite 'no', along with an excuse or two. They never seemed to truly mind.

Harry was glad that he was secretly so far away from the Death Eaters. He had no desire to join any of their activities outside of Hogwarts. He knew they would be just as vile and uninteresting to be around as they had been at school. They were occasionally amusing, Harry had to admit, but that didn't make up for all of their bad qualities, in the end. They were decent friends, but terrible people, and with all of the immoral crimes they committed–

Harry felt a great rush of happiness. His heart was suddenly leaping with joy and excitement, as he felt his lungs exhale and inhale sharply with uncontrollable laughter. He could hear the sound of the rain pouring down as he laughed, and he felt more alive in that moment than he had in months! Until, almost as suddenly as this emotion had appeared, it vanished. Harry froze, the smile sliding from his face, as he heard his laughter still echoing in his ears. He had jumped up with unexpected energy, but he couldn't remember the act of standing at all.

His elation had swiftly been replaced with confusion. He wondered what had just happened. The sound of rain was muffled past the windows, unlike before. Surely he hadn't felt all of that in relation to the Death Eaters? Harry was repulsed by the memory of his old 'friends', not overjoyed. That happiness had felt completely unrelated… or at least Harry hoped so. He felt a little uneasy with the possibility that his mind had unrepentantly been thrilled with memories and assumptions on what the Death Eaters did. It had felt as though someone forced those thoughts on him, but no one could have used a spell on him now, surely?

Harry was about to sit down, to think about this, before something came to his attention. There was a soft rustling noise coming from beyond the front door. Harry, knowing no one was due home at this time, felt fear gripping him for the first time in months. When he heard the lock click, he withdrew his wand without a second of thought. The door banged open…

And there stood Tom. When their eyes met, and when Tom registered why Harry was standing with his wand at the ready, the soft smile on his lips broke into a grin. Harry was relieved to see who it was, but also confused by Tom's evident rapture. He lowered his wand just as Tom said, "I'm glad to see it isn't so easy to access our house without warning."

"I wasn't expecting you for hours," Harry said, rubbing his forehead as he put away his wand. He realised his scar had been pricking, and he wondered if that had something to do with what had just happened. "It could have been anyone at the door."

"I'm sorry to have startled you," Tom said, his smirk still visible and his tone light with joy, "but I come with good news."

"I can see that," Harry said. He was relieved, convinced now that he had only felt happiness through Tom, as odd as it was that they still shared this connection. "What is it?"

"I found it," Tom said, his voice now almost shaking in exuberance. "I finally found the Diadem of Ravenclaw."

Harry grinned. They had discussed which item Tom wanted next for Horcruxes, so Harry was able to smile back in understanding with no problem. "That's great!" he exclaimed. "Where was it?"

"Merely in a hallow tree," Tom said, walking further into the room. He appeared restless, and Harry was sure this would finally make him happier in general. He had become frustrated previously with his fruitless searches, and Harry hadn't seen him smile this uncontrollably in months. "I traced the magic in it from tens of meters away, it was so powerful. I barely dared to believe I had found it, even when I knew little else could be holding that much magic…"

"Where is it?" Harry asked, noticing by this point that Tom's hands were empty.

"I need you to help me get it," Tom said, glancing around the room now. He found what he was looking for, Harry's travelling cloak. "I can't seem to do it on my own."

"Why not?"

"It's protected in a way that requires two people or more to obtain it," Tom explained, appearing to explain this as quickly as he could. "It would normally need a whole team, but I know we're strong enough to do it ourselves. I just need you to take some of the weight of the enchantment off of me, while I break its protection. Put on your cloak, and we can go now."

Harry, still a little taken aback with all of this, yet suddenly ready for any adventure, took his cloak as Tom levitated it towards him. He withdrew his wand from his pocket once more when his cloak was on, and saw Tom heading for the door.

"No one else is going to get there before us," Harry said, as he too headed for the door. "It's been hiding there for hundreds of yeas, so there's no rush."

"There is still a slight possibility that someone could have followed me," Tom said, closing the door behind Harry. "One can never be completely sure."

"I would hate to be whoever might follow you," Harry said, smirking. "You'd know that I, as anyone, was there, no matter what. You're too paranoid."

"Says the wizard who was point his wand at my throat not five minutes ago," Tom laughed, finding only great humour in Harry's comment, as he might have anyway. He never stopped smiling as they made their way towards the exit of the building. "If I weren't cautious, the risk of someone following me would be far greater. I feel more secure when I check for who's around."

"That sounds like rationalised paranoid to me," Harry joked.

"Perhaps it is," Tom said lightly. "But I know that if anyone is there, they'll never free the Diadem before us. Even if Dumbledore, for example, was to have followed me, he wouldn't be with anyone else, and thus wouldn't have the power to take the Diadem."

They were outside by now, standing in the pouring rain. Tom began to use magic, and Harry joined him, enchanting their bodies to repel rain. They stood for a moment in silence until they were done, and Tom's smiled. "Take my arm."

Harry did so, gazing at his lover. They shared one last radiant look, before they span on the spot, Disapparating with an echoing '_crack_'.

They experienced the familiar sensation of being crushed by an unmovable force for what felt like too long, before they reappeared on solid ground. They had landed in a forest, which was cramped and humid, with trees growing very close together, obscuring the already blackening sky with a layer of overlapping treetops.

Their surroundings were very quiet, and Harry could tell there was very little wildlife around, perhaps because of the storm, or perhaps just in general. The tree trunks nearby were grooved and shadowy, and visibly slippery from the rain that made it's way past the canopy. The branches of the trees were all very high up, and since the upper leaves stole all the sunlight, many lower limbs were bear of leaves, and as dead as the undergrowth, or lack thereof. The place felt haunted.

"It's this way," Tom spoke quietly.

Harry tore his eyes away from the looming view above them, feeling a lot less blissful suddenly. He followed Tom, who appeared too eager for the Diadem to care about the threatening woods as they walked over dead twigs and leaves. Rain continued pouring down, yet their movements were clearly audible to anyone who might be around in the otherwise dead silence. Harry felt as though they were being watched, and he wondered if maybe that's where Tom's paranoia had arisen. But maybe Harry was still shaken by Tom's unexpected arrival. Unseen eyes lurked in every corner.

"It's in that tree," Tom told Harry, pointing ahead of them.

Harry wasn't sure which of the many trees Tom was referring to, and they were less than five meters away from it before Harry could see where the Diadem must be hiding. A tall tree stood before them, massive in width as well as height, and bare of all its leaves, since it wasn't an evergreen tree, or anything of the sort. The trunk was thick and warped, twisting up diagonally to reveal a gash in its side, creating the perfect hollow to hide an item within. Harry could feel the magic coming off of it, and he wondered if that was because of the Diadem or the beauty of the majestic tree itself.

They moved closer to the tree in silence. There was mud slowly forming on the ground, but it was far too low to reach the Diadem, which seemed to be protected by magic regardless, since no rain was touching Ravenclaw's praised Heirloom when Harry saw it. It could be seen in the shadows even before Tom lit his wand for better light. Harry saw that the Diadem appeared the same as it had in his past, which was likely how it had been since it's creation. It shimmered in the light they cast upon it, and visibly etched into the fine tiara were the words 'wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure'.

Tom's eyes were transfixed on the object when Harry looked at him, both of their wands' light illuminating them clearly. Tom began casting counter curses and enchantments without a word, and Harry watched him, waiting for when he would have to 'distract' some of the magic. They didn't speak as Tom began mumbling incantations, and after a few minutes of struggling, where Harry doubted whether they would succeed in obtaining the Diadem, they had broken the protection.

They stood very still; hardly daring to believe the Diadem was theirs, as they felt the magic end. Slowly, and very carefully, Tom reached a hand up to reach for Ravenclaw's Heirloom. When he pulled his hand away from the hollow, he held the Diadem within his fingers. They stared at it for a moment, before looking up at each other, grinning. Even in this cold light, Harry could see Tom was flushed with feverishness.

"We found it," Tom said in a hushed voice. "We, of all the great witches and wizards who have searched every corner of the earth…"

Tom's eyes fell back down to the Diadem. He held it very carefully, his eyes eager to take in every detail of it. It truly was beautiful…

A noise interrupted them. Previously hidden behind the falling of rain and the roar of thunder, a rustling sound indicated there's was something moving near them. Harry and Tom's eyes met, as they listened from where it was coming from. They turned their heads, slowly, in the opposite direction of the hollow tree. There, staring directly at them from between two trees stood a dragon.

It wasn't a fully-grown Dragon, of course. It was barely a quarter of a fully-grown Dragon's size, yet that was enough for it to be taller than both Harry and Tom. It had dark green scales, and a small glittering golden horn, which Harry knew from past Care of Magical Creatures classes would grow longer one day, giving the Dragon an even odder appearance. Large eyes stared down at Harry and Tom, watching curiously, as Harry and Tom stared back, transfixed.

They didn't dare move. Even as an evident baby, this Dragon would have enough strength to cause them quite a bit of trouble. Harry wondered what brought the Dragon here, especially since Dragons, like many creatures, didn't like to be around Wizarding magic. Though perhaps that was from experience in their lives, rather than instincts. From the looks of things, Harry didn't suppose this Dragon had ever seen humans before. There was a long hesitation, where Harry and Tom and the Dragon waited for something to happen. When nothing did, Tom spoke.

"_It's a baby Dragon,"_ he hissed. The Dragon's eyes moved towards him, it having heard the slight noise.

"_I can see that,"_ Harry responded. _"What sort is it?"_

"_A Romanian Longhorn."_

"_What's it doing here?"_

"_Exploring, evidently… and I suspect its mother is around here somewhere."_

This idea concerned Harry. _"Will it do anything to us, the mother?"_

"_That depends whether we ourselves do anything."_

They remained silent for a moment, neither of them able to read the other's expression as they watched the Dragon stare, its nostril's flaring and it breathed and smelt them.

"_We should steal it,"_ Tom whispered.

Harry did everything he could to refrain looking at Tom in shock. _"Are you insane? We won't even be able to even leave this forest without fighting this Dragon, never mind its mother! How are we supposed to capture it?"_

"_Think about it, Harry,"_ Tom pressed, obviously determined to have his plan heard, at least, _"We've found a baby Dragon two countries away from where it should be, which suggests it isn't being tracked by any Ministry, and we have the rare chance, in this very moment, to cast the most powerful silencing charms on this baby as we can, while the mother is nowhere in sight. It would be an insanely foolish chance to miss!"_

"_How are we supposed to get it out of here while we work on silencing charms?"_ Harry asked, cautious of the risk they'd be taking with this Dragon's temper and strength. _"Where would we put it, moreover? We can't exactly hide it in our flat for however long, and it would be impossible to get this to England, for one of the others to look after, even if they were strong enough to." _

Tom thought about these problems, and Harry hoped that his message was sinking in. Harry honestly didn't feel ready to look after a creature this big, and he didn't like the idea that Tom was so keen to take this opportunity immediately. Harry had to admit this was a pretty lucky find, especially since the Dragon has walked right up to them, and was just waiting to see what happened now… but it would be so much work for them to try and take it as their own, especially when they weren't completely sure whether any Ministry knew about this. This struck a thought in Harry.

"_Why don't we put a tracing charm on it?"_ Harry suggested._ "That way, we can know where it is, and wait a month or so to make sure the Ministry doesn't do anything. I'm sure the mother has more than one baby Dragon, so we can wait to see how many others there are before stealing some. The Ministries will think they died in this forest."_

Tom thought about this too. Harry knew he wanted the Dragon very badly, and he wondered what expression Tom had at the moment. He didn't dare move, so he instead waited for an answer.

"_I suppose that might be a smarter option,"_ Tom said, sounding sincere. _"But we'll have to take this Dragon within a few months, before it is too old to manage on our own."_

"_Alright,"_ Harry said, happy with this in mind.

"_But in a moment,"_ Tom continued, _"As soon as I put a tracer on this Dragon, prepare to Apparate with me. He won't like this very much."_

Harry turned to look at Tom, forgetting they needed to be still. Before he could say a thing, Tom shot a spell at the Dragon. The creature had seen Harry's movement as a sign he was moving away, so it launched towards the two wizards. The spell Tom had used seemed to hurt the Dragon, or at least shock it, because their ears were suddenly aching with the sound of the young Dragon's cry. The Dragon had stopped, thanks to Tom's spell, but now it was angry. Before Harry knew it, fire was speeding towards Tom and him.

The two Slytherins reacted quickly, using different spells to shield themselves from the flames. When the Dragon stopped trying to burn them, it was confused as to why Harry and Tom were still alive. It was about to try fire again, before they all heard a deep roaring from behind the young Dragon. Its mother had found it at last.

"Let's go!" Harry shouted, as the mother Dragon came audibly closer. The baby turned its head, and cried again for its mother.

Tom shot another spell, which caused the Dragon to look back at them in rage. Harry recognised the spell as a tracking charm, and he could barely believe Tom hadn't done this before. Harry moved towards Tom, defending them from more fire as Tom waited for the spell to set in properly. They heard the roaring of the fully-grown Dragon again, and Harry grabbed Tom's arm. Seconds later, Harry felt Tom spin on the spot, and they Disapparated out of the forest with a now barely detectable _'crack'_.

When they landed back in the wizarding village where their house rested, it was blindingly dark compared to the now partially burning forest. They lit their wands once more, Tom turning towards Harry the moment they caught their breath. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Harry said breathlessly. His heart was still pounding. "We should be glad we didn't try and take that Dragon, though."

Tom smiled faintly, a breath of laughter escaping his lips. "I would have liked to try, as wise as it evidently was to track it instead."

Harry smiled a little too, holding back a remark of how long it took Tom to put the charm on the Dragon. It _had_ begun attacking them before they had even raised their wands, so not tracking it probably saved their lives… or at least some hassle. "You still have the Diadem, right?"

"Of course," Tom said. He smiled at the thought. "It would be nice to go back home and admire it now, I believe."

Harry smirked, squeezing Tom's hand before letting it fall away. "That would be nice."

They headed for their apartment, passing only a few lit houses in this quiet town, even with the sun having set only an hour ago beyond the clouds. The fire in their house had died down to embers in their absence, but Harry lit it again with magic as he stood in front of the fireplace. Tom lit some of the torches and candles to lighten the room, before he pulled Ravenclaw's Diadem out of his pocket, to examine it.

He studied it for only a minute, before walking across the room to be close to Harry.

"I cannot believe we have this item to ourselves," Tom said softly as he sat on their couch, indicating for Harry to sit next to him. "So many centuries have passed since its disappearance, and yet here it is, in spite of all the legends that claimed it was lost forever…"

Harry sat next to Tom, both of them focusing their attention on the Diadem. Harry didn't have much to say concerning the Heirloom, but he enjoyed seeing Tom so satisfied with his success in finding it. Tom's long, thin fingers slid carefully across the central front of the tiara, and he was lost in thought for a moment, gazing down at his treasure.

"Was I more determined to get this item than the average person?" Tom asked softly, speaking more to himself than Harry. "Was it the intention I had for it's use – not as a source of wisdom, but mainly as a Horcrux – which guided me to it? Has no one else as powerful as I searched as hard for it, and dwelt upon the history as endlessly? I could have been merely lucky… I have searched for it, whilst only vaguely knowing its location, for solid months…"

"No one else seems to have asked Helena Ravenclaw about the history of the Diadem," Harry reminded Tom. "Or at least, they never managed to get a word out of her about it, from what you told me about her."

"So much is true," Tom said quietly, his fingers still feeling the Diadem cautiously, as if he feared it would break even now. It took him a long time to say anything after this. "Do you want to see it?"

"Sure," Harry said, surprised.

Tom had turned his attention towards Harry, smiling and passing him the Diadem the moment his answer was given. Harry took the Heirloom carefully, his eyes meeting Tom's for only a moment. It wasn't hard for him to believe that Ravenclaw herself wore this crown once, as he examined how skilfully the item was constructed, with a breath taking appearance, and powerful feel to it. He hadn't been able to look at it properly in his past encounters with it. It had only ever been a Horcrux to him, an evil object. Now he saw the beauty of its early life, somehow.

As he examined the object, Tom was examining him, his eyes darting across Harry's face to try and see his reaction to the Heirloom, or else just to watch him. As soon as Harry noticed Tom's examination of him, he stopped thinking about his past connections to this very object, and smiled. He attempted to hand it back.

"Don't you want to try it on?" Tom asked softly. "It's supposed to hold so many magical properties, as I perhaps told you before."

"Sure," Harry agreed. They smiled, and Harry felt Tom's hand wrap around his own. Tom took the Diadem into his hands carefully, and placed it on Harry's head. He then proceeded to analyze Harry, his lips displaying content.

"How do you feel?" Tom asked.

"Normal," Harry replied.

"Yes," Tom said, "I do believe it takes a while to make one feel different, more wise. It would be too convenient if it made you instantly feel the effects of the enchantment…"

Tom's eyes travelled over the Diadem, and lower when he felt he saw it enough. His eyes took in Harry's appearance, and his smile reappeared. He reached up to take the Diadem from him carefully, placing it on a side table instead. His fingers were soon intertwining with Harry's, as Tom gave him his full attention.

"I'm glad I got to bring you to the forest, to get the Diadem," Tom said quietly. "I wouldn't have been able to retrieve it without you, and nor would I have met that Dragon."

Harry felt as though Tom said this in reference to the last time anything important happened in the woods. He too was very glad they hadn't split up that day. "I'm happy to be of some use to you."

"You're always of use to me," Tom said, smiling as he gazed into Harry's emerald eyes. His thumb slid across Harry's forefinger and thumb slowly, occasionally moving between and underneath these fingers to caress his palm. Harry could barely believe this was enough to make him crave the boy in front of him, as his eyes began to wander Tom's face.

He examined the whisper of a smile on Tom's softly parted lips, and the slightly rosy tint upon his high cheekbones, placed there from the fervency he felt from obtaining a Heirloom of the four founders, contrasting against his otherwise perfectly pale skin. Harry examined the strong cut of his jaw, and the alluring glint in his eyes, and a million other handsome things he could barely find the words to describe…

Tom raised his free hand, and stroked the side of Harry's face. Harry's eyes closed in longing, his breath becoming slightly more auditable, before he moved his head towards Tom's hand, kissing his palm, and meeting Tom's eyes again. Tom's thumb slid across Harry's lips as he moved his hand to caress Harry's jaw. Harry found that his free hand had ended up near Tom's knee, so he began moving it up his leg slowly, watching for Tom's reaching as they gazed at each other.

Tom leant forwards, unable to resist Harry any longer. They kissed passionately, their breath rough and uncontrolled, as Tom's hands sliding away from Harry's own and moving upwards, to run through Harry's hair. Harry's hand passed Tom's hips, and settled on his waist. He felt Tom's lips part form his own, to begin kissing Harry's neck. Harry hissed Tom's name, his hands gliding up Tom's back, encouraging him and holding him in an impassioned embrace.


	42. Nothing's Changed

"Are you _sure_?"

"I'm more than sure, Harry," Tom said. "I've checked all the information I could possibly access, and every Ministry of Magic I've watched has not the faintest idea that there are four baby Dragons and a mother living in this Albanian forest. They think the mother died years ago, before she became impregnated and flew from Romania."

Harry and Tom were sitting in their living room once more. The late sunlight of early June was streaming in through their windows while they conversed, and Harry sat upon one of the comfortable armchairs, hidden in the shade, while Tom paced the room.

"How could no one know about these Dragons, though?" Harry asked, still confused by all of the Ministries' mistakes with regulating these creatures. "They burnt down hundreds of trees in that forest before heading for the mountains, where surely someone should have seen them."

"The forest is far too big for a few burnt trees to be noticed, and there are tens of more likely magical creatures who could have caused the damage," Tom said. "Dragons are also exceptionally good at hiding amongst the mountains, that being their main natural habitat."

"Even with the glittering gold horns on their fifty-foot-up heads?" Harry asked.

"Yes, even with the glittering gold horns on their fifty- and ten-foot-up heads," Tom confirmed, smiling slightly. "It's common for Witches and Wizards to spot a Dragon or two on the mountaintops. People are uneducated on what breed of Dragon goes where, even if they are fazed by the sight."

"But it seems so careless of the Ministries to just let them roam so freely," Harry said, unsure why it caused him so much surprise. "I'm not saying they should know about every Dragon on the face of the planet, but you'd think they'd care more. From what you said, there are plenty more creatures out there that we could take…"

Harry thought, as he trailed off into silence, that perhaps it didn't matter that much, in this decade, if a Dragon or two slipped under the radar and went unnoticed for a few years. Perhaps it would only be a problem for the Wizarding world when people began using these creatures as weapons – deadly weapons. Perhaps Tom was creating a new popular view and fear against Dragons and so on, which would lead the world to mistrust and mistreat them even up until Harry's early life. Tom would make them far more evil, angrier, and less free than they were now…

"This, to put it simply, is the loophole I told you about so many months ago," Tom said, referring to Harry's earlier words, "And though we will have to be cautious with which creatures we take, especially so early on, I doubt we'll be unsuccessful in our endeavour to train and control them well."

"If it's true that no Ministry has tracked down on these Dragons," Harry added.

"I know that they haven't," Tom assured him. "As long as we take the Dragons as soon as we can, all will be well."

Harry didn't reply to this immediately. He wanted to tell Tom that that he didn't like the idea of them taking these Dragons, that he was unconfident and fearful of their plan, but quite a few things were holding him back from voicing these thoughts. Tom had explained to Harry all the wonderful things about these creatures, the mysteries yet to be revealed concerning them, the properties unexplored and painfully ignored, and the uses to which the Dragons could be put to under their care. Harry didn't want to give into Tom's persuasions for why taking these Dragons was a good idea, but he had to say that Tom made a fair argument in saying nothing better would be made of these creatures…

Tom seemed to sense Harry's thoughts as he watched his lover intently, but Harry ignored that for the moment. It would be extraordinary to see these creatures up close, to examine them for as long as he wanted to, knowing they were theirs. Harry had grown to love easy research like this, thanks to Tom, but he couldn't say it was something he resented. Harry and Tom's life had become somewhat boring lately, as they stayed in this flat, venturing into the forests less often, and reading, or else doing seemingly nothing, more. It could be a relief to have something else to do, no matter how dangerous it was…

Harry sighed, knowing that there was nothing he could change when both he and Tom wanted this. Not wanting to argue over this subject, Harry asked in defeat, "So how do you suppose we do it, then?"

He watched as Tom smiled, and he tried not to do the same. "We'll need to plan a place to keep the Dragons, to begin," Tom said. "Then, after also devising how we will capture the Dragons, we will need a team of people to help us control and move the creatures to their final destination."

"The team of people being our old school friends, I'm guessing?"

"That guess would be correct," Tom revealed. "They'll be happy that they're of some use finally, at the very least."

"Not to mention how they'll love working with something as dangerous as a family of Dragons," Harry remarked. "It will make them feel more important, even if they can't talk about it to anyone but each other."

"That's still enough," Tom assured him. "Their values of reputation amongst themselves keeps them eager to do more for me, and I encourage that."

"I've noticed," said Harry, thinking back to how the Death Eaters would attempt to impress Tom with every piece of information, and every recount of things they did in pure devotion to the Dark Arts, and by extent Tom himself. "Were you planning on them being like that, at the beginning? Or did it just end up that way?"

"A mix of the two," Tom answered. "I think I encouraged the idea when I noticed its existence, which was still in my early years at Hogwarts… Gaining my respect is of absolute importance to them all, now, instead of the initial personal gain in knowledge and power from the Dark Arts."

"Which doesn't surprise me," Harry said. He reflected for a moment on the Death Eaters' faithfulness, which was almost creepy in its strength… This brought up a question Harry hadn't thought to ask before. "What are the older students that you taught like? Are they as keen as the others that I know?"

"They were not quite as loyal as our current friends… yet if they weren't keen upon serving me before, I'm sure they will be now," Tom speculated, perhaps speaking to himself equally as much as to Harry. "Most of my current friends keep the older ones in contact, writing to them as well as meeting up with them, so I'm guessing those who were missed in the last few years have heard about the potential reunion from the eager Avery, Dolohov, Lestrange, et cetera."

"Who are you going to ask to help us with the Dragons, then? Just your newer friends?"

"I think that _we_ should ask _our_ newer friends mainly," Tom said, smiling lightly at his correction for Harry's use of 'you' and 'your'.

"They're not my friends," Harry reminded Tom, returning the smirk. "But how many of them will there be?"

"We'll invite only three of them, to begin."

"Three?" Harry repeated, surprised.

"To merely watch the Dragons," Tom clarified. "They will have to be here within a fortnight, to watch the Dragons almost constantly. And to spare you quick introductions, whilst sticking to the friends I know best, I'll ask only people such as Avery to visit us."

"What are we going to do about living together? They obviously can't know we live in the same flat, or they'll easily guess that we're together."

"I've already thought of this – we'll just have to live in two apartments for a while," Tom explained. "It doesn't matter how close they are."

Harry wasn't sure whether he really liked this idea, but he smiled faintly. "Kicking me out, then? Isn't that a step backwards in our relationship?"

Tom didn't find this as funny as Harry, which made Harry smile more. "It's only temporary, until–"

"Until what? They go back to England and leave us alone for another two years, asking no questions about the Dragons we can't look after on our own?"

Harry could see that Tom sensed the slight annoyance past his light tone. With his next words, Tom tried to cure that. "No," he said, "It will merely be until there are less of them around, so we can wander off to the same apartment every night or so, unnoticed."

Harry broke eye contact with Tom, letting his head fall back against the headrest of his chair as he gazed towards the ceiling. "I'm sick of having to hide us from everyone…"

"I know," Tom said, watching Harry from the armchair that he now sat on. "But this is the only way we can continue to live our lives peacefully."

"What, by limiting our peace together, and withholding something that shouldn't be a secret?"

"Yes," Tom answered with full seriousness. "If the alternative is losing all the power we have and being shunned by the rest of the world, then yes, this is the only peace we have left."

Harry laughed humourlessly, both in response to what Tom had said, and in reaction to an evil thought that crossed his embittered mind. He wondered what it would be like if he ruined Tom's chance of being the greatest Dark Wizard of all time by proving to the Death Eaters that he and Tom had been gay lovers since Hogwarts. If he didn't feel far too much love towards Tom to cause him this much embarrassment and pain, this would be a possible plan for him. But it would be heartless, Harry reflected, his smiling fading, and Tom would find a way to say Harry was delusional…

"When do we move the Dragons?" Harry asked, not wanting to discuss the changes in their lives with the arrival of the Death Eaters.

"In around two months," Tom answered, his hesitating tone suggesting he was dwelling upon Harry's reaction to this all. "Once we decide where to put them."

"And how many people will help us with this?"

"Since the young Dragons are easier to manage, we won't need the usual amount – six wizards – to control them. We'll need about three wizards each, plus the normal amount for the mother. So there will be eighteen people… plus another five to stand around, to be safe. Ending in twenty three of my friends helping us."

"Until half a year's time, when we'll need thirty people just to look after the Dragons – and constantly… It's going to be insanely difficult, never mind dangerous. And then–"

Harry stopped talking. Tom had gotten up to walk towards him, sitting on the arm of his chair, and gently holding Harry's face with his hand when Harry looked away from the ceiling. When their eyes met, Tom spoke.

"Difficulty will only help us to appreciate our luxuries, even before we are rewarded for our work," he spoke softly. "As for the danger involved, well, I think that makes it all the more exciting."

Harry dropped his gaze from Tom, moving his head to rest against Tom's chest after a moment. He sighed, accepting that this change was inevitable. He listened to the sound of Tom's breathing, which calmed him somehow. "You're probably right," Harry said. "Even if I dislike your friends, it could be quite good raising Dragons."

"It could be great," Tom amplified. "There are many fantastic things about Dragons, as I've told you before. With everything I want to add to them, it would be magnificent."

"I know," Harry smiled. But his smile faded before he spoke again. "I'm sure this is going to change the world forever…"

–X–

In a small town to the far north of Albania, an echoing '_crack_' disturbed the silence amongst a cluster of tall, dark houses. With nothing more than a glance, Harry saw that this town was equally as eerie as many of the others he had seen with Tom in this county. Harry wondered whether it was deliberate when Tom chose these places, usually full of the most sinister Dark Witches and Wizards Albania had to offer, packed together to populate whole towns at a time, to help them share wicked tales or make illegal trades as a daily part of life…

The promised two weeks of time before the arrival of the first Death Eaters had been well spent with Harry and Tom finding a new apartment and moving items to and from it to give the illusion that only one person lived there. They had worked together harmoniously in their preparation for the Death Eaters, helping to find inns that would hold the amount of people they were expecting and deciding upon how best to train the Death Eaters on Dragon keeping in general.

Most importantly, they had changed Harry's appearance back to how it used to be at Hogwarts. Harry had been a little unconfident that they would be able to make him look exactly how he had in their last school years, but Tom had assured him – in a voice as soft as always – that he could remember exactly how Harry had looked. Tom did a very good job with changing Harry's face, and by the time Harry saw himself again, he was confident that the Death Eaters wouldn't notice he had ever looked different.

Harry slowly found himself caring very little about whether the Death Eaters stayed for long or not. He realised that it wouldn't be very hard for him and Tom to spend time alone unnoticed now that they were out of Hogwarts, free to do what they wished. But there was one part of him that dreaded to conclude that meeting up with the Death Eaters again could – to his great unease – mean the formation of the first of Voldemort's following…

It was a warm early autumn evening when Harry and Tom Disapparated from Harry's flat. They had arranged to meet Avery, Nott, Lestrange and Dolohov in an inn that was located in the eerie village where they now stood. Very few of the buildings around them showed any sign of habitation within. There were barely any lit houses in sight, despite the sun setting already. Harry knew that it would probably remain this way even as the night fell properly.

"The inn is this way," Tom said, walking onwards after they landed as if he didn't notice how creepy the town was.

Harry made no response to this. Further down the road, a tall building poured out the most light visible in the town, so Harry guessed this must be the inn they were looking for. They headed for it quietly.

"I wonder if they've changed at all," Harry mused as they strolled closer to the Death Eaters with every step. "I can't believe it's been over two years since we last saw them…"

"From what I've gathered by reading their letters, they're much the same as before," Tom said. "Intelligence wise, at least. Nothing has really happened for them in these last two years."

"They've all been waiting for you to put them to use again, probably. None of their jobs seem to be permanent."

"They'll get more useful jobs soon," Tom said. "Jobs that will make them more convenient…"

"But that's their decision," Harry stated, purposely saying this because he knew it had lost all it's value in this situation.

Tom smiled at his entertaining joke. "Not any more."

"It's sort of strange how they've devoted themselves to you so fully," Harry remarked. "They no longer have the option of controlling their own lives."

"And yet they enjoy the lives I've given them," Tom insisted. "They could attempt walking away from it all, if they dared."

"Which they wouldn't, because they're scared of you."

Tom smiled. "I've trapped them in an endless circle, it seems… but here we are."

They had arrived at the inn. Very little talking could be heard from the inside the tall building, but Harry had no doubt that this was the right place. Tom indicated for them to go inside, and Harry followed him in without hesitation.

The place was cramped, and clouded with the smoke of what might have been cigarettes. Hags and uncanny witches and wizards with shielded appearances sat at the bar, which was run by a stooped, ugly old man with a lack of hair and teeth. The customers at the bar drank quietly, and made little conversation, very unlike a table at the far corner of the room, which was occupied by four young and untroubled wizards. If the recognisable voices didn't tell Harry and Tom who these people were, then a second glance through the thick smoke certainly did.

Tom headed for the crowded table, and Harry followed him, smiling slightly when the Death Eaters spotted them.

"Finally, you're here!" Avery exclaimed, grinning.

"I hope you weren't anticipating our arrival for too long," Tom responded, taking a seat at the table as he watched his Death Eaters contently. He sat between Lestrange and Dolohov, while Harry took the seat between Nott and Avery, on the opposite side of the table. "I would have joined you earlier, if time had permitted it."

"Nah, it was no problem," Avery said lightheartedly. "Dolohov only got here an hour ago, anyway. I didn't know you'd bring Jonathan here too, though!"

Avery beamed at Harry, and Harry returned the smile the best he could, glad when someone spoke before he could make a verbal response.

"I can't believe you've brought us all the way here to work with _Dragons!_" Dolohov said thickly, careful enough to keep his voice low. "That's way more exciting than anything I expected for a reunion."

"And what did you expect for a reunion?" Tom questioned lightly.

"I had no clue _what_ you were planning," Dolohov said. "But I'm glad I was chosen to be a part of this."

"Probably only on default, to be fair, Dolohov," Avery grinned. He then directed his words to Harry and Tom as Dolohov scowled. "Here, let's get you some drinks!"

They ordered, Harry and Tom both asking for light drinks as the Death Eaters refreshed their own. The bartender appeared hostile with serving even this many people at one table, regardless of how much money they might end up spending, but the Death Eaters didn't seem to even notice.

"So, have you been doing for this for the last two years?" Nott asked the moment he could. "Searching for Dragons?"

"No, only since the last seven months," Tom said. "Before that I was in England, working in Knockturn Alley… I ran into a bit of trouble there, and decided to slip away from the country in November."

"Why?" Avery asked, joining the other Death Eaters in interested stares. "What happened?"

"Well, I'm not sure I should tell you that…" Tom said quietly, hiding most of the enjoyment that Harry knew he took from this. He took a sip front his drink, allowing a moment for thought. "Let us just say I won't be dealing in antiques again any time soon."

"Why not?" Dolohov pressed.

Tom didn't answer this, as his attention was drawn to Lestrange, who gasped and stared in astonishment. Lestrange hesitated for a moment, evidently unsure if his thoughts were viable. "Were you working at Borgin and Burkes?"

"Why do you ask?" Tom inquired, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"There was a story, in the papers last November," Lestrange began, his normally drawling voice suddenly more alert due to awe, "About two antique dealers who own a shop in Knockturn Alley… One of them, Borgin, was accused of murdering the other, Burke, when he was found dead in their shop one morning. But the Ministry decided that Burke had committed suicide, in fear of being blamed for the recent death of one of their clients…"

"You work with the Daily Prophet now, do you not?" Tom asked, appearing to have missed all of Lestrange's words.

"Yes," Lestrange answered, visibly confused by Tom's lack of comment on his theory. He was careful not to ignore Tom's question. "I started working there in November."

"The Crime Department, I heard?"

"Yes," Lestrange confirmed. "How did you know?"

"Jonathan used to have that job," Tom mentioned lightly. "He quit in early November, in fact."

Lestrange was surprised, as he turned to Harry. "The last person who worked there requested that I personally had the job… Was that you?"

Harry's eyes flickered towards Tom for a moment. He hadn't been informed on this piece of information, but he had no doubt that Tom had done this for Lestrange. Harry wondered for a moment if Tom was testing his ability to improvise… Or perhaps Tom had just used this as an excuse to not answer for the deaths at Borgin and Burkes.

"Yeah," Harry lied. "I remembered what you said about your father hating newspapers, and you wanting to spite him in spreading news… I wasn't sure whether you would accept the job, but I thought I may as well try."

"But I always heard you referred to as 'Richard'," Lestrange said slowly.

"That was a fake name," Harry admitted. "I knew the Ministry wouldn't hire me as who I really am… and I didn't want to let them know where I really was, anyway."

"Why not?" Lestrange asked, likely noticing that Harry and Tom's lives had gotten darker over the last two years. The other Death Eaters seemed to have noticed this too as they watched the conversation keenly.

"To be perfectly honest, I was searching for someone," Harry said, making up a story halfway between truth and lies. "Someone who I could only hear about firsthand when I worked in the Crime Department."

Lestrange appeared stuck between fear and admiration. "Did you find who you were looking for?"

"Yes," Harry replied, giving a weak smile.

"Did you… well… Why were you searching for them?"

Harry paused before answering this, unsure how much he could or should actually tell Lestrange. He took a sip of his drink, which in truth wasn't very good. He decided that since it was all lies anyway, and it wouldn't affect his life if he let Lestrange know what was supposed to be some of the truth… It would impress the Death Eaters, at the very least.

"I was looking for them for revenge," Harry answered bluntly, trying to make his lie as believable as possible with a hint of annoyance in his tone, to both the Death Eaters and Tom. He had supposedly sought revenge on Grindelwald for murdering his parents and friends, after all. "He murdered a few people I knew…"

"Oh," Lestrange responded shortly. He seemed to understand that Harry was referring to his parents. He shifted the subject a little, it seemed. "The head of the office, Moody, seemed to guess you'd run off for something like that."

"Did he?"

"Yes… I won't tell him who you really are though, obviously."

"Thanks," Harry said shortly. He took another sip of his drink.

"It's the least I can do, for you giving me that job," Lestrange smiled.

"So, is Jonathan going to join us in looking after them Dragons, then?" Avery asked as informally as always, moving the conversation along in either boredom or awkwardness – or a mix of the two.

"Not exactly," Tom answered, "He is going to be working with me, as he has for the last few months."

The Death Eaters were slightly taken aback with this piece of information. "So, has he been here with you all this time?" Avery asked.

"For a while, yes."

"Why?"

"I needed some assistance with tracking down magical creatures."

"Well, we could have helped!"

Tom smiled softly. "I had more than enough help with just Jonathan."

Harry could almost see the Death Eaters' self-importance lesson as he watched the expressions on all of their faces. He knew that they didn't like the idea of him being given an even more important job, and as Harry read some of their minds, he saw that they felt it was especially unfair since he hadn't been a part of their group for as long as they had. They didn't dare voice any of this, however.

"Plus, who better to help me than a fellow true criminal?" Tom commented softly, watching Harry from across the table with a faint smile. Harry had to stop himself from reminding Tom he hadn't actually done anything against the law as he smiled back.

"We're criminals!" Avery declared after a long moment of struggling with indignation. "We do loads of stuff, like–…"

"Do go on," Tom insisted, turning his attention to the young Death Eater.

Avery opened his mouth a few times, trying to find words as his eyes kept flickering between Harry and Tom.

"Er," Avery began, "are we allowed to talk about… you know… the _witches_ we _get along_ with?"

Any enjoyment that might have been shown on Tom's face had fallen away from this point, especially as he read Avery's mind. Avery worried about shielding Harry from this information, as Tom had ordered him to do back at Hogwarts, but Tom didn't seem to care about just that. His voice was empty when he spoke, as was his expression.

"It's of a personal preference that you spare me the unnecessary discomfort of hearing about the whores and victims you 'get along with', Avery, so no, I will not allow it."

"Alright," Avery agreed shortly. Harry tried to avoid thinking about how Avery might be spending his evenings now that he had even fewer eyes watching over him since Hogwarts. Avery seemed to want to mention that what he did wasn't as bad as murder, but he held his tongue… for a while, at least. He began struggling with another inquiry, as his mouth opened and closed a few more times.

"What is it?" Tom demanded.

"Oh, nothing, I just… well…" Avery stammered uncomfortably, "Have you, you know… found a girlfriend yet?"

Tom stared at Avery for a moment, too used to this to be surprised, Harry guessed. "I don't believe that is of any concern to you."

The other Death Eaters seemed embarrassed by Avery's question, even if Tom was completely indifferent. To their mortification, Avery didn't drop the subject. "I only ask because, you know, you haven't spoken about seeing anyone since the seventh year, and–"

"Sixth year," Nott commented quietly, staring down at the table as if he didn't feel he should be speaking at all. "Not since Jonathan joined the school, at least."

There was a prominent pause here, where Harry stared at Nott. He wondered vaguely how Nott remembered this and he felt uneasy about it… until he decided that that didn't matter. What was more important was the fact that Lestrange was now gazing at Harry, his stare having moved away from Tom slowly only a moment before. His expression was blank, but Harry saw that he was turning the situation around in his mind, taking in all the funny coincidences.

To Harry's unnoticeable horror, Lestrange began questioning the possibility of Harry and Tom being together, as boyfriends.

Lestrange moved a hand from his drink to slyly cover his mouth. This was to hide his laughter, rather than to mask his alarm, and Harry was relieved when he realised that Lestrange thought this merely amusing and not at all possible. Harry looked away, less worried now, as he heard Avery addressing him.

"What about you, Jonathan?" Avery inquired. "Found anyone yet?"

"Er," Harry hesitated… he decided to lie, to be safe. "Yes."

Avery waited a few seconds before pressing the subject. "Well?"

"We started going out recently," Harry made up, "but I don't think it'll last very long. She barely speaks English, amongst a few other problems."

"Is she Albanian? The Witches here are so much more beautiful than in England…"

"Yeah," Harry lied again. "Which probably explains why I never ended up with any English girl for very long…"

Tom appeared very lightly annoyed with how this conversation had ended up, but Harry knew he was the only one who noticed. They all talked for a few hours after this, discussing how all of their lives were going, before moving on to planning how they were going to keep track of the Dragons waiting way up in the mountains. The conversation took a lighter air soon enough, but Harry and Tom were both glad when they left that night, having prepared the Death Eaters for the challenge ahead, and having excused themselves from the inn without too much problem.

When the meeting finally ended, and when Harry arrived back home with Tom that night, the only thing he knew for sure was that despite all their time away from the Death Eaters, in the end nothing had changed.

–X–

Almost three months past this time, after Avery, Nott, Lestrange, and Dolohov had succeeding in keeping track of the Dragons, and after Harry and Tom had worked out exactly where they wanted the Dragons to go, contacting all the Death Eaters they could to offer the chance of joining them in dedication to the Dark Arts, Harry found himself in another, meeting the rest of the Death Eaters.

Tomorrow, they would be capturing and moving the Dragons away from the mountains for good. Though it had been two months since all of the Death Eaters had arrived in Albania, Harry hadn't met most of them yet, and Avery, Dolohov, and Mulciber were making a point of introducing Harry to the people he was yet to speak to. They had all been training in how to control Dragons for the last two months, under Tom's strict and tiring lead, so they were celebrating now, preparing for tomorrow.

"Meet my brother!" Avery insisted, leading Harry away from a standing group of Death Eaters to find a wizard sitting at a table further on. Harry spotted Avery's brother in an instant – he was only slightly taller than Avery, and a little stockier, with the same permanently dark bags under his eyes to contrast against his light brown hair. He shared the same twisted smile that Avery had, but it was visibly less friendly, somehow. "This is Gawain Avery, my older brother!"

"Pleased to meet you," Harry said, shaking Gawain's hand. Gawain merely nodded, before Dolohov interrupted anything he might have said.

"This here is Egan Gibbon," Dolohov said, indicating a Wizard with a button nose and glasses to lighten his otherwise vicious appearance, "and that's Rancell Macnair," Dolohov indicated a wizard who Harry guessed would be Walden Macnair's father, "and that's Duane Gonson," a Wizard with crooked yellow teeth and lank black hair smiled at Harry, "Then Quentin Pyrites," Quentin nodded, his expression solemn past his shadowed face, and ever calculating eyes, "and Berkeley Ransome," Berkeley nodded towards Harry, appearing despondent despite the merry people around him. "Oh, and here we have…"

Harry was introduced to about fifteen new Death Eaters, most of who seemed eager to be here on some level, no matter how strangely they showed it. Harry noticed, as the night progressed, that he was being treated with some sort of cautious respect from the new Death Eaters he met, and even the old Death Eaters he had known for a year. He realised, after a few hours, that everybody here was treating those around them accordingly to how much respect they got from Tom, and Harry, Lestrange, Nott, and Rosier were the only Death Eaters being treated well, generally.

Harry supposed that the Death Eaters had all talked about what happened a few months ago, concerning Tom and Harry reintroducing themselves to Avery, Nott, Lestrange, and Dolohov. In their minds, they thought Harry was respected because he had stayed with Tom for longer than anyone since Hogwarts. They thought Harry and Tom bounded on the fact that they had apparently murdered people recently, and many of them dared to think that Tom was helping Harry hide from the Ministry, giving Harry the chance to spend time with Tom, learning more than any of the others, regardless of the fact that he was still the newest Death Eater.

Harry found out, through Dolohov dragging them into conversation with Quentin Pyrites, that Quentin had been working in Germany for the past eight years. Harry was quite surprised that he had remained a Death Eater for that long, but Quentin mentioned that his old friends had updated him constantly about how well the Dark Arts lessons with Tom were going. It seemed that he was a dedicated Death Eater, and understood how far this group was going to go with its studies in the Dark Arts.

"So," Quentin began carefully, mid way between a part of their conversation, in his high, wary voice, "What's all this about you seeking revenge on someone? Did you get your revenge on him, in the end?"

Tom, who sat on the right hand side of their table, was listening, Harry knew. "I found him," Harry said, "but I didn't get any proper revenge yet, to be honest."

"So he's still out there, whoever you're looking for?"

"Pretty much… I'm waiting for him to go out in the open again, but I don't know if it will happen."

Quentin squinted questioningly at Harry. "Why can't you just go and get him now?"

"He's being protected, at the moment," Harry explained, not seeing the harm in a bit of truth.

"With magic you can't break through?"

"With magic I couldn't unnoticeably break through."

"So… Does the law have something to do with this?"

"Er, I suppose," Harry admitted, "but he isn't a part of the law…"

"Then how are they involved?" Quentin inquired. "Is he under some sort of law protection?"

Harry was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all these questions, and he wasn't scared to voice this. "Why do you care so much?"

"I don't," Quentin denied quickly, holding up his hands in an innocent gesture as his eyes widened a little in false fear. Harry was slightly annoyed by this, but he ignored it. He disliked this Death Eater already. "I'm just asking…"

"Would you kill this person though, if you found him?" Dolohov asked, as if it was no concern.

Harry didn't answer this immediately. He had learnt from Tom that he should never answer a definite 'yes' when asked this sort of question, no matter if that was honest or not. Harry tried to think of a smart answer. He thought back to what Tom always said. "Let's just say I won't easily forgive what he did to me…"

Harry met Tom's eyes for a moment after this, for Tom was staring at him from across the table. The Heir of Slytherin didn't smile at Harry's words; instead he seemed to be contemplating them… He was soon bombarded with questions from the Death Eaters around him, so he didn't keep his eyes on Harry for very long.

The Death Eaters were asking Tom countless questions, wanting to hear Tom explain why he fled from England, what really happened with Hepzibah Smith, what they were going to do with the Dragons, and what they were going to do besides raising Dragons to the best of their abilities, and though Tom would always answer their questions, he rarely gave a full answer. Harry knew he was keeping all of the Death Eaters intrigued, playing to all of their hopes and interests while he conversed with them for hours on end…

It was around eleven O'clock when Tom declared that he had had enough of their company for now, and he stood up to leave. The Death Eaters pleaded for him to stay, but there was far too much drinking and laughing going on, which didn't interest Tom in the slightest. To Harry's surprise, instead of just following Tom home in half an hour's time like usual, Tom addressed Harry in front of the room at large, suggesting for them to speak before leaving this gathering.

Harry agreed to the suggestion, being unnoticed by many of the Death Eaters who were wrapped up in their own conversations. He and Tom headed for the exit of the inn, speaking to few people on the way out. Once out in the cool breeze of this clear September evening, they spoke to each other.

"Why did we leave so early?" Harry asked, enjoying the calming wind that swept through this beautiful night.

"Did you enjoy the company of our friends?" Tom inquired, suggesting that the Death Eaters' attitude was the reason they had left.

"No, I'm quite happy to have left them," Harry stated, "but I'm just curious about why we left, when there were still a few more things we could have spoken to them about."

They were walking alone the same short route they had taken to the inn. The street was dark, and they appeared to be the only ones on it. Harry wondered why Tom hadn't stopped to Apparate yet.

"In truth, there's something that I wanted to show you," Tom said quietly, a soft smirk on his lips.

Harry couldn't help but return Tom's smile. He wondered if perhaps the last few months of being in the Death Eaters' company had made Tom crave a more quiet evening, for once. "What is it?"

"It'll be a moment before we get there," Tom said. "I won't tell you what it is, for it would be less of a surprise then."

Harry couldn't think of what this could be. He felt happiness at knowing Tom still had enough energy to plan romantic detours with him.

"How much do you love me?" Tom suddenly asked.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed for a moment, as he was taken aback. He told Tom what he meant to him quite often, and showed him perhaps even more. "Too much," Harry smiled. "More than I've ever loved anyone. But you know this already."

"I know," Tom admitted, "I was merely checking."

Harry tried to return Tom's smile as they walked, but more confusion stopped him from doing this fully. They were walking along a rural, winding path, between large fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. "Where are we going?"

"To a town, just a little further on," Tom replied. "Do you not find it beautiful here?"

"It's very beautiful," Harry agreed. The stars were shining above them in the clear sky, and silhouettes of mountains and forests in the far distance contrasted against the slightly lighter sky… There were also faint lights far ahead of them, which Harry guessed they were slowly heading towards. This didn't ruin the scenery, however.

"I'm glad we have tonight to be alone together," Tom said quietly as they walked. "When we move again further to the north tomorrow, to live closer to the Dragons, there will be so many of the others around… but at least we have each other now."

"I'm glad of it too," Harry said honestly. He reached for Tom's hand in the darkness, knowing it was safe for them to entwine their fingers here. He wondered what on earth Tom could be showing him.

"You had an interesting talk with Dolohov earlier," Tom mentioned.

"Did I?" Harry asked, a laugh audible in his voice. "I spoke to so many people today…"

"Yes, it's understandable you wouldn't directly remember the conversation," Tom said. "But it involved Quentin Pyrites, I believe."

"Oh," Harry remembered the conversation now. That had been odd, on reflection… "Why do you bring the conversation up?"

"You mentioned still wanting to seek revenge on Grindelwald," Tom remarked. "Were you lying?"

"Not really. Why?"

"I understand wanting to get to him somehow," Tom said, as a fact rather than a sympathetic observation. "We could get to him, you know…"

"I don't know," Harry said slowly, knowing how drastically this would change History. Grindelwald, mass murderer and government traitor, broken out of an impossible-to-break-out-of prison, by two teenaged boys who would one day become Lord Voldemort and The Boy Who Lived… "I think I'd rather let him rot for the next however many years, suffering slowly in the prison he himself built."

"True, this is a somewhat desirable outcome," Tom mused, perhaps trying to support any opinion Harry had on Grindelwald. "It's certainly far easier to just leave him there forever, slowly dying…"

Harry let Tom trail off into silence. The village they were heading for was getting closer now.

"You mentioned a while back how dangerous training Dragons will be," Tom voiced.

"And you convinced me there are too many good things about Dragons for anything like danger to hold us back," Harry reminded him. He was very confused by the things Tom kept bringing up. Their linked hands slipped away as they approached the village. "You said the danger was the most exciting part."

"And it is," Tom said. "But I want to make sure nothing happens to you."

Harry smiled a little, the first houses of the town showering slices of light upon them. "I'll be fine past all of this. I can look after myself, even when you're not around, you know."

"I know," Tom smiled. The houses in this town were dimly lit and distanced. They were plunged into purer darkness as they walked further along the street. "But I want to be sure you're safe."

"How will you do that?" Harry inquired.

"Well, I can only really think of one way," Tom responded quietly. Harry didn't know what expression he had in this darkness.

"That being?"

Tom only smiled, the light from a nearby house illuminating his face for a moment. "We're almost there."

They walked for perhaps a minute more, until Tom finally found what he was looking for… apparently. "Here we are," he said, stopping in the middle of the street. Everything around them was impossible to see, as even the starlight was blocked by close trees and buildings with no windows lit from within. Harry suddenly noticed how plain all of the houses he could see were. There were no broomsticks around, nor cauldrons, creatures, and warm fires that would suggest a Wizarding population… They were in a Muggle town.

"What are we doing here?" Harry asked, all of his happiness suddenly being replaced by concern. He tried to keep his voice calmer, knowing that surely there was nothing to be scared of… "What did you want to show me?"

"This," Tom hissed, igniting his wand. He indicated what appeared to be a pile of rags on the side of the street. On second glance, Harry saw it was a tramp. He felt his brain go numb.

"What about him?" Harry asked, the inside of his mouth suddenly very dry.

"He's a Muggle," Tom said. His eyes were widening, and his smile slowly growing. It was the smile Harry liked least of all.

"I can see that," Harry said. He was beginning to feel sick. "What does it matter?"

"Why not begin our aspiration of immortality together, right here, right now?" Tom asked, gazing at Harry unblinkingly, the smile bearing his teeth. "Why not murder this filthy peasant, and bound ourselves forever? You say that you love me, and that you want to stay with me forever, so why not prove it? You've said that you're willing to kill Grindelwald, so why not become invincible before you try?"

Harry stared at Tom, too stunned to give any response besides a fearful and disbelieving stare. Tom didn't seem to notice the emotion in his gaze, and he didn't seem keen to wait for an answer either. Before Harry knew it, Tom threw a spell at the Muggle, which woke him up, and caused him to wither in pain on the floor. It was the Cruciatus Curse. Tom continued to use it even with all the screaming, a mad smile on his face…

Harry tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse, and drowned under the screams of the Muggle.

Did Tom expect Harry to join in with this? Did he not remember how upset Harry was the last time he attacked a Muggle like this? Harry had excused Tom's murder then, even forgiving it, because of the crazed circumstance in which it had been done, but now… Now there was no excuse. Tom had no reason to do this.

It was far different than watching a murder through Tom's eyes while Harry stared and stared in absolute shock. Tom had begun lighting the tramp on fire, laughing hysterically and saying things Harry could no longer understand as the tramp stumbled and struggled. The tramp lay burnt and tortured on the floor, inches away from death by the time Tom felt he was done with his work. He turned joyfully away from the Muggle, who was unsuccessfully attempting to scream in continued pain. There was something wrong with his voice, and Harry wasn't sure whether Tom had used a silencing charm or not.

"It's your turn," Harry heard Tom laugh. He stared at the damaged body on the floor, unable to move. He felt Tom walk behind him, planning to help him with this. Tom took the wand from Harry's pocket, and placed it in his hand, standing behind him as they raised it together. Tom began kissing Harry's neck softly, stopping at his ear to whisper joyfully, "Do you know what he's doing, Harry?"

Harry made no reply as he felt Tom wrapped around him, his wand pointed to the body that worded something soundless. The Muggle was speaking in Albanian, so Harry didn't know what he was trying to say.

"He's begging for death," Tom hissed. He gave a breath of laughter in Harry' ear. "Being the weak Muggle that he is, he's given up on life entirely!"

Harry was still speechless, and unsure what he should do, and if he could do it. His heart was beating sickeningly, and he felt like this was merely the worst nightmare he had ever had. He wished that it wasn't actually happening.

"Kill him, Harry," Tom implored.

Harry made no response to this, so Tom carried on talking. Adjusting their grip on the wand.

"Rid this vermin from the earth with me, and we shall be together forever… All you have to do is say the spell."

Harry could no longer think. This couldn't be real, couldn't possibly be happening… and yet there was no other explanation. The street was painfully quiet, and Harry could imagine the residents of this Muggle village fearing what might be happening outside, just like he feared it.

"The longer you wait, the more he suffers," Tom hissed. "Do it, now."

"No," Harry whispered. "I won't."

Tom appeared to have not heard him for a moment… or perhaps he had just registered the emotion in Harry's shaking voice, and paused. Harry felt Tom move away from him, his hand falling away from Harry's own. Harry lowered his wand slowly, averting his eyes from the dying Muggle. They stood, Tom a few paces behind Harry, waiting for something to happen.

Harry began walking away from the scene. He saw a flash of green light behind him, reflecting off the light stone houses, before Tom's footsteps were heard following him.

"Harry–"

Harry span on the spot, wand in hand, and Apparated away from Tom before he could say another word.


	43. Anything For You

Harry opened his tired eyes. He lay still for a time, staring at the slither of light that could be seen between the curtains on the window in front of him. It was a grey day outside, but already very late. Perhaps around five O'clock in the evening… it was hard to tell. Harry had wandered through Albania all night, venturing into new places, where Tom was unlikely to find him. As well as this, he had stayed awake in his flat until eleven O'clock, when he was finally too tired to postpone sleep, so Harry wasn't unsure why he was awake now, still very tired…

But then, he realised something had pulled him out of his sleep. He heard knocking at his front door, and he froze. He contemplated not moving, nor showing any obvious signs on being in this flat, but he knew the only person he dreaded facing would walk straight into his house anyway, if he didn't answer. Tom would make sure that Harry wasn't somewhere else before leaving. Harry would have to face Tom again sometime soon, anyway… and slowly, after a minute more of Tom knocking on his door, Harry got out of bed.

Courageously, perhaps, Harry made his way out of his bedroom, and along the wide hallway that led to other rooms, and the front door. Tom was still knocking, but he stopped when he heard footsteps. Harry had no doubt it was Tom waiting for him, since few of the Death Eaters knew where he lived, but some small part of him hoped that it might be one of his old school friends, for once. He hesitated for only a second before pulling the door open.

"I'm sorry," Tom said the moment he saw Harry.

Harry looked at Tom, almost glaring at him as he struggled with a response. His tone was cold. "Saying 'sorry' won't make all of this just go away."

"I didn't expect it to," Tom explained quickly, apparently careful of Harry's angry tone. "Yet that shouldn't make it any less sincere."

Harry made no comment on this. He didn't know what to think or feel, despite having sat for hours, waiting for thoughts and emotions to come to him naturally. He wasn't quite sure what had happened last night, or why, but seeing that Muggle tortured and burnt… Harry hadn't been prepared for that. He couldn't work out what Tom must have been thinking. He couldn't work out how Tom could possibly have believed that was a wise way to make Harry murder someone…

"Won't you let me in?" Tom urged. "I'd rather not discuss this on your doorstep."

Harry was tempted to say 'no', but he stopped himself from doing so. Tom's tone was different than usual, and this was convincing Harry that he actually meant some of what he said, somehow. Tom's normally sly, careful voice couldn't be heard today. He instead appeared keen to have his words heard, perhaps in slight desperation. Only time would tell whether Harry was imagining this, however. Harry opened the door wider, and walked back into his flat, Tom following him, and closing the door.

Harry led Tom into the comfortable sitting room that they had organised together. They both stood, too restless to take a chair, or to relax. Tom faced Harry from across the room, and Harry waited for him to speak first.

"Where were you last night?" Tom asked. "I searched for you for hours."

"I avoided you for hours," Harry responded.

"I was worried about you."

Harry was unmoved by this claim, but he had to resist the urge to turn away from Tom in annoyance. "I can look after myself, thanks."

"I never said you couldn't. I merely wanted to speak to you."

When Harry made no comment, it seemed Tom just skipped to the point.

"Please don't let this tear us apart," Tom implored. "I know now that I was wrong in asking you to murder that Muggle. I merely got too excited when I heard you speak of murdering Grindelwald. But you should know by now that we are worth more than a single tramp, who was likely to die in the next few years anyway. He was just another common Muggle–"

"I don't care about hating Muggles!" Harry exclaimed. "I've never cared about that, I only said it because I knew it's what your idiotic friends cared about at Hogwarts. I don't value Wizards any higher than Muggles, and I honestly don't care about whether we overrule them or not one day."

Tom didn't seem to find this very shocking. Harry watched him think about it for a minute, and he glared at Tom until he spoke. "Then know only that I asked you to killed that Muggle because I wanted to be with you forever. I thought you would be able to take it by now–"

"By now!" Harry echoed. "I can't just suddenly become a murderer, Tom."

"Why not?" Tom inquired. "It has been months now since you promised me you would accept what I do."

"I have been accepting it," Harry snarled, "but you haven't given me any time."

"It's been months!" Tom repeated.

"And it might just take longer than that, now!"

"How long must I wait, in your mind?" Tom demanded. "Until something happens, and it's too late for you to stay with me forever? We live dangerous lives, Harry, and all of that is about to get worse with Dragons to look after and Ministries to hide from. You cannot honestly believe that years can go by without you protecting yourself!"

"There's still plenty of time before our lives will be at risk–"

"Not if we want to move on with our lives!" Tom declared. "This is all I wish for – us to get over this standstill and do whatever we want to do, without the constant fear of death. We can do many great things together, Harry, but I can't bring myself start if you could die in the process!"

A stunned silence fell, as Harry heard true emotion behind Tom's words. Tom might have mistaken it as a new sort of anger or frustration, but Harry was sure Tom meant what he was saying. He was terrified of Harry dying, and he was caught between fearing death and craving to fulfil his aspirations. Harry didn't know what to say to this for a moment…

"I don't want to kill innocent people," he said, "not even for immortality. I don't like torturing people, or making them suffer for enjoyment I can't feel in the slightest, and I hate it when you do it, when you take lives for no reason. I forgive what you did to your father, and even Hepzibah Smith, but with last night… I could never accept that honestly. It sickens me."

Tom contemplated this, his previously irritated expression now slightly confused and disquieted. His chest rose and fell in the silence, while his breath slowly evened out. His was thinking about something carefully. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "I'll stop killing Muggles, if you want me to," he said. "I cannot stop my friends from harming them now, but I'll never touch one again personally if you despise it so much."

Harry stared, hardly daring to believe Tom's words. Tom was promising to never murder another Muggle… It seemed utterly unimaginable that Tom would say this, even while he added in the detail excusing the actions of his Death Eaters. Harry wanted to think that he had changed Tom in some way after all, but he felt this was an ignorant hope, when he remembered a few things. "You said something similar the last time you murdered a Muggle tramp."

"I never said anything like this," Tom insisted. "I thought you forgave me entirely, but I realise now it was merely circumstance. Now I swear, I won't do it again."

Harry didn't know whether to believe Tom. This could be a lie, a ruse, for Tom to keep Harry for as long as possible, waiting for the moment when he could convince Harry to kill the next Muggle they might fall across. "I don't know, Tom…"

"Please, trust me on this," Tom pleaded, taking a few steps across the room to stand closer to Harry. Harry felt Tom's hand enclose around his own. "I promise you I'm not lying. I wouldn't lie about this. Not to you."

Harry wondered whether he was projecting as he saw pure concern in Tom's eyes. Harry hoped with all his heart that Tom wasn't lying to him, but the more he thought about it, the more reasons there seemed to be for Tom to just tell him what he wanted to hear. He didn't want to think of Tom like this, to mistrust him… so he decided, after a long moment, that he shouldn't doubt his lover. "Fine. You have one more chance…"

A smile appeared on Tom's lips, the kindest one Harry had seen in a while. It was full of relief, and Harry watched it for a moment. Tom seemed to want to hold Harry closer, to kiss him, but Harry's lack of reaction was stopping him. "I missed you last night," Tom said quietly, perhaps thinking this would change Harry.

Harry only moved away from him, his fingers slipping through Tom's own. He wouldn't allow himself to forget all of this after one kiss, as if nothing had happened. It was nearly sunset, and they would have to gather the Death Eaters soon, ready to move the Dragons away from the mountains by this evening. They didn't have much time to get there.

"You should go find the others now," Harry said, as he turned away from Tom. "I'll catch up with you in a minute, after I get ready."

Tom didn't reply to this immediately. Harry didn't want to see his expression, so he remained with his back to him. Tom seemed to want to suggest that he stay here, to leave with Harry, but he understood the situation enough to know that Harry didn't want this. "I shall see you in a minute, then…"

Tom left without Harry saying another word, as he remained where he was, staring into space.

–X–

The sky was darkening, and it would be less than half an hour from now when the Dragons were moved. Harry had been put in charge of the group of five Death Eaters who were going to watch over all of the others, to be sure that if something went wrong there would be people around to help. It really was going to be a massive event, smuggling Dragons miles across the country…

Harry had been left to look after Nott, Rancell Macnair, Quentin Pyrites, Lestrange, and Duane Gonson. This group seemed to consist of the Death Eaters whose intelligence and ability to act on improvising overpowered their magical or physical strength. They were the most useful Death Eaters for fixing problems, especially as a team, Harry knew.

They were all standing at the top of a part of the mountain that surrounded the family of Dragons. They weren't exceedingly high from the usual ground level, but it was enough to hide this place from the easy access of Muggles, and even many Witches and Wizards. That's why Avery, Dolohov, and many of the Death Eaters had encouraged the Dragons to stay in this region of the mountains. The wind was powerful here, and their view of the Dragons was perfect. An occasional outburst of flames could be seen from the young creatures especially, and Harry knew he would see a lot more of this in the next hour or so.

Harry was thinking about Tom again. They hadn't had time to speak at all since being in Harry's flat a few hours ago, but Harry was quite glad of this fact. He needed some time to think about everything. He didn't want to leave Tom, and he wasn't planning to on any level, but he wondered whether he could believe his lover when he promised never to harm another Muggle again. Had Harry changed Tom in some slight way, if he was being honest in this promise? Could Harry perhaps change Tom even more now? Was Tom so much in love with him that he'd finally sacrifice some things for Harry?

This made Harry wonder if he had tried hard enough to change Tom. Maybe it was his fault that they had ended up doing the same things Tom would have done without him anyway. Here they were, preparing weapons for mass destruction… Yet if Tom was lying, and Harry had changed nothing, it would be worse than Harry having not done enough. If Tom broke his promise, it would mean he didn't care enough about Harry to compromise anything…

A voice interrupted Harry's thoughts. Quentin Pyrites had walked right up to him, to stand in his view. He was a good three inches shorter than Harry.

"I want to ask you something," Quentin said.

"And what might that be?" Harry asked indifferently.

"How is it that you gained Tom's respect when you joined the school so much later than all of us?" Quentin demanded.

Harry was unsure why Quentin cared about this and why he was being so blunt. "You yourself left the school a few years earlier than Tom, I heard."

"That doesn't matter," Quentin said. "_I_ knew him since he began this group. So why is it that _you_ get a more important job than _me_?"

"Maybe it was a matter of temperament," Harry joked. "Or maybe Tom likes me better _because_ I arrived at the school so late. Do you think he was testing my loyalty?"

"Very funny," Quentin scowled, noticing Harry's mocking tone. "But from what I hear, you can't even handle the Dark Arts, and I don't believe you're as good as they say."

"Don't you?" Harry asked more quietly. He was beginning to get annoyed, but he tried not to show it.

"Why else would you be here, looking after us all?" Quentin asked. "We don't need to be looked after. We're the ones looking after everyone else."

"Which makes my job all the more important," Harry said through nearly gritted teeth. As he read Quentin's mind, he began wondering if the older Death Eater was trying to wind him up on purpose. The other Death Eaters around seemed to be pretending they weren't listening, perhaps because they felt uncomfortable with this conversation.

"From what they say, you didn't get enough training in the Dark Arts to understand what we have to go through," Quentin said. "You don't know half the magic the rest of us know."

Harry stared down at Quentin for a long time, trying to gain control of the anger that was tearing through him. This was a very bad time for him to be confronted by annoying, naïve Death Eaters who had bad tempters because they didn't get the respect they wrongly felt they deserved. But Harry wasn't going to give Quentin the reaction he doubtlessly wanted – a fight. He instead continued talking.

"Do you really think," Harry began in a cold, deadly tone, "That Tom would have kept me by his side these last two years if he didn't know that I had already been through what he expects all of us to go through? Do you really think he wouldn't have continued teaching me things after Hogwarts, things he was unable to pass onto any of his slow followers, if he felt I was too weak to take the Dark Arts?"

Quentin stared up at Harry, apparently taken aback by his reaction. Harry didn't break eye contact from Quentin until he blinked a few times, and cleared his throat. "Of course, that would make sense…" Quentin muttered, evidently fearing Harry somewhat. "I'm sure your right, Jonathan."

Harry turned away from Pyrites, and the group of staring Death Eaters. "We should all be preparing for the capture," Harry said, still furious, and trying to hide it. But his annoyance got the better of him as he began walking. "And my name isn't Jonathan," he snapped, too angry to care about sharing this truth. The Death Eaters followed him, to get closer to the general area of the Dragons.

"Yes it is," Nott said from behind Harry.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Your name is Jonathan," Nott repeated. "Unless… did you lie about that?"

Harry didn't answer. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't believe the Death Eaters hadn't worked this out sooner. He decided not to answer Nott's question as they carefully navigated their way towards the Dragons.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Lestrange mumbled.

They continued walking for a minute, none of the Death Eaters daring to ask why Harry had lied about his name for over three solid years. It seemed to make them more frightened of him, somehow.

"They're going to begin capturing the Dragons any minute," Harry reminded them all, for a change of topic. "Be prepared."

"Anything for you," Quentin mocked quietly.

–X–

They succeeded in moving the Dragons across Albania without much trouble, and by the time a month and a half had passed, Harry, Tom, and the Death Eaters had all managed to move close to the land where the Dragons were being kept. Many of the Death Eaters had to leave for England again after helping transport the magical creatures for Tom, for they had jobs to get back to, and families to see, but Tom didn't need most of his followers for the remainder of training his Dragons anyway. Around ten Death Eaters stayed in Albania, to help Tom keep the Dragons under control when he wanted to research things about them.

The land they had bought was large and very far away from any villages or houses. Tom had worked for weeks to create a magical barrier around the place, which repelled Muggles and Wizards, and made the place untraceable by any Ministry, even if the Ministries wouldn't search their land anyway. Harry knew that Tom didn't trust his Death Eaters fully with keeping the secret of their experimental magic on Dragons, as loyal as the Death Eaters might be, so he had been sure to hide the Dragons well, giving the illusion that the land was only being used for a single home, where Tom actually lived now.

Harry had moved into a separate house from Tom, still close enough so they could walk to each other in a matter of minutes, as they could with all the buildings on this land. The Death Eaters who had stayed with Tom lived in two large buildings mostly, if they preferred this to staying at an inn in a village tens of miles away. Harry was quite glad to have his own house, despite what he had said to Tom about this a few months ago. He still wasn't sure what he felt about Tom, even though over a month had passed since he killed that Muggle tramp…

The Dragons weren't kept in cages, and weren't attached to the ground in a way that would prevent them form flying. They were instead perfectly able to wander around – if it was that they didn't pass the barriers Tom had constructed, to keep them away from buildings and people. Tom would change these barriers to separate the Dragons when he wanted to, and he would keep them in smaller spaces when he trained them, but otherwise they were quite free… as annoyed as they might be with their new living conditions.

It was an uneventful evening when Harry, Tom, and many of the Death Eaters gathered in Tom's house, sitting around the long table that Tom had put in his living room for this exact company. Avery, Gonson, Pyrites, Nott, Macnair, and Ransome were amongst those who had stayed behind to continue helping Tom, mostly because none of them had jobs, and they could live off of the money of their families without much care. They were also all dedicated Death Eaters, who would happily waste a year or two with joining Tom is raising Dragons, before learning how to support themselves and create their own lives… or the lives Tom wanted them to have.

Harry was sitting two seats away from Tom, much to the delight of Quentin, who sat between them, thinking himself closer to Tom, today, with all the help he had been in controlling Dragons. Avery sat across from Harry, reading The Daily Prophet, and the rest of the Death Eaters who sat close to the head of the table, where Tom was, were conversing, sharing stories and asking Tom questions whenever they felt like it. Harry, however, was lost in thought. He was bored of conversation, and bored of being somewhat left out of the most dangerous work Tom was doing at the moment…

Despite having talked with Tom the day after the murder of the Muggle tramp, Harry couldn't exactly say they had gone back to the way they used to be. They would often converse, but Harry felt their conversations were strained. They were spending less time with each other, thus spending nights together less often, and though Harry blamed in on the amount of work they had to do, this didn't make him feel any better about it. He still loved Tom, and he never doubted it for a minute… but there were times when he was repulsed by Tom, and by what he did. The sight of that Muggle tortured had haunted Harry almost every night since seeing it…

It wasn't long after reflecting on these thoughts when Harry was distracted by his surroundings again. He never seemed to have time to think about him and Tom properly. Avery, who still held the English newspaper in his hands, has just begun speaking to the room at large.

"Ha, some Muggle in Bournemouth was killed last night," Avery informed them all, "As well as two in Leicester a few days ago, and another one in Bristol…"

"How bad were the murders?" Macnair asked from Harry's side.

"Not that bad," Avery replied indifferently. "The usual, really. Brutal murder, some Muggle finds the bodies, the Muggle Police are confused, and the Ministry steps in… No one was caught, of course."

"Were they Wizard attacks?" Harry suddenly asked.

"Yup," Avery confirmed. "They always are, when they make it to the Prophet."

Harry paused, a little confused. "So, attacks against Muggles are still happening?"

"Well, they wouldn't exactly stop randomly, would they?" Avery asked, careful to keep his tone lighthearted for Harry.

"What I mean is, they still haven't caught the people behind all of this?"

"No, the Ministry's caught quite a few people," Avery said distractedly, as he glanced down at the paper. "The English Ministry as well as some European ones. There are just too many Muggle haters out there, though. I'm glad they're proud enough to show their beliefs…"

"When did they start up again?" Harry asked. "I was working in the Crime Department of the Daily Prophet after… after Hogwarts, as you know. The crime stopped at around December or January, well over a year ago."

"It started up again 'round January this year," Avery said. "Maybe earlier…"

Harry's eyes flickered to the head of the table. Tom was watching the conversation carefully. Behind his otherwise impassive countenance, Harry could see signs of confusion that he felt reflected his own. The attacks on Muggles were supposed to have subsided with the fall of Grindelwald… Harry watched Tom's eyes move away from his. Quentin was staring at Harry and this had caught Tom's interest. Harry had no time to look back at the Death Eater he disliked most of all, however, as he returned to Avery.

"Are the attacks worse than they used to be?" he asked in what he hoped was a somewhat indifferent tone. He felt nerves build within him, causing his heart to beat more quickly.

"_Way_ worse!" Avery exclaimed. "It's a shame you don't read the papers anymore. It's brilliant, reading some of the murder stories in there… There are usually about five killings a day. Here, I'll give you this one to read."

Avery slid the Daily Prophet across the table before Harry could refuse it. Harry began looking down at it, but no sooner had he turned the first page, Quentin spoke to him.

"Why do you care so much about this?" Quentin asked sharply.

"I don't," Harry responded. "I'm just curious about these murders…"

"Why would you be?" Quentin demanded. "You shouldn't care about Muggles any more than we do. Why do you seem anxious that they're being attacked? Don't tell you're a Mudblood."

"I'm a pureblood," Harry assured Quentin. "I worked for the Prophet for over a year – why wouldn't I be interested in this?"

Quentin didn't respond immediately. He continued staring while Harry flicked through the pages of the Daily Prophet, trying to find the worst crime stories within it. When Quentin spoke again, his tone was more calculating than before. "Why have you been using fake names since Hogwarts?"

Harry did not respond immediately. Although he knew that Tom had likely learnt this piece of information via the minds of the Death Eaters, he did not quite like the idea of Tom getting annoyed that Quentin now had the excuse to enquire things about his, Harry's, past.

"That's none of your business," Harry said coldly, hoping this would end Quentin's questions. The Death Eaters around the table were listening more closely than before. No one had dared ask Harry this question yet…

"What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything," Harry stated. He stared down at the paper, trying to appear unconcerned as many eyes rested upon him. He decided to joke, "I've just always hated my real name, obviously…"

"Then what are you hiding from?"

Harry's heart was beating sickeningly. "Why would I be hiding from anything?"

Harry could tell Tom was watching him. He was likely just as cautious as Harry was with all of these questions being asked.

Quentin thought about Harry's words, hesitating for what felt like a long time before he spoke again, taking a new approach to try and catch Harry off guard.

"Then you must be hiding from some_one_, if you aren't hiding from some_thing_," his voice was lower now. He appeared awed at the prospect of figuring Harry out. "Maybe it isn't the Muggles dying that you care about… maybe it's the people behind it who scar–"

"If you don't stop talking so much ignorant nonsense in my house, Pyrites, I shall have no choice but to throw you out," Tom interrupted, a hint of anger within his quiet voice. "Stop overanalyzing the secrets of Jonathan and get on with what you are here to do – contemplate your job."

Quentin turned to face Tom for a second, visibly irritated that he had been interrupted. He then glanced back at Harry, almost glaring at him with an expression of shock and disbelief. He looked away before Harry could read his thoughts and stared at the table in front of him while he tried to overcome his exasperation. Everyone watched him for a moment, before he said, "Of course, Tom. Forgive me…"

"But it's getting late, anyway," Tom said, while he watched Quentin stare at the table for a few more seconds, "So I should throw you all out now, I believe."

The Death Eaters began to leave with no protest. They apparently sensed that Tom didn't want to be asked any more questions. They were eager to leave Tom's house so they could go and talk about what had happened in the safety of their own rooms. Quentin was one of the first people to leave, making his way back to the building he stayed in as quickly as he could.

"I must ask you to stay for a while, Jonathan," Tom said the moment Harry stood up.

The remaining Death Eaters cast Harry and Tom quick glances, before filing out of the room in silence. Their thoughts were buzzing. When Harry and Tom heard the last of the Death Eaters leave and close the front door, Tom stood up. He cast a spell to close all the curtains in sight. A silence fell, with Harry and Tom both gazing at each other. Then Tom broke it.

"How long as Quentin been asking you such curious questions?"

"Since the day I met him," Harry replied. "You were there. He just wanted to know more about me then, I think… From what I read in his mind on the day we moved the Dragons, he only started our second conversation – which turned into an argument – because he wanted to have a fight with me. I think he thought you would respect him if he won."

"He would have been sadly mistaken to try and gain my respect that way, even if he could have won," Tom said, smiling slightly. But his smile soon disappeared. "Yet I fear he only asks you so much because he is suspicious."

"Suspicious of what?"

"Of you being involved with Grindelwald," Tom voiced. "He knows now that you are seeking revenge on someone, searching for them through newspapers because you want to find them for having killed your parents. He knows that you are unable to kill whomever you are searching for, that you are waiting for them to be less protected by a government because it would be too obvious if you got to them now… That, for a few minutes of conversation, was a lot of information to give away."

"Well, I didn't know he was going to end up so interested my life," Harry said defensively. He was slightly embarrassed when Tom pointed out all of his mistakes so easily.

"I don't blame you for telling him some of the truth," Tom remarked, "I'm just trying to explain how much he might be suspecting you of running away from Grindelwald. With what he guessed about you fearing the people behind the Muggle killings… I just hope he's not involved with any of Grindelwald's remaining followers."

"There probably aren't many followers left," Harry reasoned. "Grindelwald is as good as dead."

"Perhaps as good as, but not completely," Tom pointed out. "There might still be people who are following in his footsteps… Don't you remember what Grindelwald said to Dumbledore about it not mattering whether he was in prison or not? About how he believed his people would continue doing everything he wanted them to even if he were to die?"

"Those were just empty threats," Harry said unconfidently, "to scare Dumbledore."

"But what if they weren't?" Tom inquired. "What if there were still tens – even hundreds – of people following Grindelwald? What if they were still trying to revolt against the British Ministry and so on by murdering Muggles?"

"Why would they care about me?" Harry asked. "No one knows who I am. No one would care about a single escapee from Grindelwald who's moving on with their life."

"But Quentin might care," Tom said, "He already dislikes you and he would likely do something such as report you to Grindelwald's people, if he knew them."

"If he knew them," Harry repeated.

"Could you read his mind at all, when he was asking you all these questions?" Tom asked, ignoring Harry's comment.

Harry thought back to a few minutes ago. The honest answer to this question would be no, he hadn't managed to read Quentin's mind… but what did that matter? He didn't want to scare Tom. "We would know by now if he was involved with Grindelwald's order," Harry assured Tom.

"I don't know where he's been these last few years," Tom stated. "It's possible that he could have gotten involved with all of that…"

"I really don't think anything will happen because of this," Harry said, believing his own words completely. "We'll just watch Quentin over the next week and see what he's up to. It's not like he'll do anything immediately, even if he suspects me of being a part of Grindelwald's downfall or something."

Tom thought about this for a moment, appearing bothered by the whole situation. "Do you really believe nothing will happen with Grindelwald again?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I'm sure it will be fine. There's no need to worry about it, anyway."

Tom paused, before slowly nodding. "I'll try to worry as little as I can… but I want you to be careful. Don't tell Quentin any important things about yourself, if you can help it."

"I won't even speak to him again," Harry said. "I hate him a lot already… He makes the others seem very tolerable."

Tom smiled softly. "I never thought I'd hear you refer to our friends as 'very tolerable'."

"In comparison to Quentin," Harry corrected, returning Tom's smile. "Though I could also say that Quentin makes training Dragons seem like the least stressful thing in the word, in comparison. It's not actually saying much."

Tom's smile broadened. "I could always ask him to leave, if you truly hate him," he offered.

"I'm not sure whether I'd want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I complained to you, and you threw him out because of it."

"I wouldn't let him know you asked me to do it," Tom said. "Quentin would understand how much power you have over me then, and would tell the others about it…"

"He'd know I was involved no matter what, if you threw him out."

"He'd guess," Tom corrected. "He'd never really know for sure."

"But I don't really care if he's around or not," Harry said, unsure why he wasn't agreeing to just throw Quentin out. "He's a useful Wizard."

"Not if he puts you at risk, in some way."

"Which we've decided he doesn't."

Tom gazed at Harry. "Of course," he said, before adding, "But you know I like to be sure."

"You will be," Harry guaranteed, smiling, "Once a few months pass, and he's done nothing."

Tom smiled softly again too, and took a step forwards to stand in front of Harry. He reached up a hand to touch Harry's face. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you," Tom said quietly, running his fingers along Harry's jaw slowly.

"I know," Harry smiled back, enjoying Tom's touch. Harry found that he cared less about what Tom had done, now that his annoyance for Quentin was the main thought on his mind – past now nice Tom's fingers felt against his skin right now…

"I'd do anything for you, to keep you safe from harm," Tom said softly, appearing to think about how much he meant these words, as he gazed down at Harry. His eyes were thoughtful, his touch gentle.

"I'd do the same for you," Harry said equally as quietly, feeling Tom's fingers slide along his neck slowly. He was happy to know that Tom felt so much need to protect him…

Tom was moving closer to Harry, hovering close enough for Harry to feel his breath against his lips. They kissed. It was only with slow, careful movements that they touched each other at first, memories of the recent past coming to mind vaguely. But Harry's anger towards Tom for having killed that Muggle was fading. Before Harry knew it their kiss was deepening, their lips pressing together passionately while their breath becoming rough.

Harry felt Tom move away from this lips to kiss along Harry's jaw, to his ear. Their bodies pressing closer and Harry couldn't help but relish in the desire he felt for Tom.

"I love you," Tom whispered when he was close to Harry's ear. He kissed him over and over again, his lips travelling down Harry's neck, as his hands gripped Harry passionately.

"I love you too…" Harry breathed.


	44. Seized

"I don't trust him."

"You don't trust anyone, Tom."

"I trust _you_."

"But you never trust any of your friends," Harry said. "Why would Quentin be any different?"

"I feel as though everything he does is to deceive you and I," Tom muttered. "We aren't safe with him around, hiding things…"

Harry laughed in disbelief, watching Tom as he paced the room. "He isn't a threat to us, Tom."

"He's a definite threat!" Tom exclaimed, visibly annoyed by Harry's lack of seriousness towards the subject. "He knows the details of your past, and I'm sure he's trying to make you pay for either his hate towards you, or your hate towards Grindelwald."

"I haven't even done anything to him – nor Grindelwald!"

"Quentin was never one for requiring reason."

"But it isn't as though he can defeat me in a fight," Harry observed. He then laughed again, unable to believe that Tom could become paranoid from this. "He can't do anything to me, especially not when you're around, watching over me."

Tom was not reassured by these words. He continued pacing Harry's living room, appearing deeply disquieted. "How do you explain his sudden unwillingness to look us in the eyes?" Tom inquired. "He must know that we have the ability of Legilimency…"

Harry disliked this fact being brought up again. It truly was odd that Quentin appeared to know not to meet their eyes when he wanted to withhold something… but Harry wouldn't admit it. He decided to move on from the subject slightly. "He's stopped asking me questions this last week, at least. I have to say it makes me hate him a lot less."

"You shouldn't hate him less for asking fewer questions!" Tom insisted sharply. "You should hate him more, and be cautious of him, because he has stopped what annoyed you. There has to be a reason behind it…"

"You're too paranoid, Tom," Harry said for what he felt like the hundredth time.

"You're not paranoid enough!" Tom argued, getting only more annoyed with Harry's claim. "You know I never think these things about people without reason. You know I don't just make this up, or project it. There's something that Quentin is hiding, and I won't let such a blatant fact go unnoticed!"

"He isn't going to do anything!" Harry declared, becoming anxious of Tom's obsession with distrusting Quentin. "We'd know by now if he was a follower of Grindelwald. How couldn't we?"

"We should force him into telling us what he's plotting," Tom voiced, apparently deaf of everything Harry had just said. "If he isn't going to be honest with us, if he thinks hiding things from us is a wise idea, we need to do something about it. I can't allow my friends to keep secrets from me, to freely plan how to get to you –"

"Tom–"

"We should teach him how very wrong he is while we gather all the information his mind holds," Tom carried on, ignoring Harry's interruption. "We should punish him for his treachery, and warn all of the others not to make the same mistake that he is doubtlessly making…"

"You can't just begin planning how best to torture someone the moment you think they're a threat!" Harry said as Tom paused in sharing his ideas. Tom didn't look at him as he continued walking back and fourth across the room. "We don't even know if Quentin is planning on doing anything against us yet. Give this a few more days, to make sure you aren't wrong before you punish him."

"We both know I'm not wrong!" Tom remarked in pure frustration. His hands were curling into fists and uncurling again repetitively, as his fingernails clawed lightly, and not so lightly, against his palms. "We should go and get him now, and demand that he tells us what he's up to. We should find out where Grindelwald's people are before they find us first…"

"Tom," Harry began as he stood up, grabbing Tom's arm to turn him around, "listen to me–"

"You can't deny the fact that Quentin is trying to harm you!" Tom exclaimed, his voice rising in exasperation. "It's horribly ignorant of you to treat every situation as though it isn't happening! To deal with every problem at the last second, and to push everything out of your mind until it is staring you in the face will cause you to lose against chance one of these days! And since you refuse to open your eyes, I have no choice but to do it for you!"

Harry let go of Tom's arm, and glared at him. Tom waited for him to speak, but Harry couldn't find the words to express his sudden shock. He felt anger tearing through him, as he contemplated Tom's words… but the more Harry thought, the more confusion and affliction slowly replaced his anger. Tom turned away from Harry in the silence, perhaps seeing his change in emotion. Harry watched as Tom began rubbing his temple, contemplating what to say. His voice was quieter when he spoke, still looking away from Harry.

"It maddens me to have this peril hanging over our heads," Tom explained as gently as he could with his continued – but now somewhat controlled – irritation. "I cannot stand to think what would happen if Quentin sought revenge on you, knowing how much information he has relating to your past… I don't mean to suggest any of this is your fault. It merely infuriates me to do nothing about it…"

"But you think I'm blind to problems," Harry pointed out quietly, trying to force his voice to be emotionless. "You think that I pretend things aren't happening until the last minute, or when it's too late."

Tom turned to face Harry, hesitating for a moment. "I didn't mean that as an offence."

"But you don't deny it," Harry observed.

Tom seemed tempted to say nothing. "No… I won't deny meaning what I said."

Harry knew he shouldn't be surprised, or at all offended, but at this moment he just couldn't help himself. He averted his eyes from Tom's, and tried to accept Tom's honest opinion, but he was struggling. The more he thought about it, the more Harry realised that it was not so much the fact that Tom had withheld these thoughts from him which caused him to feel great discomfort, it was more the fact that he knew, deep down, that Tom had formed these opinions on a series of past events, and he was, in the simplest explanation, completely right in suggesting Harry was blind to problems…

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Harry asked, if only to keep talking.

"It was never important to mention," Tom answered. He was examining Harry closely, all signs of furiousness gone from his voice by this point. "I merely want you to understand how vital it is that we be cautious around Quentin."

"I already know that," Harry remarked defensively. "You didn't need to remind me – I've been more cautious around him since you suggested he was planning on hurting me in some way."

Tom watched Harry, as Harry glowered at him slightly. After pausing for a time, Tom took a step forwards, to stand closer to Harry, and placed his arms around him. Harry was in half a mind to move away from Tom, and say something cruel and hurtful to seek revenge, but he resisted the urge when he found comfort in Tom's light embrace.

"I didn't mean to offend you," Tom repeated quietly, gazing down at Harry, "I just want to protect you. Quentin troubles me greatly… and I quite honestly don't know what we are supposed to do with him, even if my suspicions of him aren't true. He cannot stay here for much longer, I don't think…"

"Let's just throw him out," Harry suggested, echoing the offer Tom had made a week ago. "I don't care if he knows I was involved in making him leave. He causes too much trouble."

"I believe that's what I'll do, the first thing in the morning," Tom agreed. "I care neither where he will go after leaving this place, nor whom he might meet… Unless you too are curious about his secrets?"

Harry smiled lightly in response to Tom's words. "We can ask him a few questions," he said, "but I won't allow you to threaten him with anything more than words. He might be innocent."

"No one is innocent," Tom voiced softly.

"You know what I mean," Harry disclosed. He couldn't help but find amusement in Tom's words now, even if he tried to not show it. He reached up a hand to caress the side of Tom's face, and Tom slowly leant into his touch, evidently enjoying it. They stood for a moment, closely embraced, and listening to the sound of each other's breath.

"It's getting late," Tom quietly mentioned.

Harry allowed his hand to drift higher from Tom's face, his fingers running slowly through Tom's hair. "Won't you stay the night?" he asked in little over a whisper.

"Of course I will," Tom hissed softly, a smile dancing on his lips.

He closed the distance between them, his lips gently brushing against Harry's own. After they kissed once, Tom lingered an inch away from Harry, his breath brushing against Harry's skin as he doubtlessly smiled. Harry moved forwards in defeat, taking Tom's bottom lip slightly – and then not so slightly – between his lips, not wanting Tom to tease him forever. He knew Tom did this to make him want this more, and Harry had to admit that it worked rather well…

Their kiss depended, Tom's hands sliding along Harry's waist and back, as the embrace tightened. Their breath was escalating, and Harry felt dizzy as Tom's tongue diligently touched his own, drawing Harry deeper, and fuelling his hunger with skilfully placed examples of how wonderful their kiss could feel. Harry began biting Tom's lips, urging Tom to settle his ever-increasing desire as he kissed him more deeply. Tom pressed his body closer to Harry, and Harry could feel how much Tom enjoyed kissing him, playing to his needs at a terribly captivating pace…

Harry took Tom's hand in his own, and began leading him away from the living room, and out into the hallway. Tom followed Harry, kissing his face and neck each time they paused at a door, or upon climbing the stairs. When they were entering Harry's room, Tom pressed Harry against the doorframe, kissing his neck, and biting his ear, sucking on his earlobe lightly, and whispering as Harry breathed roughly in pure desire. Harry soon led Tom to his bed, pushing his lover onto it, and kneeling over him on his hands and knees, kissing Tom's collarbone and pulling at his robes…

–X–

It was well past midnight, and the room was dark, when Harry lay in bed, resting his head against Tom's bare chest. Tom was asleep now, or at least close to it as is his breath came slow and evenly. His heart was beating calmly, and it soothed Harry. Harry had been thinking about what Tom said to him earlier, relating to him ignoring problems. He worried that maybe this is what he was doing with Horcruxes, on some level. He still read about these dark creations often, but he never truly sat and wondered how he planned on making one for himself, as Tom evidently wanted…

He wasn't ready to make a Horcrux, and he wished that Tom would understand this. Harry knew that Tom lacked the moral senses to help him treat something like killing people the same way Harry did; with great caution and after much debating about it before it could even be thought of… at all. Harry wondered vaguely whether he and Tom were just on two opposite sides of a spectrum, in this case. He wondered, as Tom's pulsing heart soothed him, whether they could meet each other in the centre of this all, to help each other deal with the fact that Harry hated murder, whilst Tom loved it. Harry contemplated how to do this, perhaps even by tomorrow, as he eyes closed in weariness. He was almost ready to drift off to asleep like Tom…

When suddenly, he heard someone knocking on his front door. Being as tired as he was, Harry was convinced that he had imagined this sound at first, and he didn't open his eyes. But the sound continued, and he was forced to wake up a little more. He couldn't imagine who would be looking for him at this hour, when Tom was here already. When the knocking didn't die down, Harry got out of bed, and began to get dressed quickly.

He heard Tom take a deep breath; perhaps about to wake up from the sudden change in temperature with Harry leaving his side… but Tom remained asleep. Harry left the room, heading down the hallway, and then the staircase, to reach his front door. The person waiting outside had stopped knocking by now, and Harry opened the door, looking around for whoever had awoken him at such an hour. Quentin could be seen standing on his porch.

"What do you want?" Harry asked shortly, rubbing his face with his hand.

"I need your help, for just a minute," Quentin said. "There's some trouble with the others, and I think it would be best if you helped to deal with it."

"That's not my problem," Harry stated.

"See, but I asked Tom for help already, and he told me to come to you," Quentin elucidated.

Harry was about to buy this in his tired state, before he remembered that Tom was gloriously waiting for him up in his bedroom. Harry stared at Quentin, careful not to show a flicker of confusion. "Tom told you this?"

"Yes," Quentin lied.

Harry tried to stare at him long enough to read his thoughts, but Quentin avoided eye contact when he noticed Harry's paused gaze. Quentin wanted Harry to believe that Tom ordered him to go and sort out a problem with the other Death Eaters… and the more Harry thought about it, the better it seemed to go along with Quentin's lies, to see what he was trying to trick Harry into.

"Alright," Harry said, "I'll be with you in a minute."

"Oh, but see, I really do need you immediate–"

Harry closed the door on the older Death Eater, and began heading up the stairs. When he entered his room again, he saw that Tom was still fast asleep. He contemplated waking Tom up, to tell him who was at the door, and what he, Harry, planned to do, to see what Quentin was up to. But Harry knew Tom would never allow him to go through with this plan… and Harry thought back to Tom's worries about Quentin, and his claims that Harry was blind to problems. Harry wasn't annoyed with Tom for what he had said, exactly… but he wanted to prove to himself, if anything, that Quentin wasn't as scheming as Tom believed in paranoia.

If Harry's greatest flaw was an inability to accept problems, then Tom's greatest flaw had to be his endless paranoia. Harry wanted to spite Tom in some slight way, as he walked quietly across his room to take his wand from his bedside table. With his wand in hand, he turned to leave the room again, magically turning out the lights before placing his wand up his sleeve for easy access. He headed down the stairs, and to his front door. Quentin was leaning against the front of Harry's house when Harry stepped outside, and closed the door behind him.

"Are you ready?" Quentin asked. "It's this way…"

"What time is it?" Harry asked.

"Past midnight," Quentin replied.

"Why are the others still awake?"

"We stay up this late often… Especially when someone starts arguing."

They didn't speak after this, as they walked onwards. Quentin was averting his eyes from Harry determinedly, but Harry wasn't attempting to read his mind anymore. They were heading straight for one of the buildings where some the Death Eater slept. Harry was feeling less tired now as he breathed in the cold air of night, wondering what Quentin was planning for him. When they arrived to their destination, everything within the long building was silent.

Quentin headed inside, and Harry followed. The hallway past the front door was dimly lit, and Quentin led Harry towards a room at the far end of it.

"It seems awfully quiet for problems with the others," Harry remarked quietly, letting the tip of his wand slide down his sleeve to rest against his palm.

"They're in here," Quentin claimed, holding a door open for Harry.

Harry looked at the room besides Quentin, and began walking into it. It was badly lit, and very long – it's where the Death Eaters generally sat together for meals. It was almost like a miniature Great Hall, but with tall windows on only one side of the room, and with a plain, beamed ceiling. As soon as Harry heard the door close, he heard the lock click too. He turned around to face Quentin swiftly.

"Why did you bring me here, Pyrites?" Harry demanded, suddenly annoyed. "It's probably two in the morning by now, and I know there are no problems with the others."

"Of course there aren't," Quentin mocked, now leering up at Harry. Harry let his wand slide into his hand more securely under his cloak as he watched Quentin. "The others are all asleep, which isn't surprising so early in the morning."

"Why did you bring me here?" Harry repeated, unsatisfied with Quentin's lack of answer.

"I've been planning to bring you here for a long time, Jonathan – or whatever your name is," Quentin said. "I'll find out what you're really called soon enough… I'll find out all the secrets you're hiding from me."

"And how do you suppose you'll do that?" Harry inquired.

"By nothing less than force, I should think."

"So you think you can fight me?" Harry laughed.

"I've been taught how to fight well," Quentin stated.

"There's nothing you know that I haven't learnt from Tom already," Harry retaliated.

Quentin's smirk refreshed. "Tom's not the only person who's taught me great Dark Magic… I think you, of all people, might be able to guess who my other, true teacher might be."

Harry tried not to show his sudden apprehension. He didn't dare suggest whom Quentin might learn the Dark Arts from; who was more 'true' his leader than Tom. Harry clutched his wand tightly in his hand, waiting for Quentin to form the answer with his bothersome, smiling lips.

"Can't think of who it might be?" the Death Eater sneered. "Well, I'm sure Grindelwald's people will loosen that tongue of yours."

Quentin reached for his wand, and Harry's reaction was immediate.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Harry yelled.

With a jet of scarlet light, Quentin's wand flew into the air before he could even raise it properly, and Quentin himself smashed hard against the door behind him. Harry kept his wand pointed at the Death Eater even as he lay on the floor, feeling his bleeding head. Quentin looked up at Harry, glaring at him. Harry was about to raise his wand again, to knock Quentin out, before he felt someone grab his wrist.

Quentin being on the floor in front of him, Harry hadn't the faintest clue who might have grabbed him. He span around, thinking as a last hope that it was merely Tom, or even one of the Death Eaters, but he was wrong. A Wizard who he didn't recognise, who was taller than him, with scars cutting across his unpleasant face, held his wrist very tightly, and glared down at him.

As Harry tried to get over the shock of seeing this new face, he realised that there were more unfamiliar people entering the room from a door at the back. Harry felt his heart skip a beat, and he stared in shock as tens of Wizards pointed their wands at him. In the few seconds it took him to worry in terror about what he was supposed to do now, all he really knew was that he wasn't going to leave without a fight.

Since the scarred Wizard held his right hand up, all Harry could do was drop his wand and grab it with his left hand before it hit the floor. The wizard crushing his wrist hadn't expected this in the slightest, and he made no sign of even beginning to attack Harry when Harry shot a spell at him, hitting him straight in the face. The wizard howled, clutching his searing head and dropping his wand as he moved away from Harry, completely blind and confused.

Harry pointed his wand at the nearest figure, and shot a spell quick enough to send the victim smashing into two other Wizards. He raised his wand again, and knocked out two more wizards by smashing them together. Jets of red, blue, yellow, and purple shot from Harry's wand as he tried to fight off the now alert and attacking Wizards in front of him, but he knew even before the fighting ended that he was going to lose. The spell that finally hit him didn't come from any of the people he didn't know, however. Quentin had managed to pick up his wand behind Harry, and he didn't hesitate to use it.

"_Stupefy!_" Quentin cried.

Harry was paralyzed by the weight of the spell, and he heard his wand clatter on the floor, feeling ten other spells hit him even before he fell completely unconscious, lost in utter darkness for Grindelwald's followers to seize once and for all. Quentin, amongst so many others, had defeated him.

–X–

Harry slowly opened his eyes. His body was sore, and he was lying on a cold, rugged floor made of stone. It took Harry a moment to make out the sight before him, not only because he had never been here before, but also because the room he lay within was rather dimly lit. The walls were dark, and only one or two torches shed light upon the scene. There were cracks between the large stones that together created the walls around Harry, and one of the first things Harry remembered seeing in these cracks was a very large, and very savage rat.

Harry sat up, repulsed by the rat, which scampered down the wall and retreated into a hole in the corner of the room. Upon sitting up, Harry discovered that there were chains bolted around his wrists, forcing him to stay generally where he was. This distracted Harry from the shock of seeing the rat, and he looked around the room a little more, to see nothing else but a door, doubtlessly locked, on the wall that was previous out of view, to his right. There weren't even any windows here, so Harry hadn't the faintest idea what time it was. He sat still; trying to listen to what was happening outside the room he was in. After about a minute of listening, Harry heard someone screaming in the far distance.

He tried not to listen as he felt his heart beat faster, but there was no ignoring this noise. It played as an almost constant sound, unable to be disregarded even as Harry attempted to down it out with thought. Harry hardly dared to believe that he was sitting in a dungeon owned by no one other than Grindelwald's followers. It felt like a very vivid nightmare as he stared down at the grimy floor, sure he could see blood on some parts of it. This had to be a mistake, an unfunny joke…

Tom had been right about everything… Harry no longer saw the floor as he stared down at it. Quentin had plotted how to capture Harry, and how to break into Tom's land quick enough to let Grindelwald's followers in there. Harry wasn't at all sure how that was possible… until he remembered that these were the people who had broken considerable amounts of the Ministry of Magic's defences when Harry was at Hogwarts. It wouldn't have been too hard to get to him, even under Tom's protection… Harry hoped desperately that they hadn't gotten to Tom, or even the Death Eaters, too. But he then supposed that he wouldn't be here if Tom had begun fighting. They wouldn't have defeated Tom.

Harry rested his head against the wall behind him slowly. He had tried to prove that Tom's paranoia was a great flaw, but he had only ended up proving that Tom was right in thinking Quentin was a threat. Harry had been ignorant of the problems Tom had pointed out, whilst he tried to test Tom's biggest defect… and Harry had to say that was pretty ironic, all and all. He didn't smile as he reflected upon the thought in this cold dungeon, however. He knew he was a complete idiot to have landed himself in this situation. He should have trusted Tom's word even a little bit, but he had instead gone completely against it…

Harry suddenly heard the clicking of locks, and he turned to face the door. When it opened, and when wizards began filing in, Harry stood up, his heart hammering. He had no wand – nor any shoes, he noticed, as he stepped upon the hard floor. What they thought he might do if he had shoes, Harry didn't know, but at this point he didn't care. The chains around Harry's wrists forced him to stay where he was, as he attempted to move further back into the room. Two ferocious-looking wizards now faced Harry, their wands pointed at him, and their expressions very unkind. The door to the room was slammed shut.

"Was weißt du über Grindelwald?" one of the wizards growled the moment he could, as his dark, soulless eyes bore into Harry's.

"I–I don't know what you're saying," Harry stammered quickly.

"Sprichst du deutsch?" the second Wizard asked. He appeared somewhat less ruthless, but none the less quite unnerving. When Harry made no response, he asked, "You are English?"

"Yes," Harry answered hastily.

The two wizards looked at each other.

"You speak no German?"

"No, none," Harry revealed, his heart still beating very quickly. He was standing almost against the wall behind him.

The wizards seemed on the verge of not believing him, but they didn't care to press this subject… not yet, anyway.

"Vot do you know about Grindelwald?" the dark-eyed wizard demanded.

"I don't know anything about him," Harry declared. "I've never even met him for any–"

Harry felt a sharp pain in his side, as if a large, invisible needle had slowly begun piercing into him, near the base of his right rib. Harry gasped in shock, but forced himself not to yell from it. It was very uncomfortable, but he knew that this was perhaps the least painful thing that would happen to him for a while.

"Tell us vot you know," the second Wizard requested. "This vill only get more… unpleasant."

"I'm telling the truth!" Harry exclaimed, in full honesty becoming very anxious by all of this. "I don't know the first thing about Grindelwald! I don't know any more than I read in the newspapers, like everyone else!"

But the Wizards were, of course, unconvinced. The needle dug deeper into Harry's side, and Harry closed his eyes tightly against the pain, clenching his jaw.

"Vot is your name?"

Harry opened his eyes in sudden horror, realising slowly that he had no name to give…

"Vot is your name?" the second wizard repeated more forcefully, allowing the needle to dig deeper into Harry. A noise escaped Harry's lips.

"Richard!" Harry exclaimed. "Richard Plunkett!"

"Ve know of this one," the wizard told him.

The needle dug deeper into Harry's side, and he had to try harder not to shout. "Jonathan," Harry panted. "My name is Jonathan Smith…"

"Lies!" the first Wizard spat.

The pain worsened as the needle sliced through Harry's insides more. Harry felt as though he might throw up.

"Jonathan Granger!" Harry said, thinking of the first name that came to mind.

The pain increased again, and Harry pulled against the chains around his hands, failing to remain silent.

"Ve know 'Jonathan' is not your name. Tell us the truth!"

The pain increased again, and Harry felt as though the giant needle was piercing through the other side. He felt dizzy, and he hoped uselessly that the needle would stop hurting after this.

"Fine," Harry panted. "My name is Draco… Draco Malfoy…"

The Wizards looked at each other, pondering this. They seemed to decide that Harry might be telling the truth about this. However, they weren't done asking him questions yet.

Harry felt a second needle begin piercing his left lung, and he felt dread fill him as well as ruthless agony. His eyes and teeth were clenched tightly up until the movement stopped.

"Vot is your relation to Grindelwald?"

Harry's breath was quick and now strained with utter hopelessness. He honestly had no connection to Grindelwald what so ever… unless you counted the connections he had lied about for Tom's benefit. His eyes remained closed, but his voice remained strong. "I don't relate to Grindelwald in any way…"

More declarations of lies, more torment… Harry felt anger and despair mix with his anxiety. Even if he did know anything about Grindelwald, he knew he wouldn't tell these people. Even if he had a real name, or had a real past in this era, he wouldn't give into their torture. They wouldn't stop if he told the truth anyway. They would only stop when his body was too tired to live on, or when they decided they needed to think of a different method to urge the truth out of him…

They continued asking Harry questions, and forcing the invisible needles through his body for what felt like hours – and it could very well have been. The only thing that kept Harry strong was knowing that Tom was surely already searching for him, and when he would find Harry, all of the people here would pay – including Quentin. Grindelwald's followers vanished the sensation of the needles from within Harry, but Harry's insides were still sore when he was left alone in the room, lying on the cold stone floor. It wasn't long after the first visit from Grindelwald's followers when Harry either fainted or fell asleep again from pure agony, dreaming no dreams and remembering the hours of torture…

–X–

Harry was awoken by a sharp kick. This spiteful gesture, as well as many other things, such as the feel of the stone floor beneath him, and the smell of dirt and blood, told and reminded Harry that he was indeed lying in a dungeon run by Grindelwald's followers, and not wakening from some horrible dream, only to find himself lying comfortably in the arms of his lover. Harry opened his eyes, unsure of how long he had been asleep for as he viewed this windowless dungeon again. He saw that there was only one Wizard waiting for him to wake up, and he looked more closely at the face to see if it was someone from before…

When he recognised who it was, he sat up, wide-awake. This was in shock rather than joy, for it was not Tom waiting above him, ready to leave his terrible place. Tom would not have kicked Harry awake, and he certainly wouldn't have had his wand pointed at Harry's face, with pure hatred burning in his dark brown, rather than grey, eyes. Emeric was a few years older now, and it showed in his pale, thinned face, for his eyes were wearier than Harry had ever seen them before, and his brown hair was kept far messier than Harry had ever seen it.

"Emeric?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"I knew it was you," Emeric muttered, staring down at Harry in annoyance with his wand was pointed steadily. "I always knew you had something to do with Grindelwald. I knew you had to have connections with him on a more personal level…"

Harry stood up, cautious of the somewhat deranged look in Emeric's eyes. From reading his thoughts, Harry knew Emeric wasn't completely mad… but he could never really be sure. "What are you doing here?" Harry asked, still very confused. "You're one of Grindelwald's followers?"

"Of course I am," Emeric barked. He gave a cold laugh. "My cousin and uncle have been involved with Grindelwald's cause for years. Did you never take 'my family forced me into working with the Daily Prophet' literally?"

"I don't believe it," Harry said, still struggling to think of Emeric as a follower of Grindelwald.

Emeric laughed again, glaring at Harry more intensely. "Well, look where we are now!"

Harry had to say that Emeric had a point, unless Harry had completely lost it, and all of this was his imagination, which he very much doubted. He supposed that Emeric had just been a particularly unexpected and thus useful spy, keeping an eye on one of the most famous British newspapers for Grindelwald… "How did you end up here?"

"I was going to ask you the same question," Emeric joked, glowering. "In truth, Richard, I mostly ended up here because of you, when I was forced out of my job because you wanted my position in the Crime Department of the Daily Prophet. I knew you had to be against Grindelwald the moment I left that office. Anyone who isn't trying to bring _justice_ to the world would have enough brains to understand who I really worked for, and why."

"You weren't forced out of your job because I wanted your post," Harry explained, somehow irritated, "and I'm not trying to bring justice to the world in any way. Just because I'm against Grindelwald, doesn't mean I'm not a part of something equally as powerful – if not more."

Emeric stared at Harry, hesitant to believe his words. "What do you mean?"

Harry found himself leering at Emeric, smiling only in hatred. A sense of empowerment filled him, fuelled by anger and vexation, as he knew how his next words would affect his old workmate. "You don't have the slightest idea about the Dark Arts group that I'm a part of, do you?"

Emeric seemed almost unwilling to answer this. "I heard a few things from that Quentin fellow about it… He makes it sound like nothing, as I'm sure it is."

"He has no idea how powerful my group is," Harry said, wanting to scare and alarm Emeric. "He's a useless follower, and has only been with us for a few months. He doesn't understand the importance of our work with the Dark Arts, teaching all of the people who follow us magic you could barely understand, while we train Dragons and –"

"Dragons?" Emeric repeated, blatantly surprised.

Harry smiled unkindly.

"How did you get Dragons?" Emeric demanded.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

Emeric glared more harshly, and seemed tempted to use magic against Harry, but he resisted. His tone was full of curiosity when he spoke. "Who is this 'Tom' you mentioned?"

"You've met him."

"When?" Emeric inquired.

"When he decided that he didn't like the fact that you fancied me," Harry answered.

Emeric stared at Harry, and there was a long pause. Emeric appeared unsure whether to believe what he had heard, as the blood drained from his face. Harry read Emeric's mind, watching him struggle. Emeric wanted to deny Harry's accusations, but he stopped himself from doing so. He was also close to asking Harry how he knew about the way he felt towards him, but he changed his mind at the last second, asking another question instead.

"Why did Tom care?"

"Because," Harry began cruelly, watching Emeric's mind as he spoke, to view the only amount of pain he knew he could inflict now, "Tom is my boyfriend."

This was the first time Emeric's glare vanished completely, replaced by a look of astonishment and distress. He thought about Harry's words, his wand still pointed at Harry's face, but he didn't seem to know what to say. His expression said it all, as well as his now troubled mind.

Harry wasn't warned long before he watched Emeric's mind suddenly become enraged. Harry couldn't do anything but stare in shock before Emeric raised his wand, and shouted, "_Crucio!_"

Harry fell to the ground, feeling the familiar sensation of his bones being lit on scorching fire, his skin being pressed and stabbed by white-hot knives… He couldn't hear his own screams, or form a single thought until the Curse was released what felt like minutes later. When the pain stopped, Harry looked up at Emeric, who stared at him in pure enmity.

"Tom will find me soon," Harry promised Emeric in a hoarse voice. "He'll find me and kill you all for trapping me here! He'll save me from this place, and there's nothing any of you can do to stop him!"

Emeric was backing away from Harry, too angry to say a word. Harry began laughing, knowing that his words were perfectly true. Tom would show up any hour, any minute… Emeric said something in German after opening the door, but Harry continued to laugh even when more of Grindelwald's followers filed past the door. They asked him more questions, and used a different torture today, which literally split open Harry's skin, giving the illusion that burning poisons were seeping into his flesh when it was cut, but Harry no longer cared.

When the followers left Harry hours later, lying upon the stone floor, surrounded by fresh patches of his own blood, Harry basked in how good it felt to be alone from them again. He thought about Tom, and how he would he saved from this hell soon enough. All of the people who tortured Harry, who drove him mad with the scarring memories of pain, were all as good as dead now. Harry would be free once more, when Tom found out where he was. When Harry closed his eyes, tired and aching, he felt that any minute Tom would burst through the door, to get him out of here…

But when Harry awoke again, Tom still wasn't here. Harry told himself that it might have only been a day since his absence, but after several more hours of inexorable tortures he was sure it had been longer than that now. He couldn't stand not knowing what time of day it was, nor knowing how long he had been here for. Emeric told him coldly, after what felt like a week of being here, that he must have misjudged either the power or the attachment Tom had. Harry had only glared then, but now that he was alone, he thought about this quite deeply.

Harry lay on his back, staring at the cracks that ran along the spider strewn, chipped, and damaged ceiling. He knew that it wouldn't be long before more followers visited him, to ask him questions that he had absolutely no answer to. He knew he would have to suffer again, but he wondered for how much longer now. He wondered how many more tactics of torture he would have to endure, and how many more sessions he had left before Grindelwald's followers would decide to kill him. But he wondered, above all, whether Tom would ever show up.

Harry couldn't imagine where Tom was. He didn't know what Tom must be doing with all of this time. It had been days, surely, since Harry had been captured. Harry didn't even know if it was night or day, or whether Tom would be asleep at this moment. He wondered whether Grindelwald's people had designed this prison to drive him mad with knowing nothing of the outside world, not even the time. Everything seemed to happen for so long here, and Harry hated it so very much…

Harry wondered what on earth Tom could be doing. He wanted to believe that Tom would rescue him, relieving him of all this pain, but that hope was slowly wearing out. Harry wondered, in pure desolation, if Tom had only ever lied to him. What if Tom had only kept Harry because he was an interesting object, in Tom's eyes? An item that had many uses, but no true value to Tom, perhaps? Harry was tired and deluded, and many of his wounds still stung terribly. Maybe he had mistaken every glimmer of emotion in Tom's eyes, every note of concern in his voice…

Harry closed his eyes, feeling warm drops of water spilling from them. He wished more than anything that Tom would find him. Yet perhaps this place was too well hidden, even if Tom was doing anything to search for Harry. Maybe Grindelwald's followers were stronger than Tom, and Harry had messed up history in some dramatic and idiotic way. Tom had to save Harry… Harry didn't know what else would happen to him…

Tom wouldn't let him die in this terrible place if he felt any slight affection towards Harry. Harry tried not to wonder if Tom thought of this event as a simple solution to the getting rid of him efficiently. He tried not to wonder if this is where his life would end forever, after everything he had been through. But the truth was that Harry could very easily die in this gloomy, filthy place, at the hands of Emeric, or any of the other merciless followers of Gellert Grindelwald…

* * *

**Dear Readers: **I hope you're all enjoying the story, first of all! I must thank you all for the lovely reviews that I've been receiving — they really do make every chapter even more worth writing.

But I'm writing this AN mainly to tell you all that I am again searching for a new Beta Reader. My last one is too busy, I feel, and my best friend Killing Curse Eyes cannot fill in for the moment because her computer just died, so I need someone ASAP. The few requirements for this 'job' are:

• You should be online often - at least once a day.

• You should have some previous experience in Beta Reading, or at least know how it works.

• You should accept the way that I write, and refrain from changing sentence structure, use of words, et cetera, unless I simply have it completely wrong.

• You should refrain from attempting to sway my choices in plot turns, or to suggest ideas that I cannot reply a polite 'no' to. I don't mind suggestions at all - in fact I encourage it greatly - but 90% of the things people suggest to me cannot be woven into TVoV, haha.

• It will probably be easier if you have Microsoft Word - the application I use for writing.

Just like before, you can leave a comment, sent me a Private Message, or email me if you want to become my Beta Reader. My email is '_slave of pacific waves at google mail dot com_' (lol). Please tell me a little bit about yourself, and especially why you would like to be my Beta Reader. I'm looking for someone who knows what they're doing, but who enjoys this story and, like me, won't think of this as a job in any way. Doing this for pure enjoyment, or for the satisfaction of knowing you'll get chapters hours before everyone else, will make this a lot more fun.

By the way, we're past 200,000 words on this story now!

-Light


	45. Out of Sight

Tom's eyes flickered open. The room was dark, and he couldn't see a thing, but something distracted him from being wary of this fact. As he lay in the utter darkness, taking a deep breath to wake himself up, he felt pain in his chest. He knew this is what had awoken him the moment he noticed the uncomfortable feeling, and he felt as though it had been worse only a few moments ago, dragging him away from sleep. It didn't feel as though anything was attacking Tom from the outside, it felt more as though something was happening within him, and this made him worry.

Sitting up on the bed, Tom reached a hand up to his chest to try and target where the pain was coming from. He reached for his wand on the bedside table with his other hand, and mumbled "_Lumos_" to light up the room, having always hated being in the dark. He felt more comfortable when he could see. He turned to his left tiredly to look at Harry, wishing to forget the pain that was fading now… but he found that Harry was gone.

Tom stared at the empty space, confused. It was still very dark outside, so it seemed unlikely that Harry would already be up. The part of the bed where Harry was supposed to lay was cold, so he had to have been gone for a while. As Tom examined the room further, in a slight rush of fear, he saw that both Harry's robes and wand were nowhere to be seen. This concerned Tom further. He wondered whether Harry might be downstairs, reading or doing something of the sort… but Tom wasn't truly confident in this, even as he got out of bed.

He got dressed quickly, and checked the bathroom for Harry, but he wasn't there. He left Harry's bedroom, and searched the library-like room that he himself had insisted Harry have, but again Harry was nowhere to be seen. Downstairs, Tom ventured into the kitchen, living room, and the second bathroom, but Harry didn't appear to be in the house at all. Tom stood in the kitchen for a time, anxiety beginning to seep in. He decided to go upstairs and get dressed properly, before leaving the house, to search for Harry elsewhere.

He walked to his own home, the early morning sun just visible over the treetops of the vast land he now owned. Birds twittered and fluttered about overhead, but Tom barely saw them. If something had happened to Harry… but his mind wouldn't allow him to think about that yet. He had reached his house, and he headed in it quickly…

The living room, bathrooms, kitchen, bedroom, and every other room within the house were searched, but Harry wasn't here. A strong sense of foreboding filled Tom, but he tried to ignore it as he stood in his own bedroom, the last place in this house that he had searched. He was too restless to sit, so he stood. He contemplated where Harry might be. He wondered if maybe Harry left his house for some rational and calm reason, but Tom couldn't think what this might be…

Unless Harry had left willingly, trying to get away from him. Tom didn't enjoy the company of this thought, but he refused to ignore the possibility. Tom worried about this deeply… until he came to a conclusion. Harry would have packed more items if he wanted to leave, and Tom was sure that Harry wouldn't have spent the night with him if he were just going to run away the next day. These rational thoughts calmed Tom somewhat, and got rid of a little worry. Harry cared more than to just leave without a word, and though the last few weeks had been shaky, ever since the murder Tom had committed, it wouldn't end like this.

Tom winced slightly at the memory of his latest murder, and moreover at the reaction he had received from Harry. Tom's sudden impulse to try and get Harry to murder had worked out very badly… Tom wasn't really sure what he had been thinking at the time. He hated the way Harry had reacted to the death of that tramp, but only because Tom hated himself for misreading Harry, and Harry's evaluation of what was right and wrong. Although they hadn't fought for very long over the subject, Tom still regretted what he had done. He still suffered through the agonizing knowledge that Harry must have hated him that night, and perhaps even after it…

Then, Tom abruptly remembered something. If Harry hadn't left this land willingly, then he must have somehow left unwillingly… Tom stared at the ground, his eyes glazed and unseeing, as he felt strong fear spreading through him. He tried not to worry, but his heart was already beating rapidly. He told himself that he shouldn't panic yet… he didn't know anything yet… but his heart was pounding and his mind was numb. He tried to take a deep breath as he blocked out thoughts, but his breath was hard to regulate. He decided to merely leave the house now, to distract and postpone all thought. He needed to find out where Harry was…

He headed for one of the fine buildings where his friends stayed. The two long structures that Tom had build, to ensure general comfort for his friends as they visited Albania, were positioned close together, and Tom headed into one of them, knowing it would only take a minute to search the other house if the particular person he was searching for wasn't in the first one. Inside one of the dark buildings, Tom walked across the long hallway to where the dormitories were located. He knocked on the door loudly, knowing that few of his friends were likely awake yet, but ignoring this fact. He knocked on and off for about thirty seconds, before someone answered.

It was Nott. He appeared tired and slightly annoyed with being awoken so early, but this emotion slipped away from his face the moment he saw who was at the door. "Oh, good morning."

"Where's Harry?" Tom inquired impatiently, forgetting to say 'hello'.

"Er…" Nott said slowly. "Do you mean–?"

"Jonathan," Tom confirmed, not caring that he had used Harry's real name. "Where is he?"

Nott refrained from responding, _'How should I know?'_

"I haven't seen him since yesterday."

Tom decided to ask a more useful question. "Where's Quentin?"

"He's in here," Nott said, turning his head to look back into the room. "Or, well, he was…"

Tom could see an empty bed on the left hand side of the room, already made. He felt sick at the sight, and stared for a long moment. Harry was gone, and so was Quentin… Quentin had been planning to harm Harry in some way all week, and even before that…

"Are you alright?" Nott asked. His tired blue eyes were fixed on Tom.

"Did you hear anything, last night?" Tom asked quietly, still staring at the empty bed. "Anything unusual outside?"

Nott hesitated. "It sounded like someone was fighting, at one point."

"Where?"

"In the dining room. A few of us went to see what all the noise was about, but the door was locked, and it stopped soon after. We thought that maybe it was you–"

"Wake the others up," Tom ordered, his heart beating sickeningly.

"What?"

"You heard me. Wake them up!" Tom snapped, turning away from the stunned Nott. He heard Nott addressing the dormitory behind him as he, Tom, headed for the dining room.

It was locked when Tom got there, but a moment of magic allowed him to break in. He hadn't even stepped through the doorway when he saw blood on the floor, and stopped. When he looked up, he saw chairs knocked down and blatant spell damage on the walls. It was evident that a fight had taken place here… Tom withdrew his wand, and tested the blood on the floor. He was relieved when he saw it wasn't Harry's. It was instead Quentin's, which both infuriated and satisfied him. He realised, from this amongst other things, that there must have been more people help Quentin fight Harry…

"What did you wake us all up for?" Avery asked from somewhere behind Tom, but Tom didn't really hear him. The others were all standing behind him now, and he walked into the dining room.

He could see evidence of a fight everywhere he looked, and it appeared that some of his smarter friends could see it too. Tom viewed this place without sensation, until he noticed that the door at the end of the hall, leading outside, was open. He headed for it, his heart hammering and his friends following him closely.

"What happened to Jonathan?" Nott asked Tom hurriedly.

"I don't know," Tom muttered, as they stepped out the back door. He breathed in the cold morning air, trying to think straight.

"Did he get into a fight?" Duane Gonson inquired. "And if so, with whom?"

Tom didn't give a reply to this. He continued walking, to stand upon a more open part of the grass that stretched out for what looked like miles.

"Someone broke into this place, didn't they?"

"That's what we're about to find out," Tom said very quietly, raising his wand. He had stopped walking, and his friends did the same, people from the second building joining them quietly by this point. All emotion was suddenly ceased within Tom, as though his whole being was holding its breath.

"Was it the Ministry?" Nott wondered aloud. "Did they find out what we're doing to those Dragons?"

Tom merely closed his eyes, and began using magic to check his protection around this land. It didn't take long for him to see that the Muggle-Repelling Charm was broken. The Anti-Apparition Jinx was broken. The Caterwauling Charm, placed tens of meters around every other protection, was broken. Everything from _Cave Inimicum_ to _Salvio Hexia_ had been smashed down to a million pieces, and not a thing was protecting Tom's land now…

Tom opened his eyes slowly, knowing now that there was no other explanation for Harry's disappearance other than Grindelwald's people taking him. A deep emptiness was spreading through Tom like poison at the realisation. Grindelwald's followers had broken down all of the defences that Tom had put up, including all of the extra protection he added when suspecting Quentin of being up to something. Tom knew he really shouldn't be surprised, considering these people would have broken into the Ministry of Magic itself had they really wanted to do nothing more than scare England, but to put it all in the simplest wording, it terrified Tom that his magic had been defeated without him even realising it.

"What's wrong?" Nott asked, audibly startled with the way Tom was now acting.

Tom seemed to have lost the ability to speak. His heart was pounding in his ears, and his hands curled into fists. The others were staring at him, waiting for him to do something, but he no longer cared about them. He elevated his wand with haste, focusing, as he began frantically repairing the enchantments so recently broken. He did all he could to make the magic stronger this time, but he knew it was going to take a lot of energy. He would have to research better defences later on, to protect them further…

He was stressed with wondering how quickly he would have to secure this land again. His hands were shaking slightly in infuriation, fear, and shock, but he knew his friends didn't notice. He tried to calm himself, stalling thought…

"What's going on?" Nott squawked, as a muffled booming sound rang in their ears. The first massive sphere of shielding had surrounded them. Tom felt anxiety tear through him as he continued building the magic, but he didn't let his friends see his true emotion.

"Are they coming back, to attack us? Why would they do that, after only taking Jonathan?"

"Because," Tom answered quietly, "they might be able to extract information from Jonathan. Information that could scare and intimidate them."

Another deep, echoing crash surrounded them all, and this eerie sound appeared to disquiet the others. They began talking in hushed voices as Tom focused on another piece of magic, building up its power as quickly but powerfully as he could. He stopped himself from thinking about what Grindelwald's people might be doing to Harry, and he stopped himself from panicking about how long it would take him to find his lover. Tom feared that Grindelwald's followers might come and attack him the moment they heard about Dragons – whether through torturing Harry or questioning Quentin. But whatever might happen, or be happening, Tom understood that he needed to act now.

"All of you, search the grounds," Tom ordered, his voice forceful. "If you find anyone lingering around, or if you find a body, report to me immediately."

No one moved.

"Who are these people?" Gonson questioned. "What do they want with us?"

"Did I not give you an order?" Tom asked sharply. He stopped using magic for the moment, and turned to face his friends properly. Their scared faces only annoyed him further. "Nott, Gonson, Macnair, you must leave this place at one."

"Why?" Macnair asked.

"Because I told you to," Tom retorted. "Leave for England, now, and contact anyone you can to find Quentin. Find his family and friends, and force information out of them if you must, until you know where he is."

"But he's been in Germany for the last eight years, so there might be people–"

"Then ask about the people Quentin knew in Germany!" Tom instructed, annoyed that they weren't following his orders. They were all taken aback by his visible anger, and he was glad of this fact. Harry was doubtlessly suffering in some prison somewhere, and none of his friends seemed to know how to react, how to rise to the occasion, and follow his demands. "Now get out of my sight, all of you!"

–X–

Tom was sitting in his own home, at the head of the long wooden table that currently brought together nine other Wizards – all of his friends who remained in Albania at this time. They were all sitting in silence, waiting. Tom had spent the day in a state of anxiety, reassured by none of the claims from his friends that there were no unusual people within his land, alive or dead. No matter how alone he and his friends were, he still didn't feel safe.

He hadn't heard any news about Quentin, and by extent Harry. It was past midnight, and he was waiting for Nott, Gonson, and Macnair to return. His other friends seemed just as keen to hear back from the others as Tom was, and Tom knew this was because none of them usually slept until around two or three in the morning, and they wanted to hear the news as soon as possible, in fear of their safety, out of general curiosity, or just because they wondered and worried about Tom's reaction to this all.

Tom sat with one hand curled over the other, his fingers tightened into a fist. He rested his chin against his hands, and occasionally his forehead against it too, when his anxiety, or the pain in his chest, worsened. It had been a very long day, but his mind was too busy to be tired now. He thought about Harry, and worried. He could barely believe that Harry was honestly gone. Everything around him felt like a part of some sort of nightmare, one that he hoped so dearly he would wake up from soon…

He didn't know what could be happening to Harry now, and he hardly dared to think about how far Grindelwald's followers might go in questioning him. A strange emotion would form inside Tom whenever he thought about Harry suffering, and all Tom could do was swiftly replace it with anger, because that was the only thing he truly understood, emotion wise. He didn't like to think about what was happening to Harry… He focused instead upon how he would find him again. He would do anything just to see Harry's face again, and to know he was safe…

It was around two in the morning when his three absent friends returned from interrogating Quentin's friends and family all day. Tom had made it so his friends could go in and out of his land freely during the day, but at night he planned to completely seal them in his dome of protective magic, to be safe. When Nott, Gonson, and Mulciber walked into his house, Tom watched them enter the living room, knowing at once what the only news could be.

"We, er, talked to any friends and family we could," Macnair began slowly, avoiding eye contact with Tom. "We visited about fifty people altogether, but… we couldn't find him."

Tom felt vexation seeping through his veins, as glowered at his friends. He didn't know how to respond for a moment, as he reflected upon how this meant he had no chance of finding Harry… He sat up more in his chair, and tried to accept their failure, but he was unsuccessful in this attempt. He knew that none of his friends were happy with facing defeat in any way, but he wanted them to know just how much they displeased and maddened him this time.

"Do you mean to tell me," Tom responded in a cold, deadly tone, "that you questioned over fifty Witches and Wizards close to Quentin, across all of England and Germany, and you couldn't even get one piece of useful information out of anyone?"

The three of them avoided Tom's eyes determinedly, and none of them appearing at all willing to compose a reply to this. Tom's other friends glanced around the table cautiously, all of them solemn, and relieved only because they weren't the ones being yelled at now.

"Well, we got information about more people connected to Quentin from the people we spoke to, but it's all getting sort of ridiculous," Macnair mumbled, attempting a hushed laugh, and as a result voicing his pure nervousness. "We'd have to look for everyone he's ever met just to find him–"

"Then go and do it!" Tom ordered, enraged and antagonized. "What is it that you wait for, now? I didn't instruct you to stop when you became too tired! I don't care if it takes you all night – just find him!"

"But you told us to report back to you –"

"And now I'm telling you to get out of my fucking sight!" Tom roared, seething.

His friends flinched, and stared at him in bewilderment. Tom stood up, unable to rest any longer. He began running his hands through his hair, unwilling to accept that Quentin was undetectable. He was itching to reach for his wand, and curse all of his foolish friends for their lack of success, but he resisted the urge, pacing around the room instead, and trying to maintain his anger.

"I don't know what I've spent years teaching you all, if you cannot follow even simple orders," Tom smouldered. "You have brought me not a single piece of useful information – You're useless! All of you are useless! More of you, join these three incompetent idiots to find Quentin Pyrites, and bring him to me – this is all I ask for! I don't care what you do to get the information I need, merely bring him here alive!"

He was going to make Quentin suffer so terribly when he got hold of him, Tom decided, finding morbid pleasure in the thought. Rather, he would make him suffer if his idiotic friends could ever find Quentin… Tom thought that maybe he would have to search for Pyrites himself. He would spend endless hours, even days, searching for him if that's what it took. But he knew that he would – he _must_ – find Quentin soon, especially if he had most of his present friends searching for him. Tom tried harder to overcome his anger, as his nails dug painfully into his palms.

"What are you all waiting for?" he snapped, noticing suddenly that no one had moved. "Get out, all of you! And don't return to me until you have a satisfying piece of news on Pyrites!"

His friends began to stand up, and to leave the house. Before many of them had left, however, Avery spoke. "Which of us have to go, then?"

Tom was too infuriated to find an answer to this, and Avery seemed to see it when Tom glowered at him, his jaw clenched, and his mind jammed with a storm of emotion. Avery left the house with all of the others, while Tom paced the room. When they were gone, and when the last of them closed the front door firmly, leaving Tom alone, Tom continued pacing, trying to deal with his aggravation.

They didn't have a single clue as to where Harry was located. Moreover, they didn't have one piece of information on the only person who knew where Harry was. Tom's teeth were gnashing together painfully. Quentin had done everything that Tom feared he would. He was harming Harry, and thus seeking revenge for Grindelwald in some way… Tom tried to control his breathing, but it was deep and increasingly more impossible to regulate. Quentin had betrayed Tom, and had broken through all of his magic in sheer contempt, causing Tom to slowly lose the one person he cared about so dearly, whilst pushing Tom behind in a fight he had so long ago predicted…

Before Tom could control it, he raised his wand, and threw a spell at the nearest target – a collection of delicate and dark instruments and antiques, placed carefully within a tall, glass cabinet. The cabinet smashed to pieces, objects falling and breaking on the hard wooden floor. Tom should have stopped Quentin, should have hurt him when nothing had yet happened. He threw another spell at a chest of drawers full of papers and documents so cautiously organised. Parchment and polished wood exploded with a flash of light, sending smoke and dust to twist and curl through the air. Still, Tom was blind with rage.

He didn't know how he was supposed to find Harry if his plan of seeking Quentin didn't work out. He didn't know what he was supposed to do if Grindelwald's followers protected Quentin wish as much skill as they had used when breaking into Tom's land. Tom's chest was contorted, and he felt the need to smash every window, to break every item and piece of furniture in sight. He couldn't stop himself from blasting a fine antique couch into smithereens, fire smouldering the remaining pieces. The armchairs nearby were also ruined with no hesitation.

Tom ended up destroying many of the chairs that sat around the long table, as well as the table itself, the bookshelves he had placed downstairs, and the mirrors and other decorations he had put up around the living room. When almost everything in sight was demolished, Tom's hands were gripping his hair; his eyes closed tight, much like his jaw, as he tried to control his anger. His breath came in shudders, as he tried not to despise his useless friends for failing in their search for Quentin. He stood for perhaps ten solid minutes, trying not to think, and not to feel, before he told himself that he would be better off in a room he hadn't smashed yet, to get over his anger.

He headed upstairs, ignoring the wreckage around him as he walked past it all. He went up to his bedroom, and paced it for a time. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he was tired. He began thinking, trying not to become infuriated once more, but it was difficult. He wondered how they had managed to capture Harry. Had they have perhaps snatched him from right besides Tom, as they slept peacefully in Harry's home? Had Harry left the house willingly, perhaps urged away by someone like Quentin? Had Grindelwald's people merely knocked on his door, dragging Harry off to the other building to try and talk to him there?

Tom could barely believe how much he hated Quentin now. When his friends found this untrustworthy follower again Tom was going to make him pay an irreversible price for what he had done. Tom could feel the waves of craving to torture the absent follower pulsing through his veins. He wanted to hurt every inch of Quentin's skin, and make him suffer both inside and out for however long it would take him to confess where Harry was. Perhaps Tom would even continue to torture the fool after the confession, to rid his anger and show the others what happens to those who betray him…

Tom thought about Harry again, and how he would save him as soon as possible. Tom knew that Harry was strong past the emotional strain that their relationship seemed to put on them in the worst of times. But Tom wasn't sure how well Harry would cope with the torture and agony Grindelwald's people would likely inflict upon him. Tom didn't want to worry about that, but he couldn't help it as his chest burned. Whatever Harry may or may not be forced to confess, Tom believed that it would be irrelevant when he rescued Harry. He had no choice but to believe this. Tom was going to find Harry, and he was going to protect him once more… Tom continued to think these thoughts, as he paced him room for hours on end, until the dawn came again.

It was only when the sun rose, and birds sang, when Tom fell asleep. After this terrible night, which he longed to never suffer through again, he came to realise that past all the years of growing into an adult, and spending countless nights in candlelit chambers and dim rooms, nothing had ever cured his continuous fear of the dark without Harry standing right besides him.


	46. Quentin Pyrites

"I've answered this a million times; Quentin never told his old workmates or friends exactly where he was these last eight years," Gonson said, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips in pure exhaustion. It was late, on the second day of Harry's absence, but Tom wouldn't let his recently returned friends go to bed so soon. "He lost contact with almost everyone he knew at Hogwarts, and anyone else he met before he left for Germany."

"But we're missing something!" Tom reminded them all for what felt like the hundredth time. He was tense, and unable to sleep, which might have fuelled his inability to speak to his friends without yelling, or desiring to hurt them a great deal. "We've contacted all of his old friends and workmates, and questioned even each other about this… But the family! It has to be about the family now. They are the only people he stayed in contact with these last years."

"Barely," Lestrange murmured, his head resting against his folded arms on the table. "He wrote to them maybe once every six months."

Tom decided to ignore this comment. He had only just finished shouting at Avery, Lestrange, and Gonson, who were the latest friends back from England and Germany, to give Tom only futile information. Tom paced the room continuously, unable to rest. His hair was a mess, and his clothes hadn't been changed in the last twenty-four hours or so, but he no longer cared. His friends were in the same state as him for the most part, minus the pure stress that Tom felt with not knowing where Harry was…

"Tell me more about what the family told you – there has to be something about them!"

Tom heard some of his friends sigh and slouch a little more in their chairs, but he didn't bother glaring at them. He was extremely irritated, yet he was trying not to show it, as he attempted to get over it and convince his friends to speak more openly. His friends were concerned and scared of the way he was acting. They would talk behind his back, in whispers and mumbles, and he would see them think about their conversations afterwards. They would only tell him news very cautiously, and he needed them to tell him every seemingly useless detail without fearing him now…

"His family says that he's been working for a small company in Germany that makes broomsticks," Lestrange began bravely. "They think he's been making family brooms, which of course doesn't comply with the information he gave all of us, and some of his old workmates. He's told tens of different stories to everyone to make sure–"

"To make sure they won't be interested enough to ask too many detailed questions," Tom finished, thinking about this as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He had heard this information too many times now; it barely had any meaning to him by this point. "Yet what job he told each new person he had is irrelevant to the information we need… Let's go over the family members again."

His friends were restless and bored of this conversation, but none of them said a word about it – they instead only showed it in their body language. Tom forced himself to look away from them all, glaring at the floor as he walked.

"He doesn't have much extended family," Lestrange said, "There's only his parents, sister, and his childless aunt and uncle. His aunt and uncle are a bit wired. They live off in the centre of Germany, and we think they might have tried for a few kids in the past, but they were probably unlucky, and had miscarriage–"

"I don't care about the aunt and uncle," Tom interrupted sharply. "They're too wrapped up in their own odd lives to care about Quentin in the slightest. They have no connections to anyone who might know where Quentin is… Tell me about the parents and sister."

"The parents are surprisingly nice," Lestrange drawled. "They seem to care about their son a lot, and they were very kind when we went to visit them. They're very proud of their son, despite him lying to them about having such a boring job. It doesn't appear that they are at all interested in the Dark Arts, so I must assume Quentin found a passion for the subject mostly through our own encouragement."

"And?" Tom inquired, unsure why Lestrange had stopped here.

"And nothing," Lestrange affirmed. "They're very simple, uninteresting people, and they don't have a clue that we secretly caused their lying son to obsess over the Dark Arts with us."

"I'd say his sister was pretty interested in the Dark Arts, though," Avery cut in. "Or, she's smart enough to know Quentin is up to something odd, anyway. She won't believe the lies he told his parents."

"You never mentioned this before," Tom said, looking up at Avery, to give him his fullest attention.

"Never though it was import–"

"Oh course it's important!" Tom snapped. "Every detail is important! Tell me – what does she suspect, relating to what Quentin does?"

"She said she didn't believe Quentin would waste his life on making broomsticks," Avery explained, appearing unconcerned with this seemingly useless information. "She thinks she knows what he's really up to now – working with his friends on making illegal items like Flying Carpets, and selling Venomous Tentacula seeds."

"Why would Quentin tell her this?" Tom inquired, pondering the though deeply. This was new information, new detail he should have known… He was irked that Avery had mentioned nothing relating to this before.

"He was probably just trying to get her off his back," Gonson remarked.

Tom contemplated this too. He had heard that the sister was a little suspicious about Quentin, but he didn't know that Quentin had told a different story to her. Quentin had told so many people different lies about himself… but this one in particular was off.

"Why would he lie to his sister?" Tom wondered aloud, trying to make sense of it all. "And moreover, how would the sister know she was being lied to initially?"

"They're siblings," Avery stated.

"Bravo, Sherlock," Gonson taunted.

Avery turned to glare at Gonson. "Shut up, Mudblood!"

"My blood is as pure as yours," Gonson boasted, "And I don't need to be a Mudblood to know about _Sherlock Holmes_."

"But I don't talk about Muggle crap like that," Avery said.

"But you knew what I was referring to," Gonson observed, "So you can't tell me that you–"

"Shut up!" Tom exclaimed, annoyed by their petty argument. "What did you mean to say, Avery, after your blatant remark of 'they're siblings'?"

"They're siblings, so they know when they're being lied to by each other," Avery explained, casting Gonson a cruel look. "I'd know, having a brother and all."

"People don't know that you're lying because you're related to them, Avery," Tom conveyed, aggravated. "People know you're lying because you're an idiot. Quentin, however, is not as obvious as you. He should have merely told his sister that he wasn't lying, for they are old enough to do this now… Instead, he chose to admit that he worked with people who were doing illegal things…"

"She didn't look like the type of person you would lie to," Avery mentioned. "I think she even suspected us of being crooks, but she wasn't scared about it. She looked like Quentin's older sister, so I reckon she probably knows him well."

"She wasn't surprised when seeing you were blatant criminals?" Tom inquired.

"Nah – she probably just though we were part of that Flying Carpet Company."

Tom contemplated this. He wondered why Quentin would bother making sure his sister didn't suspect him of anything worse than dealing in illegal items. Selling illegal items was quite a bad thing to do, and it didn't make sense that Quentin would give her this information. "If Quentin told her a lie to cover up another lie, she must have known something vital…"

His friends thought about this, some of them trying to work out what Tom might be thinking. They often tried to help him work out inconsistencies like this, and Tom allowed them to voice their ideas only because it helped him think of new approaches to the questions at hand. They were rarely right in their simple guesses.

"Maybe he just didn't want to lie to her completely," Gonson suggested.

"That wouldn't make sense," Tom responded.

"He could have wanted his sister to think she was special," Lestrange added, visibly confident in this idea as he waited for Tom's reaction. "He could have done it so she would leave him alone."

"No," Tom said, "This is unlikely, since Quentin has never been particularly sly, and complementing the abilities of others to shield his lies with their sense of self-importance is quite a smart idea… There has to be another reason…"

Tom continued walking back and fourth, trying to make sense of this… Quentin had lied to his sister for an unknown reason… She must have forced him into lying again, to satisfy her own curiosity about something – but what was she curious about? It wasn't as though she was at all near her brother these days, since they were well past their school years, and settled into their own lives… They lived seemingly normal lives now, and it wasn't as though the sister would notice anything odd about Quentin from how far away she was…

"Can we just go to bed?" Avery asked rudely. "There's no way we're going to work anything out by just sitting here–"

"Shut up, and stay where you are!" Tom barked, as he saw Avery attempt to stand. "I need time to think, so won't you all keep your mouths closed for a mere five minutes?"

His friends were silent after this, which gave him space to think. His chest was burning painfully, and as a result his mind began to wander towards thoughts of Harry. He reflected upon all the time he was wasting, and his jaw clenched. He forced the thought out of his mind determinedly, going back to what he needed to focus on. Quentin and his sister lived seemingly normal lives… but Quentin's life was not at all normal under the surface. All it would take was one tiny secret revealed from Quentin's real life to make his sister question his lies… and suddenly, Tom found the answer. It was so painfully obvious, he lifted his gaze to stare wide-eyed at his friends.

"She must have seen some of the people Quentin secretly works with," Tom muttered, informing his friends on his realisation.

"What, us?" Avery asked.

"No, the other Dark Arts fanatics Quentin works for."

Tom heard Lestrange and Gonson laugh at his words. He turned to face them, taking a moment to understand that they thought he had cracked a joke. Their smiles faded when they saw Tom was serious. There was a long hesitation.

"There… there's another Dark Arts group Quentin works for?" Gonson asked.

Tom stared at his friends in disbelief; unsure whether he had heard them correctly. He could feel the tension and agitation return to him, stronger this time. "Please do not tell you don't even know this piece of terribly obvious information yet," Tom pleaded quietly, unsure whether he should be worried or enraged. "Have none of you yet been informed – yet worked out – that this isn't just a Ministry problem, or a bickering between Quentin Pyrites and ourselves?"

His friends were mute, as they glanced at each other quickly. "Well, we had our suspicions–" Gonson began nervously.

"Your suspicions!" Tom repeated, laughing in pure disbelief. He could feel the anger tearing through him, as he came to understand that none of his friends even knew what they were truly looking for…

"You never told us anything about why Quentin kidnapped Jonathan," Lestrange commented uneasily. "We thought that maybe he–"

"Maybe he what?" Tom intervened, the verbal reminder of Harry's disappearance doing nothing to help his increasing vexation. "Maybe Quentin told a Ministry or two about Jonathan's secrets? Maybe he hid Jonathan somewhere himself, to question him about whatever it is he wants to know? This isn't a mere situation involving a conflict between two Wizards! Our protection wouldn't be so fragile, and our search so determined if I was looking for one fucking Wizard who had done nothing more than take Jonathan for a pleasant chat in a undetectable location!"

Tom could barely control his irritation now, and his friends could see it clearly. He no longer cared to try and hide his emotion, as his breath became deeper, his body agitated with pure loathing. He didn't know what to do, or how to calm himself as he tried to think straight. He reminded himself that he had made a breakthrough on the reports his friends had given him on this second day of searching for Harry. He had more possibilities to explore now, and this was some progress, at least…

"Get some of the less exhausted people here to track down and capture Quentin's sister," Tom ordered more quietly, as some of his friends avoided eye contact. "Gibbon, Nott, Macnair, and Ransom have been asleep for the last seven hours, and they should be able enough for this task by now. Send them all, of you must, and tell them to bring the sister here as soon as possible – break into her house, and fight her if she shows signs on resistance. We're going to make Quentin pay for his daring attempt to hide from us, and harm us all…"

–X–

Tom spent the third day of Harry's absence interrogating Quentin's sister. He began questioning her with mere threats of pain, before actually hurting her when she did not comply with Tom's inquires of what she knew about where Quentin was. Tom didn't do any long lasting damage to her, unless you counted mental trauma, and he knew that he needn't truly hurt her, when he had perfect access to her unprotected mind… but pain, and threat of pain, always seemed to help such people remember the exact details on the things he wanted to know.

Past torturing Quentin's sister, and letting her go when he had drained all the useful information out of her, Tom spent the day in an anxious and irked state, trying to forget the fact that he had now wasted three days without even getting close to finding Harry. He could barely think straight in the first two days, but he was trying harder on the third day to both control his fury and find the patience to work out where Quentin was, based on the little information they could find. Quentin had worked determinedly to insure he kept himself hidden, but Tom was sure that his resolve to hunt Quentin down was too strong to be stopped now…

Quentin's sister had told Tom about a few of Quentin's friends, who she had once met when they showed up unexpectedly at Quentin's home. Quentin had been terrified by the arrival of these guests, and this more than anything told Tom who they were – other followers of Grindelwald. Tom had demanded more information when he heard about these strange Wizards, and he got the information quite easily now. He watched Quentin's sister's mind, to be sure that he saw the faces of the people mentioned while she thought back to the memories, but when Tom continued to interrogate her, he didn't find any more interesting information. He decided to describe the followers of Grindelwald to his own friends, even drawing an example of what they looked like from clear memory.

None of his friends had yet seen any of the wizards Tom described, and though they were confused by how Tom knew who these people were, and what they looked like, they all decided to believe that Tom wasn't just making these Wizards up in a crazy strive to solve the mystery of where Quentin Pyrites was hiding. Tom gave many of his friends copies of the drawings displaying the people they were searching for, so they could all pass the photos along to the absent people in their group, to see if anyone had seen the wizards.

But at four days since Harry's disappearance, there was no new information, and they weren't any closer to finding Quentin, or the recently heard of followers of Grindelwald. Tom's chest was hurting more than ever, and he spent hours on end trying to piece together every scrap of unavailing information. His friends spoke to him very little, because he was very close to cursing them all, making them suffer for their continuous failure at the simple task that he had entrusted them all to succeed in far sooner than this…

When five days had passed since Harry's absence, again there was no news. Tom's friends were searching for Quentin all around the clock, but still this didn't seem to be enough. Tom had shrieked at his friends for being incompetent, and had told them all numerous times that he would have to do their job for them if they didn't get him any results soon, but in reality Tom knew that he was too far gone with his anger to question anyone related to Quentin. Tom could barely control himself now, and he was deranged from lack of sleep mixed with increasing worry.

When six days passed, Tom knew his friends wondered, panicked, and questioned why he cared so much about where Harry was. They all believed that Harry kept vital information hidden – information that was interesting and important enough for Quentin to capture and torture Harry for. They thought that Tom cared about what Harry knew, and though this didn't quite explain how unbalanced Tom was about the whole situation, they all stuck to this explanation, believing that Tom could really care about his research in the Dark Arts this badly.

When Harry had been gone for a week, Tom could barely operate. He couldn't concentrate, and couldn't stand still. They hadn't heard anything new in days, and it was driving Tom insane. He wouldn't believe that this is where he would have to stop searching for Quentin. He refused to face the idea that he wasn't going to get any more information out of the people around Quentin, and they hadn't yet found anyone who had even seen the followers that Quentin's sister had described. All Tom could do by now was order his friends to keep searching, keep seeking information…

It was around five in the morning when Tom left his friends' buildings and headed for his own house. He had been adding new protection to his land ever since Harry left, and one could now faintly see the magical barrier around them from the inside, softly glimmering in the moonlight, and causing the stars and distant view around them to appear fuzzier and less clearly defined. Tom had just sent even more of his friends to search for Quentin and the other followers he knew, so Tom was almost completely alone on this land now. He didn't know what do to do with himself, since his remaining friends were all asleep…

He entered his own house somewhat reluctantly, his wand lit before he ignited the torches and candles he needed inside. He stood in the hallway, looking into the empty living room, kitchen, and the staircase that led upstairs. He hadn't been so alone in what felt like days, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do… On second thought, he hadn't been so alone in years, and the silence of his own home was scaring him. With Harry, or even his occasionally silent friends, there was always the sound of other breathing past Tom's own, and the knowledge that the other person was around, thinking and existing. Here, Tom was perfectly unaccompanied, and all was perfectly still…

Tom left his house. He stood outside, breathing in the cold winter's air, and gazing up at the sky as he thought. He didn't want to return to his friends, and didn't want to spend any time in his house. He felt there was nowhere for him to be… He began walking, and after around ten minutes he found that he was heading for Harry's house. For some unexplainable reason, he felt as though going to Harry's house was important. He felt as though it would help him think.

The house was dark and deserted. Tom stood in the doorway, lighting the torches, and reflecting on how he hadn't been here since the morning Harry disappeared. He closed Harry's front door, and began wandering through the house, touching nothing, but examining all of the items around him, as though this were a museum of a famous artist or writer's home. Everything felt so unreal, as though this were nothing greater than a dream…

When Tom entered Harry's bedroom, the last room in the house left to explore, it still felt as though everything around him was a prop, a soulless representation of how Harry's house had really been. Tom stayed in this room, standing just past the doorway, and examining the bed, cupboards, shelves, and anything else he could see. He was calmer than he had been in days, his breath strangely even, and his thoughts tranquil. He spent a long time analyzing the place, and remembering the times he had spent in this very room with Harry… But not much time passed before the situation caught up with him again.

He hated himself for allowing Harry to be stolen from him like this. The unmade bed that Tom stared at was only a reminder that this was the last place Tom had seen and felt Harry. He hated himself for saying Harry was ignorant, and though he understood that Harry wouldn't leave him for this single insult, and though he knew Harry was stronger than to crumble from this when he could incomprehensively accept the idiotic murder Tom had committed, Tom regretted causing Harry even this slight pain now. Tom felt as though this was partially to blame for Harry's absence, somehow…

Harry was likely going to die, trapped in some distant and undetectable prison, and there was currently no way anyone could stop this from happening. Tom winced as this thought formed in his head, and he tried to ignore it… but somehow, as he stood in this empty, silent room, he couldn't get rid of the thought. It was sticking with him now that he was alone. It was almost as though his mind had waited for him to stop for five minutes, to finally accept the one and only truth, which was that Tom might never be able to see Harry again.

Tom tried harder to get rid of this thought, as the unusual, sickening emotion that he hated so much had began to form and spread inside him. There was nothing to distract him from it now. He couldn't get rid of the foreign emotion, or exchange it for anger, now that he was alone. His repressed thoughts were beginning to catch up on him, and he could do nothing as anxiety and sorrow began to grip him. Harry was likely going to die, and Tom wouldn't be able to stop it from happening. He had wasted days battling his own emotions, and forgetting to tell his friends vital details out of distracting worry. Harry might already be dead by now.

Tom's feet began to move, and he found himself pacing once more, his eyes seeing nothing as his hands rubbed his face. Tom's chest was hurting, like it often did, and Tom felt as though this wasn't relative to the strong emotions he was feeling. He had decided, a few days ago, that he impossibly felt pain whenever Harry was in agony… He knew this would sound insane if he ever tried to explain it to anyone, but he solemnly believed it, knowing it was his last hope that Harry was still alive… Harry had to be alive…

Tom's heart was beating sickeningly. His chest was contorted in pain and in response to his maddening thoughts and worries about Harry. He didn't know what to do with himself as he wondered what Grindelwald's people were doing with Harry. His hands were shaking slightly, but he chose to disregard this, tapping is fingers against his hands as he had so recently begun to do in stress. He should have forced Harry into making Horcruxes sooner. He should have insisted that Harry make himself immortal in some way, knowing that Harry had dangerous enemies. He should have thought ahead…

Tom wanted to smash something, to relieve some of his building emotion, but he couldn't bring himself to touch a single thing in Harry's home. Tom's breath was quick, and his chest hurt so very much. Harry was going to die because Tom had been too concerned with Harry's emotions, and not concerned enough with Harry's mortality. Tom felt physically sick, as he paced back and fourth, feeling the realisation and shock crash over him, making him feel drained of all blood. He didn't know what do to, and he felt like he was dying. He was losing the only person he had ever cared about, and it was all because he cared about him far too much…

Then suddenly, Tom stopped walking.

He stood perfectly still, neither breathing nor thinking as his aching body felt sick and expiring. Everything was silent, as terror spread through Tom, numbing his mind and body completely. He took a single breath after perhaps thirty seconds, and continued to feel something that terrified him beyond belief. As he stood in this deserted room, staring into space, he could feel his eyes bleeding. Tom didn't know what to do about this undeniable fact, as he felt more blood pouring out of his unmoving eyes. His felt dizzy, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He could no longer stop himself from breathing as his heart hammered in his ears. He tried to accept that he was literally dying, but he could barely think.

His body convulsed too much for him to breath properly. Before he knew what he was doing, he was moving blindly for Harry's bathroom, heading directly for the sink, ready to puke and watch himself bleed to death from the pain he was going though. When he looked in the mirror, however, he saw no blood. He stared at his own shocked reflection for a long while, watching burning tears running down his unmoving face. For the first time in all memory, he was crying.

Tom turned away from the mirror as though the sight was indecent. He tried to get rid of the foolish tears, annoyed with himself. He wasn't used to crying, and he couldn't understand how it was happening now.

He hadn't cried for anything in his entire life, from what he could remember. The workers at the Orphanage had whispered to each other about how he barely shad any tears as a baby either, as though that was an unusual thing. Tom had gotten angry with the people he lived with, and he had hurt many people just to get rid of his own suffering… but there was no one left to hurt for this. He had never cried through frustration, and nor from any lengthy contemplation on the death of his mother. It appeared to him that this was the only thing that had ever truly gotten to him, in an absence of anger.

There was no one here to judge him on his weakness, no one to feel embarrassment from for him being caught trying to handle this uncontrollable reaction… Yet Tom hated to face the fact that tears couldn't stop blurring his vision, and falling from his eyes. He didn't know why he couldn't stop his body from shaking, his lungs taking in only shallow, repetitive breaths. He had never felt anything this awful in his life, as he tried harder to stop himself from crying. His breath was audible now, and he felt compressed as he tried to fight this. He regretted ever having made Harry cry in the past, now that he understood how it felt. He wished only that Harry could be here now, to help him survive this terrible illness…

Tom couldn't help it when his legs would no longer hold him. He leaned against a wall near the sink, sliding down it to rest on the floor, with his hands clutching his head, his knees brought up for his forehead to rest against. His eyes were burning with tears, his throat becoming sore as he shook and shook irrepressibly. It felt as though his heart was being ripped into pieces as he struggled to accept that he was going to lose Harry if he couldn't find him very soon.

Yet the pain – the agonizing, burning pain in his chest… Surely this meant that Harry was still alive? This was all Tom could hope for, as he fought with himself, to try and remain as silent as possible. The pain would get worse at irregular times of the day, and Tom knew the difference between this and sorrow, anger, or any other emotion. Once or twice, the pain had been so terrible that Tom had felt as though his very chest was being torn open. At these times he could have sworn that, as his surroundings disappeared beyond his eyelids, he could see where Harry was, surrounded by unrecognisable, shadowed figures… Tom understood that this might be an insane claim, but he couldn't deny the possibility to himself, when it felt so real.

Tom couldn't imagine how this feeling was even possible as he listened to his own body tremble in misery that he couldn't suppress. This all felt so unreal, and so alien to him. He wondered whether other people felt this – whether they _could_ feel this. Tom wondered if maybe only he, and perhaps Harry, could experience something so terrible, with the impossibly strong attraction and love Harry and he had for each other. Tom felt it was unlikely that people could feel this regularly… With all the petty tears he had seen children at the orphanage – and even students at Hogwarts – shed, he knew they couldn't have gone through what he was going through now.

All he wanted, as he tried to contain himself on this cold bathroom floor, was for Harry to be close to him again, safe and free from all the pain Tom knew he was going through. Harry would know how to make this terrible suffering stop. Tom had always had an unexplainable weakness for Harry's tears, and he understood now that he had sensed some of what Harry went through in despondency.

This was the most terrible feeling, and Tom knew it would only get worse if Harry died. Tom would do anything to get Harry back now, no matter how many of his friends had to die for it. Tom felt vexation begin to mix with his desolation, and rage was paralyzing his entire body. He would murder anyone it took just to have Harry safe in his arms once more…

–X–

Nine days had passed since Grindelwald's people took Harry away. Nine solid, sleepless days and nights of unbearable anguish… Tom felt as though he was indeed dying. He suffered drastic changes between utter numbness and uncontrollable rage, depending on how the atmosphere around was affecting him. He was exhausted, and wasn't eating enough, but he wouldn't allow any time for rest while he searched for Harry now. Tom's friends had informed him that they were on the trail to finding one of Grindelwald's followers, against all odds, and Tom couldn't stop waiting for information on the chase now.

Tom was constantly surrounded by new waves of his friends, who Apparated in and out of Albania and Germany, spreading the latest information, and getting Tom's approval for every new plan they wanted to put into action, to try and catch this known follower. They were close on the follower's trail now, and all of them could feel it. Tom would have joined in the chase, but he knew information would travel faster to him if he remained in one spot. He already had almost thirty people searching for this one Wizard, and he wasn't going to risk losing connection to all of them now.

His friends had asked him numerous times whether they would be in direct danger if they hunted down Grindelwald's follower, but Tom had assured them – perhaps forcefully – that no one would die, even if they were hurt. He had needlessly reminded them all of how many other friends there were out in the (mainly) Wizarding streets of Germany tonight, and he made it clear, when the worried questions irked him further, that he would shift the risk of them getting hurt to a much higher rate if they didn't stay quiet and do their jobs.

Tom believed that they would find this Wizard tonight – he _had _ to believe it. Depending on the information Tom would get out of Grindelwald's follower, he could either be very close to finding Harry, or just as far away. Tom was impatient to find out which, as he waited restlessly for triumphant news. Few of his friends were on his land at any time now, and the ones who remained here were only visiting for a short time – as long as it took for the next person to give them the information they needed, so they could head off to search for Grindelwald's follower like everyone else. They had been searching frantically for three hours now, some of them seeing the follower with their very eyes, before he escaped. It would be within the next hour when they found him, Tom knew…

And he was right in this hopeful assumption. It was around midnight when Gonson Apparated into Tom's land, to inform him that that they had found the follower at last, running away in the southern countryside of Germany. Mere minutes later, Tom had to bring some of the defences around his land down, to allow Mulciber, Ransom, Gibbon, and about eight others in, accompanied unwillingly by no one other than a dedicated and loyal follower of Gellert Grindelwald.

Without hesitating, and without caring about his friends, who watched him initially eagerly, and then apprehensively, Tom began interrogating the follower. He was mute when Tom began asking questions, and even the use of German didn't loosen his tongue, so Tom moved onto more convincing methods of receiving the answers he craved. Tom could tell as soon as he began the interrogation that this Wizard wasn't one of the strongest followers of Grindelwald. His glossy, fearful eyes informed Tom on how to make the follower cower in fear, brining him closer to giving Tom the answers he wanted to hear. The follower's mind was eerily blocked my Occlumency, and his resistance was equally as unnerving, but Tom knew he would be able to break him very soon.

After about two hours, and past much torturing, and many different techniques of persuasion (including doses of progressively stronger pain, and threats of harming and murdering family members) Tom finally got the follower to talk. The follower was barely able to fill his lungs with air, as he rasped about how Quentin was hiding in the countryside of Germany, and he knew exactly where they would find him. He gave Tom directions to the place, and pleaded to be let go. He never mentioned a thing about being a part of Grindelwald's group, but Tom hadn't bothered asking that. Quentin would give up the answers sooner, and Tom wanted to find him immediately…

"Avery, Mulciber, Gibbon, Ransom," Tom called vigorously, turning away from the bleeding Wizard at his feet to analyze his staring friends, "You're coming with me, to find and question Quentin."

Tom noticed, then, that most of his friends gazed at him with nervous and uneasy expressions, as if he had done something that terrified them greatly. He couldn't work out why they were all acting like this. It didn't cross his mind that they were scared as a result of watching him torture one of Grindelwald's followers, since he knew they had practiced much dark magic, created for the single purpose of forcing information out of people… But he didn't have time to care about why they were so scared, anyway. He had made a wise choice in picking Avery, Mulciber, Gibbon, and Ransom to accompany him, because they were amongst the least fearful friends now. They followed his order without a word, and they began walking from the building.

"What about this Wizard?" Gonson asked as Tom passed him.

"What about him?" Tom inquired impatiently.

"What are we supposed to do with him? He can't just leave him here–"

"Don't let him go until I know he isn't lying," Tom instructed, heading for the exit of the dining hall.

He stepped out into the dead of night without hearing Gonson ask any more questions. Breathing in the cold night air, he noticed that the chill of the snow and ice was doing nothing to him as his heart beat quickly in anger and maddened hope that he would find Harry soon. He was so very close…

"That was mad, the way you made that Wizard talk," Avery said in a mix of shock and admiration. His voice was shaking, probably as a result of the temperature, Tom thought. "I didn't know you'd go that far. He was practically vomiting blood…"

Tom made no response to this, as they headed swiftly towards an Apparition zone. He was likely going to find Quentin in a matter of minutes, and it wouldn't be long before he would know exactly where Harry was. He felt elation pour through him at the idea of rescuing Harry tonight…

"Are you going to do the same thing to Quentin?" Avery asked. "I can't imagine him lasting much longer than that other Wizard… What was his name, anyway?"

They had entered the Apparition zone, and Tom didn't bother to respond to Avery as he continued to talk. His other friends seemed to understand that he wasn't in the mood to chat about his recent torture, and the torture they were about to take part in. "Are you all ready?" Tom asked as his friends gathered around. They responded positively, and Tom reminded them of the location they were travelling to. A few moments later, Tom spun on the spot, and disappeared into the night.

With a deafening '_crack_' Tom landed in a dark Wizarding village in southwest Germany. He began walking the moment he found his balance, hearing four more loud cracks echo through the town as he hurried towards a house further along the lane they stood upon. His friends were all quiet as they followed Tom, understanding how important this moment was. This would be a night that Quentin certainly would never live to forget…

Quentin's house was tall and thin, with spindly wrought barriers lining the balconies that stuck out on the upper floors of this old, crumbling building. From the outside, one could only see one faint light, coming from the windows of a room on the lowest floor. This told Tom that Quentin was at home, but not yet asleep. Tom guessed that he was alone… but he supposed that wouldn't matter either way. They headed for the house, and up the steps, being careful to mask the fact that there were five people waiting outside the house. Snow was falling as Tom knocked on the door loudly.

They could see someone moving behind the curtains in the only lit room, heading into the hall rather than looking for who was at the door, to Tom's vague relief. Tom could feel the adrenalin pulsing through his veins, and he could see his own warm breath contrast against the freezing air. They could hear someone moving behind the door, and they all stood very still. Without care, the door of the house began to open. Tom's wand was gripped tightly in his hand, and he was prepared to use it any second…

Quentin's face appeared beyond the door, and Tom was too enraged at the sight to even wait for a verbal sign of shock from the other Wizard. Tom raised his wand to Quentin's throat, and began walking him back into the house, his friends following him with no delay as Quentin began to stumble over his own words.

"W-what are you doing? I didn't hurt – I didn't d-do anything wrong! I swear, I didn't do anything to anyone!"

"Save your voice," Tom advised, as Mulciber grabbed Quentin's arms. "There are a lot of things you'll need to confess to us tonight, Pyrites."

"Let me go!" Quentin yelled, trying to back away from Mulciber, who gripped his arm very tightly. They were all entering the only lit room on the house now, the door to the house closed shut and the curtains drawn securely. "I don't have to con-confess to anything! I didn't do anything!"

"Where's Jonathan?" Tom demanded, glaring at Quentin menacingly.

"I-I don't know," Quentin stuttered, avoiding Tom's eyes as he lied. "I haven't see-seen him since I left a week–"

"Where is he?" Tom ordered more threateningly, taking a step closer to Quentin. Avery levitated Quentin's wand out of his pocket, and Ransom and Gibbon checked to be sure that no one would see what they were doing from outside, and no one would hear it when Quentin was tortured.

"I told you I don't–!"

"_CRUCIO!_" Tom bellowed, feeling the pure hatred pour through him, and the powerful magic pour from him as Quentin withered and screamed on the ground. Quentin had slipped away from Mulciber's hands, but that didn't matter now. He was in too much pain to run away even as Tom stopped using the spell, to ask him again, "Where is Jonathan?"

"I didn't do anything to Jon–"

Quentin was paralyzed in agony again as Tom used the Cruciatus Curse for the second time. Quentin was collecting dust from the floor, his limbs twisting at odd angles as his body attempted to handle the overpowering pain.

"I'll ask you one more time nicely, Pyrites," Tom spat, the anger clearly audible in his voice. "After this, my punishment for lies will only get more severe… Where is Jonathan?"

"I told you, I don't–"

Before Quentin could guess, Tom raised his wand once more, and with a flash of scarlet light, Tom sliced a deep gash in Quentin's face, cutting all the way from his chin to just below his left eye. Quentin seemed to think this was all, as he recoiled and tried to grab his face, but with another flash of light, and another, and another, Tom ended up cutting up most of his face, slashing across his forehead, his nose, and his lips. Quentin began spluttering and choking as his own blood filled his mouth, after Tom raised his wand one last time to cut along his lips and down his neck.

"Do you feel that?" Tom asked, as he used one continuous spell on the gash on Quentin's forehead. Quentin withered and struggled as Tom held his shoulder to keep him still. Quentin began shrieking, and Tom continued. "This is the stinging sensation you will feel on your entire body if you don't answer my questions. The more I break open your skin, the closer this will feel to the Cruciatus Curse, until it surpasses it in measures of pain. What is more, these cuts will no longer be able to heal with simple magic. So I suggest you start talking now…"

The Cruciatus Curse was perfect for causing great pain with little damage, but Tom couldn't care any less if Quentin's torture was obvious here. It was so much more effective, more gratifying, to cause increased pain with increased visible damage. Tom would break Quentin's skin open in the most painful ways he could, before performing burning, stinging, electrocuting, itching, and a whole number of other, indescribable, sensations pour through Quentin to make him talk. Tom continued letting Quentin's forehead sting unbearably, before Quentin began speaking.

"You'll n-never get him back!" Quentin exclaimed. "It isn't worth at-attacking Grindelwald's followers, not for someone like Jonah–"

Tom pointed his wand at Quentin's arm, and began burning his flesh off. Quentin yelled and tried twisting away, but Ransom used magic to pin him where he was. The mark where Tom's magic burnt Quentin's skin was black and red with blood and bunt flesh.

"Tell me where he is," Tom instructed, anger causing his heart to pound quickly, his patience wearing thin.

"H-he's as good as dead now –"

Infuriation that Tom struggled to control fuelled him as he burn the entire front of Quentin's left forearm and hand, causing Quentin to scream and suddenly plead for Tom to stop. Tom didn't wait for Quentin to speak yet, however. He rested the tip of his wand on Quentin's distorted arm, and sent electric waves painfully up towards his chest. It looked as though Quentin might faint from the pain when Tom stopped, but Tom would make sure he stayed awake.

Tom used magic to force Quentin to look at him, demanded answers as he stared into Quentin's eyes to read his thoughts. He was screaming at Quentin to tell him what he wanted to know, caused Quentin even more pain. Further lies only deepened his craving to hurt the older Slytherin. By the time he had burnt Quentin's entire left arm, and half of his right, as well as scratched and torn most of Quentin's face, he finally got some proper answers. Quentin's voice shook and broke in pain, and it was much quieter than before, but none of this affected Tom at all. Quentin began to blurt out the location where Harry was, saying that they should still be torturing Harry at this time.

"Should be?" Tom repeated, glowering down at Quentin, and refraining from injuring him further when he took a moment to split up blood.

"It's been over a week, who knows what they've–"

Tom used the Cruciatus Curse again, his hands beginning to shake now in fury and anxiety. "When did you last see Jonathan?" he roared.

"About two days ago!" Quentin spluttered. "But I'm sure I heard him yelling… only yesterday…"

Tom turned away from Quentin, pacing the room and clenching his fists. If all of this had been for nothing, if he was too late… But he wouldn't allow himself to think about that now. His friends watched him tensely, preparing to leave already as Tom rubbed his mouth with his hand, trying to think straight.

"If he is already dead," Quentin choked, "I'm sure you'll be able to find someone else to replace him as your right–hand man… or whatever it was you two had go–"

Before Tom could help it, he slashed a deep cut across Quentin's throat, causing the tortured Slytherin to gasp for breath and choke on his own blood. When he was done, Quentin could barely move again. He lay on the floor, his eyes opening only when Tom stood above him, his wand pointed at Quentin's scratched and bleeding face. With eyes on Tom's own, Quentin began laughing. His laugh seemed to fill the whole room, getting louder and only stopping when Quentin had to cough up more blood. He chortled and attempted to breath between words as he spoke.

"You'll never… win… against… our people…"

Tom was very tempted to say the two simple words that would cause Quentin to die on the spot, ridden from the earth like so many other people who had caused Tom pain in the past. He wanted his face to be the last one Quentin saw as he died in unbearable agony… but something was holding Tom back. As he contemplated the killing curse, all he could think about was Harry, and how Harry had been so devastated about Tom murdering that Muggle…

Tom understood that this was a completely different situation, and Harry wasn't even here to witness the kill this time… but still, Tom couldn't bring himself to do this, not when he didn't know how Harry could feel about it.

Tom stood up, and turned his back on Quentin. He faced his four friends, his breath still heavy with vexation and irritation. He didn't want to let Quentin live, and he didn't want to risk Quentin surviving after Tom and his friends left… So Tom decided, after a moment, that someone else would have to kill Quentin, if he couldn't. His friends stared at him in vague unease. Tom began walking past them, unable to get rid of his displeasure.

"I'll leave it to you four to decide upon who gets to murder Quentin," Tom said, as he passed his friends, and began pacing the room.

"What, we have to kill him?" Avery asked, his voice higher than usual in shock.

"Don't you want to risk someone finding him, and describing the people who were here torturing him?"

"No, but… Why don't you do it?"

"Because I'm asking one of you to do it," Tom barked, as he turned to glare at Avery. "I've murdered enough people as of late. You have to learn how to kill too sooner or later, do you not?"

"I-well… I wouldn't say we _have_ to–"

"Well, I would," Tom retorted. He turned away from his friends. "You've failed me in so much lately – all of you. The least you can do is prove you're not completely useless."

His friends were mute for a time. When Tom turned to face them once more, clearly exasperated, they began facing each other, debating quietly about who was going to do it. None of them seemed to be able to decide.

"You're wasting time!" Tom roared, unable to keep his enragement in check. "Mulciber, you do it."

"Why m–?"

"Do it!" Tom bellowed, so close to cursing his friends now. They seemed to guess this, as they recoiled somewhat at the volume of his voice.

Avery, Gibbon, and Ransom turned to face Mulciber. From sheer pressure, if anything, Mulciber turned to look down at Quentin.

There was a long and irksome pause. Tom didn't know why Mulciber was taking so terribly long. Every second they wasted was risking Harry's life further.

"What are you waiting for?" Tom demanded. "Kill him!"

Mulciber raised his wand slowly. Tom waited for him to cast the spell as more seconds passed, and he was about to yell at his incompetent friend once more, before Mulciber cried, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

There was a flash of green light, and Quentin's quick breathing ceased. Even if Mulciber wasn't the most powerful friend Tom had, Tom had been sure that he would succeed in killing an already half-dead Wizard. Tom's emotions didn't lessen or change at all even after Quentin lay dead on the floor. He turned to leave, his friends following him swiftly.

"Wait," Gibbon said awkwardly.

"What?" Tom requested, turning to look back.

Gibbon indicated the room behind them when Tom glowered. When Tom turned around completely, he saw that Mulciber was still standing where Tom had last seen him, above the new corpse that had once been Quentin Pyrites. Tom hadn't the slightest clue what Mulciber was still doing there, and in full honesty he didn't care. He was impatient to do something about Harry.

"What are you standing there for, you insufferable idiot?" Tom asked.

Mulciber turned to face Tom slowly at the sound of his voice. His face was oddly blank, and Tom wasn't sure why as he glared.

"Sorry," Mulciber said faintly. "I didn't know we were leaving…"

Tom was tempted to turn and leave the house, but something was stopping him.

"Why are you acting so oddly?" he asked, staring into Mulciber's eyes, which had a faraway look in them.

Mulciber gave no answer, as he blinked at Tom.

"You can't just expect him to go on like nothing happened," Ransom said hesitantly, his tone indignant. "He just murdered someone."

Tom's eyes moved to Ransom for a moment, and he was slightly confused by his friend's tone. He was about to question why it mattered that Mulciber had murdered an already dying Wizard… but he then remembered about Harry. His heart beat quickly, as he remembered how close he was to finding his lover now. He could feel the tension rising in him again, and he turned away from his staring friends to head for the door. "Come on, we have to rescue Jonathan."

His friends followed him dubiously, all of them silent as they stepped onto the snowy streets of Germany. Tom's heart was pounding in anxiety and impatience as he thought about getting to Harry as soon as possible. He began informing his friends on this plan.

"All of you, go back to Albania and let the others know where Grindelwald's followers are keeping Jonathan," he instructed. "Gather everyone you can, and meet me at the locat–"

"What, and you're just gonna march in there and take Jonathan back are you?" Avery asked sarcastically. "From what Quentin said, that place is crammed with people! There has to be at least a hundred followers of Grindelwald, or whatever."

"So?" Tom demanded.

"So, you're gonna get us all killed!" Avery exclaimed. "We don't know how to fight that many people!"

"Especially when they're trained as well as us," Ransom added. "They might even be better than us…"

Tom thought about this, wasting no time with doubting this theory just because Avery had suggested it initially. He had to admit that this proved his friends were unable to serve him properly in fighting if Avery had noticed it… They were outnumbered by far, and all exhausted from tracking down Quentin. Tom wasn't sure whether it would even be wise to send his friends fighting if they were fully rested. Too many of them would die if he tried to attack Grindelwald's fortress with them…

Then, Tom found a solution to this problem.

"I shall go there alone," he declared. "It will be far more effective, now that I think of it."

His friends stared at him.

"Are you cra–" Gibbon began. But he didn't continue.

"This is the only way we'll succeed in finding Jonathan anyway," Tom stated, ignoring their reactions. "Jonathan is too valuable to lose now…"

"You're never gonna make it out there alive," Avery said, staring at Tom in vague concern. "You'll get yourself killed!"

But Tom was no longer listening. He was going to find and rescue Harry, and he was going to do it alone… It was the perfect idea, for he could enter Grindelwald's fortress far less detected than he could with thirty or so other friends following him. He looked at the others, thinking about how he was going to do this. But he knew what the perfect plan would be…

"We're returning to Albania," Tom explained, "Where you four plus seven others will help me with one thing – to fly our most trained Dragon all the way to Grindelwald's fortress, to meet me there."

There was a long pause.

"What?" Avery almost shouted.

"None of the Dragons are fully trained," Gibbon reasoned. "How are we supposed to get one of them all the way to Germany? And without your help?"

"You'll manage it," Tom assured them. "It would take too long for me to fly it there myself, and a not-perfectly-trained Dragon might do us better, at any rate."

His friends all stared at him as though he had lost his mind, but Tom didn't have the patience to try and explain to them why this was a perfectly rational and smart idea.

"Let's go," he ordered. "There's one last thing I need to get from Albania…"


	47. Embrace Life

The ground was rough and uncomfortable no matter how Harry sat upon it. The walls were damp from the cold weather outside, and the smell of blood, dirt, rats, and stale air was just as overpowering and pungent as always in this dark dungeon room. Harry's head was resting against a wall, his shoulders pressed right up against the dank stone, and his neck stretched up as he attempted to close his eyes, to rest for a few moments. His breath was tranquil, and his mind equally so, because he hadn't been tortured in at least five hours now. And though torture would continue, as well as his troubled thoughts and progressively more doubtful hopes of a rescue, he had time to rest now, at least, to close his eyes…

He was neither tired nor comfortable enough to fall asleep, but he was certainly drained enough for a rest. Behind his eyelids, his mind began to wander to thoughts of Tom. Harry didn't know what to think, feel, or believe anymore relating to Tom rescuing him. Any amount of time could have passed since he got here. He told himself – perhaps foolishly and optimistically – that Tom was still searching for him, still going to save him… but some part of him had almost completely given up all hope. He wanted the pain to end, and he wanted to leave this awful place, but he wasn't sure how or if this was ever going to happen.

He was waiting for something to change, he had realised. The hours trudged by so slowly, and every day was just the same. The agony of torture was harming Harry to extents he couldn't even be sure of yet, and he had given up trying to fight. He didn't speak to any of Grindelwald's followers anymore, as they used terrible spells on him, and caused him so much distress. Everything was so unreal, and he was numbed. Very few of his wounds were healing, so he was suffering constantly. He just wanted to rest, to dream of Tom forevermore…

But at the moment, dreaming was quite a hard thing to do. The occasional footsteps of another person within this dungeon room stopped Harry from falling sleep completely, and Harry couldn't get used to the presence of the second Wizard who had been standing in this room for the last ten solid minutes or so. Emeric appeared greatly stressed, but he hadn't told Harry why yet. Harry hadn't pushed the subject very much, but now, as Emeric distracted him from every source of diversion, Harry thought he might as well speak to his ex-workmate.

"What are you still doing here?" Harry asked, not moving his body as he opened his eyes to gaze up at the deeply contemplative Emeric. When no answer was given, Harry continued talking. "You may as well get it over and done with, if they sent you in here to torture–"

"Shut up," Emeric cut across him in an agitated tone. "That's not why I'm here…"

Harry raised his eyebrows for about a second, his tired eyes blinking slowly. He closed his eyes completely and sighed, idly turning his head away from Emeric a little. "Just tell me why you're here, you're distracting me from thought."

"You'll be quite unable to find time for thought pretty soon," Emeric warned, evidently still lost in nerves.

Harry opened his eyes, and turned his head to glare at Emeric. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a warning…"

"Meaning a threat," Harry observed. He watched Emeric more closely, noticing how he was biting his lips, his brow creased in concern, and perhaps even fear. Harry didn't know why Emeric would be here, if not to torture him. But then again, he could be lying about that. Harry hadn't seen Emeric very often these last few days, and Emeric had not yet tortured him properly, so maybe he was nervous about doing it fully now. Though why wouldn't he just do it, Harry wondered? Maybe there was something else…

"Please, tell me what's wrong, and why you're here," Harry implored.

Emeric appeared even more worried, and he continued to avoid eye contact with Harry as he thought. His hands twisted together in vague unease in front of him, and he couldn't seem to stay in one place, as he half-paced, half-stood in a variety of new positions. Harry was close to asking the other Wizard again what he was here for, but he soon saw signs of Emeric being close to speaking. Emeric was rubbing his face, lowering his hands and placing them together first vaguely in prayer, then with netted fingers, as he turned to face Harry.

"It was decided today, amongst all of the other Wizards in the league of Grindelwald," Emeric began in a pained, struggling tone, "that you are to… are to…"

"Are to what?" Harry urged.

"Are to be killed tonight," Emeric finally managed. "Since you won't say a word more to any of our people, they can see no further use in you."

Wide green eyes met brown, and there was a silence. Emeric seemed unable to gaze at Harry for very long as Harry sat away from the wall a little, staring in disbelief. Emeric turned away, and stared into space, still appearing deeply concerned.

"I should have told you before," he said, his brown eyes staring at the floor, "but I… just couldn't…"

It was surprising to Harry when he actually felt dread and fear sour through him as the weight of this information fell upon him. Grindelwald's followers had actually decided on when he was going to die… they were sick of him, and he was useless to them now, so they were going to end his life, to find the easiest way out of capturing and torturing him. His time was up, and Tom was nowhere near to help him. The numbness that Harry had felt for the last few days was rapidly disappearing, being replaced with terror and fright.

Harry blinked a few times to be sure that Emeric wouldn't see the dismay in his eyes, even though Emeric was staring at the floor. Harry's heart was pounding, but he wouldn't allow himself to show signs of weakness to any followers of Grindelwald. If he was going to be murdered tonight, he wasn't going to give Emeric the satisfaction of seeing his heart break when he thought about dying without Tom getting anywhere close to him again. Harry felt as though he was drifting out of his body, loosing grip of reality…

Frustration mingled with his compete worry, and absence of hope. He tried to be brave – or act it, anyway.

"I guessed as much before," Harry voiced. "So, when do they want to kill me, exactly?"

Emeric turned to stare at Harry. Harry didn't look up to see what expression he wore. "They plan to do it as soon as possible. That's why no one has bothered you in hours. You're at the back of their minds now."

Harry tried to ignore his stomach, which leapt in nerves. He realised why Emeric must be here now… "So they expect you to do it?" Harry asked in little over a whisper, not trusting his voice as he thought of Tom. "That's why you're so nervous?"

"No," Emeric denied. Harry heard him take a few steps towards him, and he looked up, flinching slightly. Emeric was not about to attack him, however. He instead appeared to have moved towards Harry in an uncontrollable act of trying to reassure him. Harry stared up into Emeric's eyes, as he stood about three meters away. "No, they don't even know that I'm here."

"How do I know you aren't lying?" Harry asked. Emeric was too far away, and this room was too dim, for Harry to use Legilimency properly. "How do I know this isn't just a ruse, for you to lead me to death more easily?"

"Because if they wanted me to kill you," Emeric explained, "I wouldn't lead you to death in such a deceiving way, no matter how nice it might be for a time."

Harry could tell that his ex-workmate was being honest in this claim, but they both stared at each other for a while after this, each trying to work out exactly what the other was thinking. It wasn't clear exactly why Emeric was here, if not to kill or torture Harry, but Harry had a weak suspicion or two to explain it. He didn't have any proof yet, unless Emeric's sad brown eyes told him anything. After about a minute, it seemed that Emeric wanted to make his reasons for being here a little clearer.

"I want to help you," Emeric said in a weak voice, gazing down at Harry. "More than this, I want you to allow me to help you. If they kill you tonight, if they throw away your life for nothing…"

He seemed to be struggling with his words, but he forced himself to continue talking. Harry guessed that his life being cut short probably helped Emeric a lot with continuing.

"I–I care about you," Emeric stammered, with a shininess in his eyes that Harry had never seen in Tom's through all the years of being with him. He swallowed, and appeared very distressed about what he had to say next. "But I don't know how I could possibly get you out of here alive, without getting caught or – or having them chase us later."

Harry didn't know what to respond to this. Emeric gazed at him with such emotion, such clear meaning. As Emeric walked slowly towards Harry, the latter could read every thought, could see every struggle he was going through. Harry dropped his eyes from Emeric's, trying to think straight. Was this truly his last – his best – chance of getting out of here? Harry's chest was raising and falling with deep breaths, his heart hammering within his ribcage. Was this really how he was going to save himself?

"You look so different," Emeric remarked in a hushed voice, analyzing Harry further with glassy eyes. "I could still recognise you the second I saw you, but I was very unsure at first. You obviously know how to transfigure yourself alarming well. You know how to shield your appearance, and take on a new identity, so we could use this skill to hide ourselves, to live our lives happily t-together… without them catching us."

Harry could feel his eyes burning with unexpected tears, and he tried not to show them to Emeric. It was so pathetic, so terribly sorrowful that he should end up with his best chance of survival being to run away with Emeric, shielding his appearance from Tom, Grindelwald's followers, and the whole rest of the world forevermore. Harry couldn't stand the emotion in Emeric's voice, and he couldn't stand to face the fact that Tom hadn't come to save him. Emeric believed in this plan working so well, and it caused Harry so much pain…

Harry tried to imagine running away with Emeric, and living out in the countryside perhaps, away from everyone he had ever known from Hogwarts and elsewhere in this era. His heart ached as he thought about finding out where Tom was if he lived with Emeric, and discovering where Tom had been all this time Harry sat suffering in a dungeon. He felt his eyes burn further as he thought about finding out whether Tom even cared to save him, while Harry lived a life with Emeric, making Emeric's one true dream come true. Emeric craved being with Harry and staying with him without Harry rejecting him just because he was another male. Now that Emeric knew Harry had been with Tom, the hope and desire within him had increased so drastically…

Emeric had walked towards Harry completely now, and he was crouching down to be at Harry's level, gazing at Harry in such blatant apprehension and devotion. More tears that Harry wished would go away poured from his eyes when he felt Emeric's fingertips touch his jaw, urging him to look at Emeric in the eyes. Harry hadn't felt such a reassuring and caring gesture in what felt like far too long. He closed his eyes, turning his face towards Emeric, and taking in the feeling of shaking fingers that would never have belonged to Tom. When Harry opened his eyes, Emeric stared with so much emotion that Harry could barely believe it.

"Please," Emeric begged, "I can't control how much my mind thinks about you know – I can't take it. And now that they… now that they want to kill you…"

Harry could barely think as he stared into Emeric's soft brown eyes, taking in all the strain Emeric was going through. Harry tried to swallow, to clear his dry throat, but it did no good. He tried to gather his thought again, and struggled to understand the situation fully. He was disoriented with how close Emeric was. "You're not Tom," Harry breathed.

"But I'm here," Emeric stated in a strained voice, more tears flowing from his gentle eyes. "I'm here, and I need to know that you'll do this with me – you'll run away with me, and – and we'll leave all of this behind us."

Harry didn't know what to do. He felt dizzy gazing at Emeric in this dimly lit room, Emeric's warm fingers caressing his jaw so cautiously, so caringly. Harry didn't know what he was supposed to do, if his only options were Emeric or death. Emeric blatantly cared about him so deeply, and had obviously thought about Harry so much even after years of absence. Harry felt his heart ache again, and in a trembling voice he said, "I don't want to die…"

"I know," Emeric whispered, his reassuring hands holding Harry's face securely, "I don't want you to die either… I c-couldn't live with knowing I could have – could have helped you…"

His eyes were slowly moving down to view Harry's semi-parted lips. Before Harry knew it, he felt Emeric kissing him, his lips pressing against Harry's own so carefully, and so tenderly, that Harry was dumbfounded. Emeric's lips lingered on Harry's own without moving for a few seconds, before he appeared scared that Harry wasn't responding, but Harry leant forwards when he tried to pull away, pressing his lips against Emeric's own once, and again, and again until they had formed a unbearably numbing pattern that progressed in speed very rapidly.

Harry licked Emeric's lips, urging Emeric to allow him access to his mouth. Emeric's hand was moving towards Harry's hair, but he was unsure of himself even as he kissed Harry deeply, their breath warm and rough in this cold dungeon. This kiss wasn't a tenth of what Harry had known with Tom, but it filled a gap, and submerged him in emotion as he bit Emeric's lips, and encouraged him to slide his fingers through Harry's hair…

Tom would never have to be told what to do, Harry reflected, losing some interest in the kiss when he thought about Tom. More sorrow filled Harry when he thought about Tom, but he tried to ignore it with more of Emeric's kiss. Yet this just wasn't covering the pain Harry needed to distract himself from. Harry pulled away from the kiss, Emeric trying to catch his lips again, his face remaining close to Harry's. Harry couldn't help but think about what would happen if he chose to go with Emeric. He tried to think about what might happen if they lived together…

And suddenly, he remembered how Emeric had used the Cruciatus Curse on him for merely mentioning how he and Tom were together. Harry had been tortured so much, he had almost completely forgotten about Emeric's helping hand in causing more pain than he had ever suffered through in his entire life. He could think of nothing else, and he stood very still, feeling Emeric's breath brushing against him. If he ran away with Emeric then even mentioning Tom, or any struggle relating to Harry not being over Tom, could send Emeric over the edge. Harry would live in fear of that one curse being used again…

"You're not Tom," Harry found himself saying more strongly than before. "Tom would never hurt me, and would never use the Cruciatus Curse against me… I don't love you, and I never could. Even if I die in this place, and even if Tom has forgotten about me entirely, leaving me here to rot… I've given him my heart and soul, and I can't change that now."

Emeric pulled away from Harry, his eyes wide. He didn't seem to know how to react, but Harry felt as though something had suddenly changed in Emeric, as his gaze was solid and far less emotional than before…

"You'd rather die than live with me?" Emeric demanded.

"I'd rather die than suffer with you…"

Emeric didn't seem to know how to react to this, and Harry watched his mind, becoming somewhat fearful of the sudden change within it. Emeric was freaking out, even if he tried not to show it. "They're going to kill you!"

"And so would you," Harry stated, his voice slightly strained. "You would kill me for missing Tom."

Emeric stood up, still staring at Harry, but backing away now. "Tell me you're joking."

Harry attempted to stand too, finding it difficult but not impossible with all his injuries. "I'm not joking."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the wand in Emeric's hand twitch. "You said you didn't want to die in this place."

"I don't want to," Harry said, struggling to look at Emeric in the eyes now, as Emeric slowly got more and more angry. "But I'd rather die here than in some lost place with you."

Emeric began glaring at Harry now, his adoration completely replaced with vexation and distraught.

"He kissed me too, you know," Emeric told him quietly. "He's crazy, and he kissed me when he tried to get me to leave my job for you."

"Very funny," Harry spat, glowering at Emeric for saying this.

"I'm not lying," Emeric assured him. He laughed in anger, to cause Harry pain. "I don't know why he did it, but he did."

Harry stared at Emeric, unable to believe what he was hearing, and what he was seeing in Emeric's mind. It appeared to him as though Emeric wasn't lying about this, and he couldn't think. Tom had never told him this, and Harry suddenly wondered whether Tom did that sort of thing often. Harry wasn't able to see into Tom's mind, and here Harry was now, about to die, with no chance of Tom saving him now. Harry fought with the despair that suddenly filled him.

Harry felt as though he heard a deep, rumbling noise coming from somewhere above him, but it appeared that Emeric didn't hear it. Harry began to speak again, trying not to give into sadness in the little time he had left. "You're more insane than he is," Harry declared. "At least he knows when to stop hurting the people he needs."

"People he needs?" Emeric repeated, his voice spiteful. "I think _you're_ the one who needs _him_ now, Richard. But where is he, do you suppose? Having sex with a bunch of venerable boys in your absence, may–"

Harry made a lunge for Emeric, to attack him in any way he could, but the chains around his hands stopped him from going too far away from the wall. If this hadn't stopped Harry, however, than the Cruciatus Curse Emeric threw at him certainly would have. Harry began to yell deafly as white-hot iron felt as though it was breaking his body, burning every limb, muscle, bone, and inch of skin. When the unbearable pain stopped, Harry found himself kneeling on the floor, panting for breath and battling with the intense fury that gripped him.

That booming sound pounded in Harry's ears again, and he wasn't sure it was just his mind making him delusional in some slight way or not. Harry continued panting where he was, even when he saw two shoes appear in front of him. Emeric stood above him, but he didn't look up just yet. All Harry could think about was how he was going to die no matter what he. He listened to the sound of his own breathing, perhaps as Emeric did, before either of them spoke.

"Would a few Cruciatus Curses really be worse than death?" Emeric wondered aloud, as he watched Harry. "I wouldn't have harmed you, if you actually liked me… I wouldn't harm you now."

Harry looked up at Emeric, about to say, "Well, it's a bit late for that promise now, isn't it?" But something was stopping him from saying this. He could have sworn he heard that distant booming sound again. He tried to look for signs of acknowledgements for the sound in Emeric's mind… but instead Harry found that Emeric was focused on one single thing: How very alluring Harry looked glaring up at him from his knees. They were very close now, despite the difference in height…

The booming sounded again, and this time Emeric heard it too. He thought about it for a second, before he continued thinking about what he wanted to do to Harry, how he wanted to punish him. They stared at each other for a long moment, Emeric contemplating lewd actions, and Harry wondering what could be making all the noise above them. It was very far away, probably above ground… and a soaring, rejuvenating sense of hope was filling Harry. His mind was racing, as he tried to think of a plan. Emeric's mind inspired him.

"I want you," Harry whispered, barely able to keep the anger out of his voice… though that might have been mistaken for passion. "I've always craved to be with you, to have you…"

Emeric blinked, staring at Harry in disbelief. This gave Harry the perfect chance, when Emeric's guard was down, to use as much energy as he could manage to leap up, wrapping his one of his arms around Emeric's neck, and using his free hand to take the loosely-held wand out of Emeric's hand. Before either of them knew it fully, Harry had Emeric facing away from him, a wand pointed painfully into his neck. Harry moved the wand away for only a second, to get rid of the chains around his wrists. It was such a relief when he was free from the metal, able to do what he wanted to now…

Emeric began shouting in German the moment he realised that Harry intended to hurt him, and Harry began backing away to the furthest wall from the door, Emeric as his hostage. Harry was infuriated and terribly anxious as he heard people moving outside this dark room. He could have sworn he heard the booming noise again, as he reflected upon the fact that if no one would get him out of here fairly, then he was going to have to do it on his own. He wasn't going to die in this hellhole, and he would use all of his newfound energy to escape from this place now.

Before long, followers of Grindelwald opened the door, shouting back at Emeric, and staring in shock when they saw that Harry had indeed taken Emeric's wand, and freed himself. Harry knew that Wizarding hostage situations didn't work quite the same way as Muggle ones, and he knew that Grindelwald's followers wouldn't care about hurting Emeric too if it came down to that, but Harry was well prepared to leave in a fight if he had to. The first few Wizards at the door didn't throw any spells at Harry, however. He shocked them, but it appeared that something in another part of the building was distracting them from stopping Harry now.

When Grindelwald's followers left this dungeon without explanation, not even bothering to fight him, Harry's heart suddenly pulsed in elation for the first time in days. There was someone else causing great havoc to another part of the building, and Harry suddenly wondered and hoped whether it might be the Death Eaters at last, here to rescue him what could have been a little too late. There was another crashing boom above them, and it was much more audible now…

Before Harry could relish in the thought of rescue, however, the door to the room slammed shut with a loud '_bang_'. Harry didn't know how this had happened, and he wondered if maybe the doors closed automatically if no guards were around…

"Please, let me go," Emeric begged. Harry gripped his neck more tightly. "The guards were talking about how they can't kill you now – now that you've proven you still have something t-to live for–"

"_He's lying,_" Harry suddenly heard someone hiss. He turned to look towards his right, where the noise had come from, but there was no one there. Harry's heart was beating quickly. It had sounded like Tom…

"Did you hear that?" Harry asked Emeric.

"Hear what?"

"_Lying badly, at that,_" Tom added, this time a little more forwards. Still, there was no one there. Harry wondered if he had finally lost it…

"I thought that was you hissing," Emeric said after a pause.

Harry realised that Emeric was staring towards the second source of the noise, and his heart missed a beat. He tried to think, but it seemed impossible now. Before he could even hope that Tom might be in the room with them, Harry saw movement in front of them, and realised that someone had been hiding beneath an invisibility cloak. It was Tom.

Harry stared, suddenly forgetting where he was, and what he was supposed to be doing. Tom was as handsome as ever, but he was blatantly lacking sleep, for his eyes were redder and darker than usual, and he was scruffier than Harry had ever seen before. All of this told Harry in a rush what Tom had blatantly been going through these last few days. Tom had been searching for Harry continuously, and Harry suddenly felt like an idiot for doubting it before.

He knew this wasn't a dream, because the pain in his body was still very prominent, but Harry felt as though it may as well have been one as he walked towards Tom in a daze. He reached a hand up to touch Tom's face, feeling his strong jaw and warm skin beneath his fingertips. Tom gazed at him, taking in all that he could see of Harry's appearance. Without exchanging a word, and without doing much more than staring longingly, Tom began to kiss Harry, his lips pressing first upon Harry's own, and then upon every inch of Harry's skin he could touch, as though he too could hardly believe they were together again.

Tom's kisses felt so much more powerful and gratifying than Harry had remembered. Tom found his mouth again, and they kissed passionately, their breath irregular and their arms wrapped around each other in a disoriented whirl of relief and pure ecstasy. Tom's hands were gripping Harry's head roughly, his fingers tangling themselves in Harry's hair through pure passion and excitement at being with him again.

Harry wanted to submerge himself in every inch of Tom's existence. Tom had returned, against all odds, to come and rescue Harry… he could hardly believe it, as he felt Tom's tongue dance with his own elegantly. Tom's warm breath, his familiar scent, and his ardent touch was entrancing Harry so very much, he could barely handle it. He pressed himself closer to Tom, kissing him deeply, and showing him how much he had missed him, as Tom did the same. When Harry and Tom pulled away from the kiss, it was in nothing but satisfaction, and the need to speak verbally.

"Where were you?" Harry asked in a mix of anger and alleviation. They still held each other close, partially wishing to continue kissing forever.

"I tried so hard to find you sooner," Tom explained, gazing down at Harry and saying these words with undeniable sincerity. "I didn't know where this place might be, and all leads to you had been severed on the night of your disappearance. Please, forgive me taking so long."

"You don't need to apologize," Harry said, admiring Tom's dark grey eyes. "I was an idiot for falling for Quentin's tri–"

With a flash of silver light, and a sound like a firecracker, Harry's words were interrupted. Before Harry knew it, a spell had cut between Tom and himself, causing them to fly in opposite directions and crash to the ground painfully. When Harry looked up, he didn't see a heard of Grindelwald's followers at the door as he had expected. Instead, Harry saw Emeric leaping across the room, trying to attack Tom with a second wand that Harry didn't know he had. Harry lay on the opposite side of the room, struggling with his now aching body.

With another flash of light, Harry knew a second spell had been used, but he couldn't hear nor see what it was, so assumed it had missed. Harry raised his wand, seeing Emeric attack Tom ruthlessly. Tom appeared to be trying to reach for his wand, but something was stopping him. Emeric raised his wand again to attack Tom, but Harry was too quick.

"_CRUCIO!_" Harry bellowed, using all of the anger he had gathered to fuel into the spell as he pointed his wand at Emeric.

The spell hit him square in the back, and Emeric began twitching and screaming in agony. He lay on the floor next to Tom, suffering the effect of the spell for a moment, before it suddenly stopped, and Harry became distracted by the sight of Tom. Forgetting his own pain, and forgetting how much he hated Emeric now, Harry clambered up to head towards Tom, dropping to his knees next to his lover's rapidly bleeding form.

"Tom…"

Harry stared down at Tom, watching his eyes flicker open to the sound of his name. Harry was about to begin healing the deep gashes across Tom's chest, before he remembered about Emeric. He turned to his left, and saw that Emeric had stood up. Harry pointed his wand at the already standing and armed Wizard, and the two of them stared at each other in pure loathing.

Harry wanted to look back down at Tom, as Tom's breath began to quicken, but he knew Emeric would curse him if he looked away. Harry wished that Emeric would edge towards the exit of the room a little faster, but he knew this hope was futile.

"This won't be the last time you see me," Emeric said in a maddened, hateful tone. "You still owe me a Cruciatus Curse, Richard… I'll let you decide whether you want it accompanied with screams of agony or pleasure."

Harry threw another curse at Emeric, but it missed. The follower of Grindelwald ended up running for the door, slamming it shut again and leaving Harry and Tom alone after a few more attempted curses. When Harry turned to look down at Tom, he was shocked to see that Tom was smiling up at him.

"Why are you smiling?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"I'm immortal, my love," Tom reminded him softly, his lungs evidently hurting him. His smile only faded when he sat up, reaching a hand to his bleeding diaphragm. "And I'm sure I can't be in any worse of a condition than you are by now."

"I'm fi–"

"You're not fine," Tom interrupted, gazing at Harry caringly. He looked down at the slices and cuts in Harry's robes, which showed some of his wounds.

"I don't care if I'm more hurt," Harry stated. "You need more immediate medical attention."

Harry raised his wand, but Tom placed a hand on it lightly to stop him.

"That isn't your wand," Tom observed. "It would be best if I healed us, as kind as your offer is."

Harry didn't try and stop it when Tom lifted his own wand to his chest, mending the deep gashes in him with complex enchantments that he mumbled softly. He then turned his wand on Harry, who had been examining Emeric's lighter, slightly thinner wand. Harry could hardly believe that he had lost Draco's wand, after getting so used to it…

He felt the magic Tom was using begin to set in. It stung a little bit, but it was completely worth it when Harry felt different cuts on his body begin to heal. He couldn't help but relish in the feeling of mending skin, even if he knew his main injuries couldn't be healed in such a short amount of time. When Tom had finished healing him enough so he wouldn't be stopped by pain, they stood up, preparing to leave.

"Get under the cloak with me," Tom said. "Emeric won't tell the other followers that we're using an invisibility cloak, because I'm sure he doesn't actually know how I got here. He was looking in the wrong place."

"The cloak can't be taken off with a Summoning Charm, anyway," Harry informed Tom, as they stood close enough for the cloak to cover them both.

Tom looked at Harry in surprise. "Did you put that magic on it?"

"No," Harry responded, "It was always this way, I think… I didn't buy it myself, I was given it."

Tom nodded, and didn't press the subject past this. They needed to focus on getting out of here – and quickly.

"Let's go," Tom suggested, taking a few slow steps, and speeding up when Harry followed. "The others are waiting above ground–"

The door to the room burst open, and the invisible Harry and Tom were face-to-face with an ugly, enraged follower of Grindelwald. They backed away, as the follower began yelling in angry German. Others were waiting outside, but it appeared that they hadn't the faintest clue that Harry and Tom were here, for they retreated out of the room and continued searching for them elsewhere, yelling for others on the way.

"They're trying to find us," Tom confirmed. "They know I'm here, but I doubt that this will make any difference in our escape… Come on."

They entered the hall outside of the dungeon room cautiously. It was odd for Harry, to finally view the corridor outside the space he had spent the last however many days in, but he didn't dwell upon the thought for long. They were standing in between three corridors, two of which were empty of people. Tom began heading down the one to their left, and Harry followed with quiet footsteps.

They passed many doors, and a few more empty corridors, before heading up some steps, onto a new floor. The hallways were dim, and made up of dark stones that were placed plainly together to make a basic, dull structure. The torches were spaced distantly, but the doors to new rooms were quite close. Harry and Tom could hear a few other Wizards yelling within the rooms, and Harry had a feeling that they weren't other followers of Grindelwald, when rattling chains could be heard. He wondered how many people were questioned here regularly…

"_It should be this way,_" Tom said softly, holding Harry's hand as he led him down another corridor. Harry could hear other voices up ahead – angry voices, and distant shouting. "_We're almost there, almost free… A few of the others should be waiting for us._"

"_They didn't come inside with you?_"

"_I couldn't let them,_" Tom explained, "_They would only get themselves killed, if they were to fight against Grindelwald's followers._"

Harry could see figures running past the end of the long corridor they were on. "_And they won't get killed now?_"

"_They're too far away to be attacked_," Tom assured him. "_It's too dark for them to be seen, I'm sure…_"

The end of this corridor revealed Wizards gathering to the left, and people travelling around on the right. Tom led them right, and they passed a few hurrying Wizards without a collision in this wide passageway. Harry could feel a soft breeze, telling him that they were close to the outside world now… Tom led him up another steep flight of stairs, along a short passage, and up another flight.

More talking and shouting could be heard, and Harry was sure that spells were being fired somewhere. There were more wizards around, but so far they had voided all of them without suspicion. Tom was holding Harry's hand more tightly, walking faster and placing a silencing charm on his shoes, and Harry's bare feet. They were heading up more corridors, and more wind could be felt. Harry saw light from what could only be spells flashing up ahead, and Tom led him towards this. They found themselves lingering even closer to people now.

Tom navigated their way past many of the Wizards who shouted and hurried around. Up ahead, a massive hole in one of the corridor walls could be seen, and when Harry and Tom headed towards it, accidently brushing onto one or two confused Wizards by this point, Harry saw a long, ungracefully carved tunnel leading outside. Tom had evidently caused this damage himself, and Harry was quite impressed, as Tom pulled him quickly through the recently made passage.

Out in the open, Harry filled his lungs with fresh, cold winter air. There were many Wizards shouting and running about up here, throwing spells at some shadows in the distance that Harry could barely see, but Tom guided Harry past all the people. They were heading for the shadows, trying to avoid as many spells as they could as they began to run.

Harry was happier than he had been in months as he raced with Tom across a vast, snowy landscape, oblivious to the freezing ground beneath his feet, and focusing only on Tom's warm hand in his own. The silhouettes they sprinted towards were growing clearer, and Harry's heart was pounding in his hears. He could see other Wizards, the Death Eaters, running around the biggest form, which was about ten feet high, and very large. It seemed too small to be a Dragon, and Harry couldn't work out what else it might be…

Harry felt Tom let go of his hand, and take the invisibility cloak off of them. When they were visible, many of the Death Eaters saw them, and a few turned away as though frightened, and Harry sensed there was something wrong. Tom began marching towards his friends, and Harry was close behind him, looking at the nervous Avery, Dolohov, Lestrange, and Gonson, who stood closest to them now.

"You idiots!" Harry heard Tom bellow, indifferent to the continuous spells that flew overhead in flashes of colour. "I gave you all one job to do! One measly, simple job, and you couldn't even manage that! You useless, worthless swines!"

Harry was standing in front of the Death Eaters, watching their nervous reactions. Tom had stopped walking to glare at his friends, and they stared back sheepishly. Harry thought in confusion that Tom was yelling at the Death Eaters for being late, or stopping him from getting to Harry more quickly…

"We didn't mean for it to happen!" Avery exclaimed, backing away from Tom somewhat. "We didn't expect them to do any damage to us from this far!"

"That Dragon was twenty-five foot high, with a glittering-fucking-gold horn on its head!" Tom shrieked. "Of course they were going to see it, as soon as anything illuminated its body! It breathes fire, and spells shed light, you imbeciles!"

When Harry looked again, he saw that the shadowy mass in front of many of the Death Eaters was in fact a Dragon after all. As spells flew over their heads, and illuminated the scene faintly, Harry could indeed see the glittering horn on the young Dragon's head. It lay on the floor, it's wide eyes staring at nothing, and it's nostrils taking in no more air. It was perfectly dead.

There was a loud crashing sound, and soft pinging noises could be heard as spells were fired lower, now rebounding off the tough scales of the Dragon. Grindelwald's people were moving closer, and Tom noticed this at the same time as Harry. He looked back at the advancing Wizards, before turning to his Death Eaters again.

"What are you all waiting for?" he demanded angrily from his friends. "Get back to Albania, all of you!"


	48. Healing

The stone floor beneath Harry's feet was bitterly cold. Outside the snow was covering land for as far as the eye could see, and inside, in the dining hall that the Death Eaters currently called their own, the lack of harsh winds made the room only marginally bearable. Harry had just returned home from Grindelwald's fortress with Tom and the Death Eaters, and Tom wasn't pausing for even a moment in his detailed lecture to his friends on how they had failed him. Tom was infuriated about the death of their best Dragon, and he was apparently still irritated by many other problems and nonfulfillments from his friends, which had been building up in Harry's absence.

The Death Eaters were responding to Tom's angry reproach very solemnly, and in an almost fearful way. They flinched when Tom shouted, and waited apprehensively to be directly yelled at. This made Harry wonder what had happened when he was gone, relating to the correlation between Tom and his friends. The Death Eaters seemed to have done a lot of things wrong in searching for him, but in full honesty Harry couldn't focus on the list of mistakes that were being shouted. His ability to hear was lacking as pain began to grip him again.

He supposed that by now both Tom's healing magic and his own spontaneous energy – gathered for the sole purpose of him getting away from Grindelwald's people – was fading, and he was experiencing the damage that had been inflected upon him even more powerfully now, because his superficially healed body was realising how hurt he really was. Tom had healed the biggest wounds on Harry's body, but beneath the surface Harry still had agonizing injuries…

"Weariness is no excuse for any of this," Tom saw saying, as Harry struggled to listen, his vision clouding. He could feel where the invisible needles had pierced his skin, where the fire had burnt him, where his body had split open a hundred times… "I can't afford to have you all lacking in the energy and dedication that this job requires! You should know enough magic by now to wake yourselves up! You should follow my orders when I tell you all to search for someone!"

Darkness was pressing on Harry's vision, and he tried hard to stand still, to let the darkness pass without affecting him… His heart was pulsing thickly, and his breath was short. He felt as though all of the pain he was still suffering through was being inflicted again only in this very moment…

"I can barely fathom how inadequate you rambling idiots are! Do you know how much work it is to find and capture a Dragon without being traced? Do you understand the energy, the power, and the magic it takes to train a Dragon as I have trained –?"

_Crash!_ Tom's words stopped abruptly. Harry had almost completely fainted, but he was quickly pushing himself back up, with help from the table that he and Tom stood next to, surrounded by seated and standing Death Eaters.

"Are you alright Jonathan?" Nott asked from across the table.

Everyone was looking at Harry now, and Harry tried to stand up straighter, despite the agony he felt. His dark, reddened eyes were doing nothing to help his false vigour. Tom was gazing at Harry, and Harry met his gaze for only a second, before mumbling a quick, "I'm fine."

A few moments passed, and the Death Eaters seemed to notice now that Tom had stopped talking completely to analyze Harry, his infuriated expression falling away. Harry thought he saw Tom make a subconscious gesture to try and help him while he, Harry, battled the pain that was returning. But Tom stopped himself from moving. He seemed to be thinking about something that he felt was more important than shouting at his friends, and it appeared that he tried to end his chat with the Death Eaters as a result of Harry almost falling unconscious.

"I haven't finished with any of you yet," Tom warned sourly, as he glanced at his friends. "Yet I shall wait for the morning before I continue reminding you all just how much you have failed me these last few days. Go to sleep, all of you – even if you have barely earned such a luxury…"

The others began to stand up and file out of the room, neither talking nor looking at each other very much. When they were all gone, and when both doors leading to the corridor and the snowy fields outside were closed, Tom took the last few steps between Harry and himself.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked, reaching up a hand to hold Harry's shoulder gently. He seemed to understand what was happening, as Harry slouched a little more, trying to ease the pain.

"I thought you healed all this," Harry muttered, as he closed his tired eyes.

"I suspended the pain," Tom explained, watching Harry attentively. "Here, let me help you a little more, so we can go home…"

Harry didn't object as Tom began to use more magic on him, to lessen the pain. When Tom was done Harry felt a lot better, and he was able to stand and walk now. Harry realised that he was still tired despite feeling no pain.

"Be sure not to cause yourself any more harm," Tom warned. "Your body can no longer process it when you're in pain, which is both very useful and very dangerous."

"I don't think I'll be doing anything dangerous soon, so you don't have to worry," Harry said. "I'm exhausted…"

"Come on, I'll heal you more when we get home," Tom said, as he reached down to squeeze one of Harry's hands softly. Harry could feel Tom's touch, but he was somewhat numbed. Harry reflected upon how complex the magic Tom had just preformed must be, if it worked even this well…

Harry followed Tom as he began walking from the room. But no sooner had they reached the door they were met by another Death Eater. Gonson appeared careful not to annoy Tom, as he reported, "Nott, Lestrange, and Macnair say they just saw some people try to get past the defence of our land."

"And?"

"And they were unsuccessful," Gonson answered, apparently pleased to announce this. "They seemed to be thrown back by the magic pretty far away – and they were on brooms, oddly. There were just two of them, from what I heard. But I don't get why they would try flying here–"

"They weren't truly trying to get in," Tom stated. "So much is evident from the fact that there were so few of them, attempting so feebly to reach us… They were probably testing what magic I put furthest out."

"So," Gonson continued, "what should we do?"

"Nothing," Tom responded. "None of you will be of any help now… Don't bother me about this until something fails. There will doubtlessly be more of them trying to get in."

"You don't think they'll be able to, though?"

"Not so soon."

"But they did it the other day," Gonson reminded Tom, as he glanced at Harry for a second. "What's changed this time?"

"My determination," Tom said simply, "as well as my preparation and dedication. But if you'll excuse us…"

Tom walked past his now silent Death Eater, and Harry followed. By the time they had reached the end of the hall, Gonson had returned to the others to repeat the answers Tom had given to all of his questions. This left Harry and Tom alone for the first time since getting back here. They were only a few steps away from the door that led outside, when Harry remembered something.

"Shoes," he mumbled, as he thought about how cold the snow would be, even if he might not be able to feel it. Harry took out his wand, and began to transfigure himself a pair of simple, standard shoes. No sooner had be begun the spell, however, he noticed that his magic wasn't working.

Harry paused, and tried the spell once more. Again, there was no magic being taken from him. Harry looked up at Tom in confusion, trying to understand what was wrong. His numbed hands couldn't feel the unfamiliar wood beneath his fingertips, but one glance from Tom reminded Harry that he had swapped wands with Emeric.

"It – it won't work for me," Harry voiced, a feeling of foreboding gripping him.

"That's a likely result of trading wands with someone," Tom pointed out, appearing somewhat discontent about this too. He attempted to settle Harry's worry by saying, "I'm sure you'll get used to the wand soon. It worked when you tried to throw spells at Emeric."

Harry was silent as he stared down at the new wand, and Tom conjured a pair of shoes for him. Harry didn't know what he would do if this wand wouldn't work for him… but he tried to push the idea out of his mind, as Tom began heading outside, his hand brushing against Harry's again.

Across the snowy fields, and towards Tom's house, Harry could see the distant fire of Dragons. He watched for signs of Grindelwald's people attempting to reach them through the layers of defence that Tom had put up, but the sky was clear, and he didn't see anything unusual past the thickly falling snow. He didn't speak to Tom as they walked side-by-side, for the harsh winds were weakening their ability to hear, but Tom's warm hand was wrapped around Harry's own, to show he was there.

With a great wave of unforeseen relief, Harry and Tom entered Tom's house. Harry could barely believe he was back here, as he examined the view of the front room and kitchen, as well as the staircase leading upstairs. Tom ignited the torches, and all was clear. The front door was locked placidly.

"It's so good to be home again," Harry remarked, turning to face Tom.

"It's a relief to have you here again," Tom responded, as he smiled lightly.

Harry smiled back. His lips were cracked, and he felt a slight twinge of pain even past this, but he didn't pay any attention to it. He was about to continue talking to Tom, when he noticed something over Tom's right shoulder. The living room looked different than he remembered.

"Did you… redecorate?" Harry asked slowly.

Tom's smile faded, and he turned to glance at the room behind him to see what Harry was seeing. Many of the portraits on the walls had been replaced, as well as the couch, chairs, and a few cupboards here and there. The carpets on the wooden floors remained the same, but small things such as the glass on the glass-fronted cabinet, and the placement of the objects on the shelves and mantelpiece had been changed quite a bit.

"I suppose it wasn't exactly a calm reconstruction?" Harry joked. "Unless you actually had time to sit and contemplate how best to change the living room when I was away."

"I didn't waste time planning how to change anything," Tom confirmed quickly. "Nor did I plan on having to replace almost everything in the room… It took only a minute to fix and reconstruct."

Harry understood that Tom had smashed the whole place up in a storm of emotion at almost losing Harry to Grindelwald's people, and Harry found this oddly endearing, despite it meaning that Tom had been unable to control his anger at one point or another. It proved to Harry that Tom actually cared. Tom wasn't even nearly that upset about the death of his best Dragon, which meant so much to his ever-important aspirations…

Tom turned to face Harry, appearing discomforted with Harry's lack of commenting.

"I would have replaced it with exact replicas," Tom began, likely regretting not doing this before, "but I couldn't care much about that, in full honesty…"

"No, it's fine," Harry said sincerely. He gazed up at Tom, not knowing how to convey what he was feeling. "I would have done the same thing… In fact, I did once."

Tom seemed mildly surprised. "When?"

"When my godfather died," Harry answered, noticing the emotion that was somehow still attached to this statement when the words were out of his mouth. He continued talking, to get rid of the memories of what it felt like when Sirius died. "I ended up smashing someone's office… Though I didn't have to replace it myself, of course."

Tom smiled softly at Harry's last comment, which lighted up his previously attentive expression. He didn't make any comments about being sorry for Harry's loss, nor about being happy that Harry felt the same pain as him, because Harry knew and expected all of this already. In situations concerning the loss of loved ones, no words of comfort could ever cure the pure anguish involved, and anyone who attempts saying "I'm sorry" or "It'll pass" is only fuelling isolation with such an easy response, no matter how wholeheartedly they mean it.

Anyone who has truly struggled under the weight of such a loss will instinctively know that in a single look, and in a moment of silence, two people can reach the closest thing to a complete understanding. Words are irrelevant in the art of conveying the purest of emotions, and Tom seemed to know this as well as Harry did.

Tom's hand found Harry's own, and they gazed at each other wordlessly, fingers intertwining. Harry wondered half-curiously, half-reluctantly what Tom had gone through in his absence. He tried to forget how he himself had felt about being away from Tom so unwillingly… It was unbelievable, how good it felt for Harry to be with Tom again. It was also unbelievable that the magic Tom had used to numb Harry's pain was fading away now. Tom seemed to notice this before Harry could hide it.

"You're probably suffering again, and starving," Tom observed.

Harry gave a weak smile. "How did you know?"

Tom smiled back, examining Harry carefully before withdrawing his wand with his free hand. He began numbing Harry's pain once more.

"It isn't wise to do this so much, but I would prefer you ate before I heal you more efficiently," Tom said.

Harry nodded, and let Tom continue the magic. When he was done, Tom guided Harry to the kitchen. They spoke lightly as Tom began making food, but by the time they began eating, their conversation was slower. Tom smiled as they ate, watching Harry devour the meal hungrily, having not eaten in what felt like far too long. Harry hadn't realised just how hungry he was, until he saw and smelt what Tom was making. They spent perhaps half an hour in the kitchen before heading upstairs, exhausted from all they had gone through these last few days.

Tom's room was warm and so brilliantly familiar. When Harry examined the place, Tom closing the door behind them, he felt so exhilarated. He had been so close to losing Tom, that he was slightly overwhelmed with happiness at being here once more, safe and together. Before Harry could do much more than gaze at the room before him, Tom began healing him properly.

"This might hurt a little," Tom warned, "but it will heal most of your wounds completely."

"That's fine," Harry assured Tom, smiling weakly.

Harry realised, as he stood in this familiar place with no distractions, that he was in pretty bad condition all in all. His eyes were bloodshot and weary, his mouth had been dry before the large amount of water that he had drunk at dinner, his skin was still scratched and bruised in many places, his feet were damaged and dirty within his shoes, and his robes were bloodstained and grimy. All of this had been irrelevant when running away from Grindelwald's people, but now Harry saw all of this very clearly… Though he supposed that in this situation, he wasn't exactly expected to apologise for being in such an awful state.

"What happened, when you were captured?" Tom inquired, as though this question had been bugging him for the last few minutes or more. "I can only imagine what might have happened to you in nine days of imprisonment."

"Nine days?" Harry repeated in disbelief. He thought he had imagined so much time passing. "What happened to _you_?"

"I lost all connection to you," Tom explained, appearing uncomfortable with Harry's bewilderment. "If the British Ministry of Magic itself and so on cannot even find Grindelwald's people, it would never have been easy to find you."

"I'm not blaming you," Harry stated, "I'm just surprised. They didn't have any windows in there, and they wouldn't tell me what time it was – or even what day it was."

Tom didn't appear completely reassured by this. He watched Harry for a moment, an odd expression on his face, before he continued with his magic, avoiding eye contact. "I should have found you sooner."

"You found me, and rescued me," Harry observed, "I don't mind how long it took. I'm safe now, and we're together again."

"But had I reached you sooner I could have saved you so much harm, so much pain," Tom remarked, meeting Harry's eyes again. He appeared very fearful of Harry judging him for taking so long. "I tried to find you with such determination – I didn't pause for even a moment to think of anything else. But… there were times when I was too worried to think logically. I would have found Quentin sooner, had I not… had I not been so caught up in anxiety."

"I don't blame you," Harry said again, more gently this time. He realised Tom was very concerned with the matter at hand, and it worried Harry somewhat. He wanted Tom to be happy that he was home, to forget about how much they had suffered. "You managed to get me out of there alive. Nothing else matters."

Tom studied Harry, evidently trying to agree with what he was saying. As Tom's eyes travelled across Harry's face, the healing and their conversation paused, Harry could tell that Tom blamed himself for every scratch, bruise, and extended injury that he had. Harry didn't know how to tell Tom that he couldn't be held responsible for anything that had happened, but he was sure that Tom didn't know how to get rid of his guilt. Tom continued healing Harry.

"It's a miracle no bones were broken," Tom muttered, "but you have a lot of other injuries beneath your skin."

"We can heal them, right?" Harry asked quietly.

Tom didn't reply immediately. He used nonverbal spells on Harry, causing soft bursts of different types of magic to pulse through him, healing him. "I'll be able to make you feel fully healed," Tom said quietly, "but it's too soon to tell whether you'll be physically affected by all of this later on."

Tom didn't meet Harry's eyes as he spoke. Harry stood for a moment, somewhat startled. "You can't fix me?"

"I can make you feel healed," Tom repeated, "and you know I'll do anything for you to remain alive, but it could be difficult for you in the recovery process. Grindelwald's people never intended to let you live, and thus never cared whether or not the magic they used would affect you later on."

Harry struggled to compost a response to this. He had a feeling that Tom might try and bring up the subject of immortality, and he wanted to avoid that. If Tom really felt they needed to discuss it urgently, he would have said it a lot more clearly, so Harry felt no guilt when he focused Tom's attention on something less difficult to discuss.

"How long will it take you to heal me the best you can?"

"About a month… maybe less."

Harry nodded. Tom had begun to use magic to clean him off, because Harry was far too tired to take a proper bath. Harry's hair began to move as though caught in a strong wind, and he could feel his skin being washed of all the dirt and grime that was smeared on his neck, caught beneath his fingernails, and stained on his dirty clothes. Tom replaced Harry's robes with warm, clean pyjamas and let him step out of the shoes that he had transfigured earlier.

"All set," Tom said.

Harry smiled faintly, his lips no longer cracked. As Tom turned away to begin changing out of his own robes, Harry walked over to the bed, his now bare and very clean feet leading him there. Tom's bed was so immensely comfortable, Harry found. He closed his eyes for a moment when he was under the covers, and he opened them again only to look at Tom.

Tom was in quite a bad condition too, even if he was fixing it now. His hair was very messy in comparison to how it normally was, and his eyes were only a little less bloodshot than Harry's own. Harry was sure that Tom hadn't eaten very much when he was gone, and he obviously hadn't slept well. He wasn't as dirty as Harry had been, of course, but it was evident that he had given up looking after himself properly for these last few days.

Then Harry noticed something else. Tom still had red scars across his chest, from when Emeric had attacked him earlier on. Harry could barely believe that that had only been a few hours ago… He knew he shouldn't be shocked that Tom was still scarred, but he had expected the wound to fade away completely with the help of magic. He wondered what curse Emeric had used against Tom…

"You still have scars from earlier," Harry remarked.

Tom turned to look at Harry, not responding to this immediately, as he pulled a shirt over his head. "It'll fade eventually," he said.

Tom began walking across the room, towards the window to Harry's right. Tom stood by the clear glass, gazing up into the sky as he thought. Harry examined Tom's face in the dark reflection, seeing slight signs of worry in his otherwise impassive countenance. He looked less unkept with fresh pyjamas, and vaguely neater hair, but his dark eyes gazed in concern at the blackened sky.

"We're going to be fighting a war against Grindelwald's people," Tom expressed quietly, his breath causing the window to fog up before his lips. "Yet I believe we are safe for the moment…"

They paused for a time, contemplating Tom's statement.

"Come to bed," Harry urged softly.

Tom turned away from the window and, after a moment's hesitation, walked towards Harry. He kissed Harry when they were both under the covers, lying close to each other. Tom's arms were wrapped around Harry in a tender embrace, and he smiled after a few moments, drawing away from the kiss to gaze into Harry's emerald eyes.

"I was so scared that I would lose you," Tom said in little over a whisper, his hand sliding along Harry's waist slowly.

"I was scared that I would lose you too," Harry admitted just as softly. His hand was resting on Tom's neck, his thumb tracing along Tom's jaw, and to the base of his ear. As he thought, Harry's eyebrows furrowed a little. "I almost gave up all hope… but I knew you would find me, somehow."

"I wouldn't let you die," Tom whispered.

"I know." Harry smiled. "Finding me proved that more than anything. I shouldn't have doubted you for even a moment."

They thought, examining each other lovingly. The lighting in the room was dim, because Tom had only ignited a few of the torches when they arrived in the room, and the warm blankets around and above Harry and Tom shadowed them somewhat. Silent snow built up on the window ledge, as the torches crackled quietly.

"Do you really think there's going to be a war between Grindelwald's people and us?" Harry asked, not liking this idea at all.

"If we want to be completely safe, and free to do what we want to, a series of fights with Grindelwald's followers is inevitable," Tom stated. When Harry appeared daunted by this, Tom asked, "Don't you want to destroy Grindelwald's following?"

"I do," Harry said honestly, "but I just don't want any of this to hurt you and me, or even any of your friends…"

The more Harry thought about it, the more obvious it seemed that if he started a war between Grindelwald's people and the Death Eaters, a lot of things could be put at risk relating to the flow of events through history and so on. This, of course, brought up the question of what would have happened to Grindelwald's followers if Harry hadn't stuck in this era. In the nineties, Harry hadn't read any history or theories about witches and wizards admiring Grindelwald even after his capture and general downfall, and it made Harry wonder whether he, Harry, was actually _supposed_ to be here, to help rid the followers of the wizarding world…

Yet if Harry _wasn't_ supposed to be here at all, and if Lestrange, Nott, Avery, or any Death Eaters of the sort died, it could change history dramatically. The affect of one death could lead to so many different outcomes in the lives of those close to who died, which would lead to many different choices being made, and by extent it could stop many vital things happening in Harry's past, making the current future very far from what it was supposed to be…

"My friends getting hurt can't be avoided," Tom said indifferently. "It doesn't truly matter what happens to them in a war, or in general. They will all have to be replaced eventually, even if that might seem as though I'm wasting energy with training them in the first place… We're going to outlive them, at any rate."

"I noticed you've started treating them differently since I left," Harry said, not wanting to discuss how the Death Eaters were unknowingly dedicating themselves to Tom so wholly that their lives no longer had much value. "They no longer question you at all."

"They have made a lot of mistakes this last week or so," Tom reminded him. "From all my yelling, I think they fear me a great deal…"

"The fact that we're raising Dragons and hiding from Ministries probably helps quite a bit to make them fear you, as well," Harry added.

They smiled simultaneously.

"What did they do wrong, anyway?" Harry asked.

"I would list you all their mistakes, but I don't want to get annoyed again tonight," Tom said. "The worst thing of all was that they didn't know until days after you left that Quentin was a part of another Dark Arts group… I'm sure I informed some of them about that detail. It was obvious…"

"What ever happened with Quentin anyway, when you found him?" Harry asked.

"I went to his house with Avery, Mulciber, Gibbon, and Ransom," Tom explained, "and we began interrogating him, simple as… He was braver than I thought he would be. He actually tried to hold onto the information, so either he hated you a great deal, or he was rather devoted to Grindelwald…"

Tom contemplated his own words, his expression suggesting he was still curious as to why Quentin refused to give up information for so long. Something else was more pressing to Harry, however. "How did you kill him?"

"I didn't," Tom said. "Mulciber did."

"Mulciber?" Harry repeated, bewildered.

"Yes. With a Killing Curse – nothing too gruesome…"

There was a short pause. "Why didn't you kill him?"

Slight confusion cross Tom's face. "I thought you didn't want me to kill people?"

"I don't," Harry confirmed. Yet he had thought that Tom was only going to stop killing Muggles, or Wizards who had no reason to die other than for sickening amusement and so on. "I just… I'm surprised you couldn't _not_ kill him."

Tom watched Harry, and Harry wondered at this whether Tom was just lying to him so he wouldn't hate Tom for another murder. Harry felt a twinge of sadness at this, but he didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell Tom that he wouldn't care if he murdered Quentin. Harry didn't want Tom to kill people… but now that Harry had been captured and tortured for nine solid days, he felt slightly confused about all of this. He hated Quentin for ratting him out to Grindelwald's people, and he honestly couldn't bring himself to dislike the idea of Tom killing Quentin for revenge.

Harry moved closer to Tom, kissing him gently on the lips, before merely lying close to him. He was exhausted, much like Tom, and he was still very confused about how he should feel now that Quentin was dead. Quentin had tried to kill Harry by extent. Was Harry honestly supposed to try and feel bad for his death, considering this? Harry couldn't say he was glad Quentin would be underground soon enough, but he also couldn't say that it upset him at all. Harry was so tired, and so confused…

"He deserved it," Harry mumbled close to Tom.

Tom seemed to think about this, but he didn't make a reply to it as they held each other. Their eyes were closed, and they were not far from falling asleep now. Harry listened to the sound of Tom's breath, still subtly elated that Tom was so close to him once more…

"I'll never let this happen to you again," Tom whispered.

"Neither will I," Harry agreed. "The next time one of your friends start hating me, I won't be such an idiot."

"You can't be blamed for this," Tom said. "With all that you have gone through relating to Grindelwald, and with all the curiosity you must have felt when Quentin began showing sings of knowing Grindelwald's followers, you did only what anyone else in your situation would have done."

Harry felt slightly guilty upon hearing this incorrect excuse being used. "I should have done better than just anyone else…"

"We'll both do better next time," Tom muttered.

Harry smiled a little. "I love you, Tom."

"I love you too, Harry."


	49. Irony & misery

When Harry awoke the next morning he found himself alone in Tom's bedroom. The curtains had been swept aside to reveal the light grey clouds of mid November, and the house was pleasantly quiet. All that could be heard was the pleasant sound of birds singing and the wind blowing through the few tall trees near Tom's home. After assuming that Tom had awoken earlier, leaving him to catch up on some sleep, Harry got up and changed into robes calmly, pondering the day.

Harry felt slight pain when he began moving around and he guessed that this is what had awoken him initially. However, he didn't give it much thought as he headed downstairs for breakfast. He was too content with being safe to let himself worry over such a vague problem, especially since being in Tom's home again made him happier than he could remember being in months.

Harry found Tom in the small library that was placed between the kitchen and the dining room on the bottom floor. Tom was resting in a comfortable armchair amongst a few piles of large books when Harry entered the room. Upon seeing him, Tom stood up. He tapped the spine of the book in his hands to mark where he was, before taking a few steps towards Harry, smiling.

"Good morning," Tom said, walking closer.

"Good morning," Harry responded, returning Tom's smile as keenly as the greeting.

"I was wondering only a moment ago whether you would wake up soon," Tom remarked softly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Very well," Harry assured him. "What time is it?"

"Around noon… You must be hungry."

"I can cook for myself," Harry reminded Tom, smirking. He felt Tom's hand clasping around his own.

"I enjoy cooking for you," Tom voiced, leading the way out of the library. They walked through the dining room, living room, and hallway, towards the kitchen. Harry never understood why Tom didn't just have a door connecting the kitchen and library, but Tom had said before that it would get too messy that way.

"You've been through so much as of late," Tom continued, "and when we are in my home there is nothing I like more than making you comfortable."

Harry gave a hum of laughter. He couldn't help but appreciate it when he could wake up in Tom's house without it being a problem. It was often difficult for them to stay over each other's houses overnight because the Death Eaters visited them so often. Harry was well aware that if they were found together constantly, or even _almost_ constantly, the Death Eaters would start wondering why they were so inseparable.

Of course, they might not guess correctly that Harry and Tom were in a relationship, but it would be risky to bring them close to such a conclusion, particularly when Harry knew Tom would never be comfortable with it. As much as Tom cared about Harry, he would much rather hide their relationship than answer his friends' inquiries about it.

"Have any of the others been around today?" Harry asked as he sat down at the small kitchen table, vaguely watching Tom pour and prepare ingredients with a swish of his wand.

"Lestrange was around earlier to inform me that all was well, concerning our protection," Tom responded, putting a kettle to boil on the stove and commanding knives to chop up onions and other vegetables. "He was the only visitor, and he didn't stay for long. He dropped off another newspaper, however. It's from this morning."

Harry saw the newspaper now, resting on the other side of the table. He reached for it and glanced at the front page idly, finding no interest in the main article dedicated solely to the newest winners of a Quidditch match. Harry thought that he vaguely remembered reading about this story in the nineteen nineties, but there were more important things than Quidditch on his mind now.

"A lot of the others seem eager to stay here," Harry remarked, knowing that there were over twenty Death Eaters currently lingering around in Albania. "You'd think they would get scared after hearing that another Dark Arts group is trying to attack us."

"I don't believe they fully understand how powerful Grindelwald's followers are," Tom said, somewhat distracted by the food he was making. "Despite knowing how close Grindelwald came to taking over most of Europe, the others think that Grindelwald's followers are weak without Grindelwald around."

"But they know I was tortured," Harry stated, confused by this. "They know how long you struggled for to find me, so surely they know that Grindelwald's people are strong?"

"They think that since I rescued you without getting myself hurt, our enemies must not be as strong as we first thought," Tom elucidated. "I take this as both a complement and an insult… Yet mostly a complement, since our friends question the strength of our enemies now that Grindelwald's followers no longer have a leader like me."

Harry looked up. Tom, who stood with his back to Harry, paused in his work. He seemed to realise that he had said something wrong, because he turned around swiftly only a moment later.

"This is not to say that I am like Grindelwald," Tom corrected, staring into Harry's eyes as though determined to have this established. "I merely mean that my fiends think a strong leader is an essential feature of a successful Dark Arts group."

"I know what you meant," Harry dismissed, finding irony in the parallels between Grindelwald and Tom no matter what Tom said. He looked down at the newspaper in his hands, reflecting that it was times like these when he could barely believe his lies concerning Grindelwald were still not being questioned.

Then again, Harry supposed that Tom thought of himself as so much greater than Grindelwald, so much smarter. Tom probably thought that there was no one else like him, and he probably didn't realise that Harry's lack of discomfort at his chosen path was odd… Then again, maybe Tom _did_ notice where Harry was apparently being delusional, and maybe Tom thought Harry was just generally foolish in this way…

"The others have changed quite a bit since you went away," Tom said, likely changing the subject so Harry wouldn't dwell upon his mistake. He turned away once more to continue cooking. "Many of them have taken time off of work merely to settle their curiosity about what it is that we do here. They care about helping us and learning about the Dark Arts more than they care about being completely safe. They believe in this group wholly, even if they scorn Grindelwald's."

"That's not much of a change," Harry remarked. "They were always going to join us again just for the Dark Arts and they've never cared about getting hurt before. They have enough money to do whatever they want to."

"Yet they're willingly choosing to join us, no matter how dangerous it might be," Tom observed, sounding satisfied with the thought. "They are so interested in the Dark Arts that they would do anything for me to continue teaching them what I know… Of course, a few of them have left, but I expect them to return in a few years' time, when my power is known by more people than our friends."

"Do you think even more people will join us then?" Harry asked indifferently.

"It's very likely," Tom answered. He was finished making breakfast now. "There are many wizards who are secretly dedicated to the Dark Arts, who would join us without hesitation. They, as well as my current friends, could one day become as useful to me as I am to them, perhaps."

Harry gave a weak smile as Tom set a plate of food in front of him. Before Harry could even begin eating, however, Tom had levitated a goblet from across the room to rest by Harry's right hand. Within the goblet was an odd, bubbling liquid of bright yellow, with a few brown and orange specks here and there. Harry recognised it as some sort of potion, rather than a refreshing drink. The smell told him as much.

"You should drink this," Tom said. "It will rid pain for fifteen hours – without the side effect of you being dangerously numbed and almost unable to feel anything physically. I must warn you about the taste, however."

"I'll be fine," Harry assured Tom as he picked up the goblet. The vague pain in his body was bothering him, he realised, and he knew it would put him off his food if he didn't get rid of it soon – much like the potion itself, which smelt very unpleasant…

Harry hesitated for a moment, before drinking the yellow liquid. He nearly vomited.

"I'm sorry," Tom commented quickly, watching Harry's reaction, "but it's the best thing that will help you at the moment. It will heal you as well as sooth you."

Harry sat up straighter in his chair, trying not to grimace too much as the taste of the potion lingered in his mouth. "It's not your fault," he spluttered honestly, still trying to ignore that awful taste.

Tom took the empty goblet from Harry's hands and conjured a fresh one full of water. Harry downed the water while Tom levitated the older goblet to the sink. Tom then moved around the table, picking up the neglected newspaper as he sat. Harry felt a lot better after water – and after the potion before it in general. He could feel his pain slowly fading. He was suddenly a lot hungrier, because the smell of fresh food replaced the nasty stench of the potion. The food was delicious and Harry was silent as he began eating. Tom had obviously eaten earlier, for only a cup of tea could be seen in front of him.

Harry had mostly been given water in Grindelwald's private imprisonment, but even that had been scarce. He couldn't remember being fed anything there… until memories of Emeric bringing him occasional small meals suddenly crossed his mind. Harry paused for a second, thinking about this. When Tom spoke again, Harry pushed the memories out of his mind to listen.

"It seems that today is the first day of no anti-Muggle crime that we have seen in months," Tom mentioned as he skimmed through some of the articles in the Daily Prophet. "In most of Europe, in fact… No wonder Lestrange reported that Avery was being sour."

"You don't suppose that's because I escaped from Grindelwald's people, do you?" Harry suddenly enquired.

"Do I think that your escape caused Avery to be sour?" Tom joked.

"No," Harry smiled. "Do you think me escaping is stopping crime?"

"That would certainly be ironic, considering you – and by extent I – would thus be the savour to any Muggle who might have been attacked by Grindelwald's people yesterday and today… But certainly, it's possible that you should be given the credit. It seems a very eager celebration for England, however. It's only coincidental that they found no older bodies for today's Daily Prophet edition…"

"They might be lying," Harry noted apathetically. His thoughts wandered to Grindelwald's followers while he took a sip of very warm tea. "The followers must have stopped in fear that I'd run and tell a Ministry what they're doing. But why didn't they attack anyone yesterday, before you found me?"

"Crime has been lessoning since about four days after you left, actually," Tom said, turning a page of the newspaper and glancing at Harry for a second. "I think it might have begun after our friends and I questioned Quentin's sister, which suggests that she is close to one of Grindelwald's followers – perhaps unknowingly."

"So," Harry began slowly, trying to get his head around it, "you think that the follower Quentin's sisters knows told all of Grindelwald's people that you were looking for Quentin?"

"I don't suppose that all of Grindelwald's followers knew someone was searching for Quentin," Tom corrected, "for that would have made Quentin hide even more securely. I'm guessing that the follower close to Quentin's sister was laughed at when he expressed his worry about me finding you. A few people probably believed him, and stopped some of their more public crime out of fear, but the leaders doubtlessly dismissed the whole idea, believing their building to be untraceable, their people undefeatable."

"And now that they've actually been defeated in some way, they're too scared to attack people," Harry added.

"Yes," Tom agreed. "Many of them seem to have had a sense of foreboding when one of their followers went missing, secretly captured by our friends and interrogated by me."

"Why did you have to capture one of the other followers?" Harry asked. "Didn't Quentin's sister know where Quentin was?"

"She hadn't a clue where he was," Tom clarified, "and the only useful information in her head was details on a few of Quentin's friends who she had seen one evening. I understood these were other followers and I sent our friends after them."

"Four days after I left?" Harry asked, repeating Tom's earlier words. "What happened in the last five days?"

Tom's eyes found Harry's over the Daily Prophet. He closed the newspaper within his hands slowly to give Harry his full attention.

"I got the information three days after you left, to be exact," Tom admitted, appearing not at all pleased to correct and recollect this. "You can imagine how this encouraged my friends and I to have a falling out this passed week…"

Harry was slightly annoyed when hearing this news, and he suddenly understood why Tom had been so harsh to his friends before. Six days to find one wizard… that was a lot of wasted time. Harry didn't want to blame anyone for him being trapped in Grindelwald's prison for nine days, yet he couldn't help but resent Tom's friends as he thought about this information…

"The fact that Quentin's sister was likely close to another follower is almost as irritating," Tom commented, perhaps noticing Harry's silent displeasure. "It is only a theory, yet it explains why anti-Muggle crime is blatantly stopping."

"But we know the follower exists now, at least," Harry pointed out indifferently, before he continued eating.

It would certainly be an odd thing if Muggle hatred ceased while two historical Dark Arts and anti-Muggle groups fought against each other, yet Harry had to say that it also made perfect sense. It seems that it is a natural human defect for one to fight against enemies with whom one could easily succeed and coincide with, if only spite could be forgotten. Grudges often prevail over one's initial desire to succeed when rivalry gets involved.

Harry was finished with breakfast a minute later. Upon seeing him stand up, Tom followed Harry, taking the dirty plate out of his hands and appearing close to kissing him as he smiled. The windows here were far too large for such privacy, however. Tom did nothing more than gaze at Harry before turning away, levitating the plate to the sink where it would be washed without their help.

"Do you wish to return to the library with me, to continue researching magic dedicated to our safety, or would you rather do something else?" Tom asked.

"Keeping this place safe is more important," Harry answered. "I can't think of much else to do, anyway."

"As you wish," Tom said, leading the way out of the room. Harry walked alongside him at the same tranquil pace. "You don't _have_ to busy yourself with anything such as protecting this place, however. I can manage it, if you would rather watch the others or–"

"You know I hate being with the others," Harry interrupted, not keen upon hearing Tom's suggestions for other amusement if the Death Eaters were involved. "I'd much rather help you. At least that's more interesting and actually gets something done."

Tom smiled, and they headed into the library. "Yet I have to warn you that it might be _un_interesting."

"Would you rather I didn't stay?" Harry asked, the idea only just occurring to him.

"I would rather you stay forever," Tom responded softly, gazing at Harry for a moment as though he wished there were neither windows here nor the risk of his friends visiting them. "Yet you know there are always inconveniences. To bore you would be one of them."

"I don't think you would read so much if you believed it was boring," Harry remarked, smiling as standing in one place now. "The only people who find it boring are the people who aren't doing it too."

Tom smiled back. "So much is true."

They stood in the centre of the rectangular room, between two large windows that shed light upon the collection of comfortable crimson sofas and armchairs nearby. Dark coffee tables could be seen under the sea of books that Tom had chosen to read today, but past this not a book was out of place. The door to the room was opposite them, and this as well as the windows was the only thing that interrupted the flow of bookshelves that were built from floor to ceiling, packed with a variety of volumes dedicated to different fields of ancient magic.

"You're too frail at the moment to help with the actual enchantments that I must use to protect everyone here, of course," Tom expressed, "but I don't see the harm in teaching you the magic. It would be safer to."

"I doubt there'll be a time when you won't be around to fix the enchantments protecting us," Harry mentioned. But Tom wouldn't risk this, it seemed.

"One never knows what might happen," he said, as he turned away from Harry to sit on one of the comfortable couches. He indicated for Harry to take the seat besides him. "It's very useful and intriguing magic, at any rate."

"It always is," Harry agreed, smirking as he walked forwards to sit close to Tom.

"I didn't think that I would have to learn such advanced shielding magic so soon," Tom explained while he picked up one of the books in front of them. "I thought such research would only be needed after around five years from now, when Ministries will begin wondering who I am. This isn't to say that I don't already know the basics of shielding magic, of course. I merely need to research more quickly now."

"I won't slow you down, will I?" Harry asked in concern.

"Even if you do, it would only be marginally," Tom answered, glancing at Harry for a moment to smile', "and I can't say that any slight distraction from you would be bothersome."

Harry smiled too, but couldn't think of anything to say. Tom looked back down at the book in his hands, thinking. Harry watched him, seeing the grin fade from his lips as his dark eyes examined the texture of the ancient leather. His thumb felt the material of the book for a time.

"I believe there are only a few hundred wizards following Grindelwald at this time," Tom voiced quietly. "Perhaps more than I assume, but I am sure that many of them will flee once we start attacking. Knowledge of our power has evidently begun scaring them already, since they have stopped committing illegal crimes publically… They killed our best Dragon, yes, but we have plenty more."

Harry still felt very nervous at the prospect of fighting Grindelwald's people in a war. He was tense at the idea of some of the Death Eaters dying before they were supposed to, and in full honesty he didn't feel at all prepared for a series of fights… Harry also didn't know how he felt about Grindelwald's people. They had captured him, tortured him, and almost murdered him… so surely it was normal that Harry quite liked the idea of them being killed at the hands of Tom and the Death Eaters?

"How are we going to win against Grindelwald's people?" Harry asked, unable to hold back the question any longer. "Our friends aren't strong enough to fight in combat, and neither am I at the moment."

"We shan't fight them soon," Tom soothed softly. "I believe it will be about six months before we attack any of them, unless they search for us first. In that time, I will teach our friends how to fight more powerfully. You will be healed within a month, and I will also teach you how to fight better – even if I know you have plenty of skills already."

"Do you think we'll find some Giants by then?"

"I would certainly like that," Tom admitted, "yet Giants would be dangerously untamed after only six months of being with us. As useful as they would be, it would be wiser for us to wait at least a year before capturing any of them. By then, we will be very well known for what we do and there will be more people to help us manage important things such as Giants."

"We're still likely to lose against Grindelwald's people," Harry said, "with only about twenty of our friends fighting however many of them… I really don't see how we'll win."

Harry saw a mischievous smile form upon Tom's lips. Tom's voice was light when he spoke. "Well, I wouldn't say that we have to defeat _all_ of the followers fairly…"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that with six months before the others can fight in battle, I don't see why we should wait around idly, doing nothing to help ourselves win against Grindelwald's people."

Harry took a moment to try and work out what Tom was thinking. "So… you think that we should do something about Grindelwald's people before there are any battles?"

"That's exactly what I think," Tom confirmed, sounding pleased. "We'll track down small groups of followers the best we can, to break up Grindelwald's following as a whole. Our friends can help with that, even if they aren't strong enough for real combat. It will teach them about what it is to harm another wizard, to extract information out of them, to blackmail them, and occasionally to kill them."

"Do you think they'll be strong enough to do this?"

"I know they will be," Tom said confidently. "I'll force them to do what I want, at any cost. They are all too addicted to the Dark Arts to resist for long, and anyone who does resist will be a mere exception who will be a friend of mine no more."

Harry didn't know what to think of this. He knew that torturing and interrogating people wasn't a job that Tom expected him to do, but he wondered how Tom would react if he, Harry, couldn't bring himself to kill anyone for Horcruxes one day. Harry guessed that he wouldn't get the same punishments as a Death Eater for being unable to murder, but he knew it would probably annoy Tom a great deal. If only to comfort himself, Harry refused to believe that Tom would throw him out for being too weak.

"We should begin reading now, I believe," Tom's voice interrupted. "I have quite a few books that I must introduce you to before we begin, yet it shouldn't take too long for you to understand how all of this works…"

–X–

It was close to midnight, two days since Harry had returned from Grindelwald's fortress, when Harry found himself sitting near the end of the long dining room table within Tom's home. A meeting was being held, which currently brought together twenty or so of the Death Eaters, all of whom remained quiet and as attentive as they could be while they focused upon Tom speaking.

Tom was discussing the changes that were going to take place now that Grindelwald's people were trying to find and hurt them. Tom was describing the danger and work involved in properly training all of the Death Eaters for a fight. He expressed how he would be teaching them more magic to help them in the next six months, whilst setting them different jobs and tasks at different times to try and help get an advantage over Grindelwald's followers.

Many of the Death Eaters were nervous upon hearing all of this, but most of them were also animated at the prospect of having the most famous and powerful Dark Wizards in history as their personal enemies. Harry knew that if they actually managed to pull this off, the Death Eaters were all going to have an even stronger sense of newfound importance. They could sense even now that they were making history, and they loved it.

"So, we're gonna go after all these wizards one by one?" Avery asked, apparently wanting to make everything completely clear. "Why do we need to train for battle, then?"

"We won't be able to find each and every one of our enemies," Tom explained calmly. "Even if we track groups at a time. By the time we stop around fifty to a hundred wizards from continuing with Grindelwald's group, the other followers will understand what we are doing, and will begin to hide and attack us secretly too."

"How are we going to fight the remaining people?" Gonson asked, his eyes skeptical behind his limp black hair, which shadowed most of his face. "We'll still be fighting more than two to one – maybe more."

"I believe that many of Grindelwald's followers will run away once they see how powerful we are with Dragons, and so on," Tom reassured Gonson carelessly. "That could give us as many as another fifty to a hundred less wizards to deal with, even after the followers that will leave due to fear of being hunted down. We won't have many more wizards to fight in a battle. As many as thirty wizards might survive a final fight, but only by – yet again – fleeing the scene."

"Do you really expect us to defeat _Gellert Grindelwald's_ followers, though?" Dolohov asked thickly from across the table, his large face twisted into a confused yet not completely cynical expression.

"Do you think I would try if I didn't expect so?" Tom asked in response. "We would merely hide and waste a few years here if I wasn't confident that we have enough power to do this. We will destroy all their bases and following until the remaining wizards simply give up."

"But, I mean," Dolohov continued, "if they managed to get to _Jonathan_…"

As Dolohov trailed off, many pairs of eyes found their way to Harry curiously. In these last three days, since Harry had returned, no one had dared asked how Harry got captured in the first place. Being quite annoyed at the idea of even the Death Eaters thinking of him as weak, Harry decided to speak before anyone else could.

"I was only captured because I had no clue that Grindelwald's people were still looking for me here," Harry said truthfully as the Death Eaters paid close attention. "None of us knew that Quentin was a part of that group, and I wasn't at all prepared for it when he brought Grindelwald's followers here at four in the morning."

A few of the Death Eaters murmured to each other about this, agreeing that it must have been a surprise. Harry noticed that Mulciber, who sat in front of him, had gone tense at the mention of 'Quentin', but very few of the others noticed this. Mulciber had become very quiet and distanced lately. He barely ever joked with the others anymore.

"Plus, you managed to fight off at least some of them, from the look of it," Avery added. "Loads of spell damage was left in the dining room the day after they took you away."

"But we ain't gonna last half as long as him if we get captured by Grindelwald's followers," Dolohov reasoned.

"Grindelwald's followers wouldn't waste time capturing any of you," Tom assured Dolohov darkly. "None of you have the information they want, and I'm sure that the last thing on their minds now is to steal someone else for me to rescue."

"You don't mean to say that they're going to try and kill us?" Lestrange enquired, visibly concerned.

Tom laughed humourlessly. "They think of all of us as nothing more than bothersome obstacles stopping them from reaching Jonathan again. They will kill you all without hesitation if you get in the way… If you surrender, they will also kill you. Perhaps after some short torture to be sure you aren't useful. To capture you would be too kind, and too risky."

All of the Death Eaters appeared nervous about this. They stared at Tom with wide eyes, none of them saying a word. Tom seemed to decide that they needed some reassurance after his very purposeful warning, especially since they were already uneasy about the number of followers they had to kill and pry from Grindelwald's group.

"If you succeed in defeating Grindelwald's people with me, we will become the most famous and powerful Dark Arts group the world will ever know," Tom described to his friends in complete confidence. "The wizarding world will look up to us in awe and admiration for having succeeded in what has been dreamt about throughout all of history, and deemed impossible since Grindelwald's recent downfall. We will make the world a place where wizards can walk free, where magic is preserved and respected… where we shall be lords."

Many of the Death Eaters smiled at Tom's words, or else looked at him in esteeming surprise. These signs of approval encouraged Tom to continue without interruption.

"We shall prevail with our knowledge in the Dark Arts," Tom promised, "and we shall go further than any witch or wizard has ever gone before in understanding the ancient secrets of our ancestors, which have been encrypted for us to uncover only now. By defeating Gellert Grindelwald's following – the pathetic excuses for Dark Arts Masters – we shall clear away much of what is stopping us from succeeding this very minute. We shall clear away all of that useless vermin, which the rest of the world so needlessly fears. We eliminate that vermin entirely, since they can neither understand nor fulfil the great messages that have been passed down throughout history – to encourage rightful wizard supremacy!"

Before Harry knew it, the Death Eaters had gone from nervous at the idea of being killed to completely enthralled and eager at the task of defeating Grindelwald's people. Harry didn't know how it happened, but the atmosphere of the entire room had changed. The Death Eaters spoke amongst themselves, agreeing with Tom's words and voicing their approval at the hope of becoming a great part of history.

"As long as I am here, I shall try everything in my power to keep any of you from dying at the wands of Grindelwald's people," Tom vowed. "Yet any life lost would be a life dedicated to a great cause and remembered throughout history – I assure you this… Bear in mind, however, that if you are a coward like Quentin, I shall have no choice but to do the same thing to you that I did to him."

A few of the Death Eaters laughed somewhat nervously at this, but they appeared generally too enthusiastic at the aim of defeating Grindelwald's people to give this lighthearted warning a second thought. Harry neither said a word nor reacted very much as the Death Eaters continued being vibrant and talkative.

"What happens if they search for us here, though?" Avery wondered aloud, directing his words towards Tom. "Before we start getting rid of some of them, I mean."

"I won't completely dismiss the idea of them searching for us here," Tom began, "however, I think it is unlikely that they will attempt to break into my land. They know that we have Dragons and a whole number of wizards all in one group, so that should intimidate them quite a bit. I doubt they really understand who we are, and because of this I believe they will treat us with great caution."

"Until they meet us and kill us, of course," Lestrange added cheerlessly.

"Which they won't do any time soon," Tom reminded them all. "You shall all be trained a great deal more by the time you meet Grindelwald's people, and you shan't have a chance to get killed."

"What happens if they try to do the same thing we're doing, with chasing after individuals?" Gonson enquired. "Some of us are obviously going to have to leave Albania every now and then. We'd be in danger back in England, for example."

"From this day onward none of you shall travel on your own," Tom explained. "Any time you feel the need to visit England, or even the towns and villages around here, you shall have to take someone else with you to ensure full safety. With two or more people in a group, I'm sure you can manage to fight if need be. No one will… No one would attack you on your own…"

Tom had trailed off. The Death Eaters didn't notice, for they were discussing this piece of news, pointing out the pros and cons as they dwelt upon where they might visit within the next six months or so. Harry wasn't interested in any of the Death Eaters' conversations, however. Tom seemed to be thinking about something that bothered him quite a bit, because he was staring down at the table with a carefully contemplative expression.

Then Tom looked at Harry. No Death Eater noticed it as their eyes met. Harry tried to work out what Tom was thinking while he stared with a mix of confusion and annoyance. The annoyance is what scared Harry the most, even if he had seen Tom far angrier than this in the past. It appeared that Tom was so bothered by the thoughts in his head that he felt the meeting with the Death Eaters was irrelevant now, and could be dealt with later. Tom turned his glaring eyes away from Harry to address his friends.

"You can all leave now," he snapped moodily, as though the Death Eaters should have known this already. His friends appeared only slightly confused at his sudden change in emotion. Harry knew that they were too used to him to question why he was inexplicably irritated.

"But there are still loads of questions we want to ask," Dolohov informed Tom, still sitting down. "It's only just turned midnight."

"There's plenty of time to discuss this later," Tom said impatiently, standing up.

"But–"

"Do I have to throw you out of my house? Get out!"

Dolohov didn't object past this. He got up from where he sat, some of the other Death Eaters urging him out faster in fear that he would argue against Tom's order. Harry got up from his seat too, watching Tom pace the room somewhat. When most of their friends were gone, Tom turned to face Harry. He was unable to withhold a glare when their eyes met, and in full honesty Harry was fearful of this.

He didn't know what he could have done to annoy Tom, and he worried that Tom had simply lost it without reason. Harry knew he shouldn't think like this, and he knew that it was bad that he would even consider Tom going crazy so simply, but the way Tom was looking at him was very ominous. Harry couldn't help but panic a little, waiting for Tom to speak.

"Why did he only attack me?" Tom demanded. His words caught the remaining Death Eaters' attention. Their will to leave the house as soon as possible was stalled by curiosity.

Harry was a little confused by Tom's words. "Why did who only attack you?"

"Who do you think?" Tom almost shouted. "Emeric!"

Harry's stared, his heard in his mouth. The remaining Death Eaters listened eagerly while Harry struggled to get over his fear of how Tom might react to his words. "I – It was – I didn't think –"

"Get out!" Tom suddenly roared to his friends, who seemed close to asking who Emeric was.

The Death Eaters followed his order without saying a word, quickly heading for the exit of the house. When the front door closed a few moments later, Tom seemed to be waiting to be sure that his friends were completely gone. He was close to pacing the room as he glared at Harry, angrier than he had ever been with Harry before.

"As with most situations," Tom began through gritted teeth, causing Harry's heart to pulse sickeningly, "there are only two reasons to explain why Emeric chose to attack me, and only me."

Harry's wide eyes barely moved while he stared at Tom. He was unable to think properly while the question of what Tom would do next ran through his mind. There was something in Tom's dark grey eyes that was inhuman and unfeeling, and it terrified Harry.

"Reason one," Tom continued quietly, rage audible in his every word, "Emeric felt I was a greater threat than you, knowing you were weakened by torture. If this is truth, I am yet to understand why he would not think to hurt us both, or leave us altogether in an attempt to save himself. I am also yet to understand why he would try to kill me at all, knowing you still had a wand and knowing I was strong enough to trick the other followers. However, reason two lacks these unanswerable features…"

Harry didn't say a word, for he dreaded to hear what reason two might be. Tom was taking slow, steady steps towards him, to view his face more clearly. Harry's heart was hammering, and he didn't know what he should do.

"Reason two," Tom almost hissed, glaring down at Harry from less than a meter away, his dark eyes slits, "Emeric still has feelings for you, and he was so confident in the idea that you would stay with him, he decided to try and overthrow me – and don't deny it! The fact that he attacked me proves this, and the fact that I've never seen you look so guilty before proves your knowledge of his desire."

Harry was suddenly aware of just how tall Tom appeared while he stood besides him, glowering. At six foot one inch, Tom was already two inches taller than Harry, but while Tom stared at him so exasperatedly Harry felt several feet shorter. He dreaded to reflect that Tom's jealousy would be far worse than it was last time. Harry had actually been affected in his weakness, and there was no Emeric around for Tom to kill, hurt, or harm in any way now.

"Do you deny it?" Tom enquired sharply.

Harry didn't know what to respond to this, or how to explain the situation to Tom without making him even more annoyed. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure of every explanation. Harry tried to reminded himself that this was Tom, and he shouldn't be fearful no matter how enraged he appeared…

After a moment, Harry decided to tell the truth. He couldn't bring himself to lie to Tom about this and he knew Tom would know he was lying anyway. Harry felt sorrow pulse through him and mix with his fear as he gazed up at Tom, trying to accept what had happened. He took a deep breath, attempting to steady himself…

"I don't deny it," he confessed.

Tom's eyes widened, and he stared without doing anything else. His anger was temporarily gone as pure shock washed over him. He seemed to dislike hearing this confirmation from Harry, but the latter was sure that _he_ disliked it quite a bit more as he watched Tom fight with accepting this.

Before Harry knew it, Tom turned away from him. A few meters away, Tom ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself. His hands curled into fists and uncurled again repetitively once down by his sides, until he met Harry's eyes once more. His anger was different this time.

"What did he do to you?" Tom demanded. He appeared to be struggling in some way, but Harry couldn't quite place how.

"I – he," Harry stammered, trying to word it in the best way possible. He took another deep breath. "We only kissed."

Tom seemed stained as he attempted to keep his emotions in check. "I cannot believe you could do such a unfaithful – such a treacherous thing!" he declared, unable to keep his ireful voice calm or quiet. "I cannot believe you would betray me in such a way!"

"I didn't think you were going to save me!" Harry exclaimed. "I was trapped in that hellhole for nine solid days! He – he offered me a way out of there! What else was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to have more faith in me!" Tom answered.

"I was dying!" Harry shouted, unable to stop his voice from shaking. "I was dying and starving and alone! How can you blame me for losing faith in you? I could have been there for months for all I knew!"

"It's irrelevant what was happening!" Tom expressed. "I can't believe you would kiss him!"

"And I can't believe the hypocrisy!" Harry responded, suddenly remembering what Emeric had told him in a spiteful attempt to cause more pain. Harry's voice was straining. "He – he told me that you kissed him, on the day you made him leave his job in England."

Tom turned to face Harry, bewildered as he heard this. Harry didn't know whether the shock was in fear or actual surprise, but he was sure that it had actually happened when he saw Tom's expression. There was a short pause, where Harry felt desolation pour through him. His heart was aching.

"It was meaningless," Tom said quietly. The house was suddenly very still, and Harry could almost feel the silence pressing upon them. "I only did it because I was curious to know whether other wizards felt like you. I wanted to make sure that you wouldn't leave me for someone else, for whatever reason."

"And you thought kissing someone else would stop me from ever leaving you?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"I thought kissing someone else would help me understand why I love you so much!" Tom retorted indignantly.

"Oh, very sly," Harry remarked, ignoring how his heart fluttered at Tom's words, "push away all my doubts by telling me exactly what I want to hear!"

"I'm pushing away my _own_ doubts by telling you what I feel!" Tom exclaimed.

Harry ignored the slight guilt that filled him at Tom's words. He didn't know what to feel in response to all of this. Anger and sorrow coursed through him, and he was unsure which emotion he should act upon.

"How can you expect me to believe that you only kissed Emeric to make sure I wouldn't leave you for someone else?" Harry demanded. "That doesn't even make sense!"

"I'd never kissed another boy before you," Tom explained, audibly trying to keep his voice calm, "I had to be sure that you were different than other wizards and – and he was just _there!_"

"And?" Harry asked.

"And what?"

"Was it any different?" Harry questioned. "How was it?"

Tom looked outraged. "Dull and insipid!" he described, as though it should have been obvious.

"What about the others?" Harry asked shrilly. "I'm sure you had tens of wizards waltzing to your bedroom while I was gone."

If Tom wasn't outraged before, he certainly was now. "How can you suggest such a thing?" he ordered. "How can you not understand how hard I searched for you? How much time I dedicated to finding you?"

"I can't know what you did with all that wasted time!" Harry remarked.

"Our friends wasted that time!" Tom reminded him furiously. "I didn't rest for a minute in your absence – of course I had no time for such treachery!"

Harry felt bad throwing these accusations at Tom, but the possibility of Tom cheating on him scared and worried him no matter how doubtable it was. Tom's chest was rising and falling in anger, and Harry found himself becoming more frustrated too at the idea of this entire conversation.

"You had no reason to kiss him," Tom claimed coldly. "You could only have done it from not caring about me, or not wanting to lose the chance to be with _him_."

"I don't want to be with Emeric!" Harry responded. "If I wanted to be with him, I wouldn't have gone with you – I wouldn't have had his own wand pointed to his throat! Didn't you see I was willing to kill him when you found us?"

"But you had days to be with him before that," Tom stated. He winced a little upon saying this, but Harry wasn't sure whether that was in anger or not.

"He only kissed me about ten minutes before you rescued me," Harry explained, still annoyed. "I didn't plan for the kiss at all, it just – just happened when he started promising me freedom. He told me the other followers were going to kill me – he told me that I only had one night to live… but now I think about it, he was probably lying to scare me into trusting him…"

Harry's voice had become calmer while he reflected upon Emeric's possible lies. This was not the result of Harry caring about Emeric, of course. It was merely the result of Harry reflecting upon the mistake he had made in trusting Emeric. Tom seemed to slowly understand where Harry was coming from, and neither of them spoke for a time.

Harry didn't know what was worse, him kissing Emeric out of delusional hope, or Tom kissing Emeric out of meaningless curiosity. Was it _more_ or _less_ reassuring to know that one's partner did something immoral out of wonder, rather than real attachment? Harry felt that maybe it was equal, because the intentions behind such an action are rendered meaningless when the emotional affect starts to kick in.

Harry could see Tom's anger visibly fading. Harry felt bad about accusing Tom of sleeping with other people when he was gone, and he felt bad about saying Tom had wasted time in his absence. Harry knew none of this was true, and he didn't know how to explain that now. He only knew one thing…

"I don't want to fight anymore," he voiced quietly, watching Tom's dark eyes meet his own as he spoke. "I don't want to let something as meaningless as this tear us apart and I – I don't want to leave you, especially knowing Emeric did this to us. We both made mistakes… it would be stupid if this ruined what we have."

Tom's absence of annoyance was what prompted Harry most to express this, and he was relieved when Tom appeared even less irked at his words. Tom seemed tempted to say something else, to let Harry understand further why this hurt him, but he resisted the urge. His eyes were focused and concerned. He nodded lightly before saying, "It would be a petty thing to ruin such a strong connection."

Harry nodded back in response. They gazed at each other for a long while, wishing to do something more, but knowing there was a little more to discuss.

"What turned you against Emeric, after you kissed?" Tom enquired.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," Harry answered honestly. "Even before the kiss, I couldn't get you out of my mind. Emeric also used the Cruciatus Curse on me when we first spoke there, and I couldn't forget it. I knew he would kill me if I ran away with him. I don't know what's wrong with him, but he's far from sane."

"What makes you say that?" Tom asked seriously.

"Well," Harry began; feeling reassured with Tom's worry, "he went from caring about me to wanting to slit my throat when I told him you were the only person I could ever love. It wasn't like I said anything offensive to him, either. I think Grindelwald's people have probably just fucked with his head, or something."

"Yes, I would agree with that assumption," Tom said. "Grindelwald's people would have harmed Emeric more than Quentin, per se, because I know the former is doubtlessly weaker than the latter was… I'm sorry that both of the mentioned wizards were able to harm you, in the end."

"Don't be sorry," Harry said. "It was my fault, if anything."

"No," Tom disagreed. "You cannot be blamed."

They gazed at each other further, and Tom began taking slow, steady steps across the room. It was as though he had been resisting this urge for the past few minutes, as Tom, with a swish of his wand, made the curtains seal all sight of them from the outside. Tom stood in front of Harry, reaching up a hand to touch his face. Harry closed his eyes for a moment when he felt Tom's touch. When he opened them again, Tom's face was inches away from his own.

"I would never sleep with another witch or wizard besides you," Tom promised him in a whisper. "There is no one I could like more than you. No one I could desire more."

"I know," Harry assured Tom softly. "I only suggested it because I was upset. I know we will never need anyone but each other…"

Tom's fingers moved gently against Harry's ear and jaw. Tom smiled softly, either at Harry's strong reaction to his touch or the thought that suddenly struck his mind, Harry wasn't sure. "It's hard to seriously imagine being with anyone but you," Tom said. "All I can think about is a comical scene where Dolohov is attempting to replace you."

A smile broke across Harry's face, and he laughed. Dolohov was a mountain of unattractive plumpness and muscles, and the mental image of him and Tom being together wasn't one Harry could take seriously either. "I suppose none of your friends are interested in other Wizards, anyway," Harry said, reassuring himself mostly. He then added, "but I wouldn't out it past you to trick some of the others, if you wanted them enough."

"I don't want anyone but you," Tom stated. He smiled slightly at his own words, and gazed at Harry longingly. "I've never wanted anyone as much as I still want you."

"I feel the same for you," Harry said softly.

They studied each other for a long moment, before Tom leant forwards slowly. He kissed Harry, their lips pressing together gently. Tom lingered millimetres away after this, his breath brushing against Harry's skin. Unable to endure this short break of longing, Harry kissed Tom more passionately. Tom's fingers slid slowly through Harry's hair, gripping on heatedly when their breath began to quicken.

Tom licked Harry's lips, his tongue forcing its way into Harry's mouth. Harry's hands had found their way to Tom's back, clawing at it fervently as their kiss deepened. Tom began pushing Harry backwards blindly, intent upon having their bodies closer as he pushed Harry against the wall. Their lips moved rhythmically, their breath rough as Tom tilted his head to find new angles at which to kiss Harry. Harry moaned softly into Tom's mouth, causing Tom to press him back harder.

Harry was bewildered with how much he wanted Tom. With all the risk of losing him to their fight tonight, Harry's whole body ached to have him yet closer. He began biting Tom's lips, encouraging Tom to move further in their kiss. When Tom's lips began to descend, Harry stretched his neck up, wanting to feel Tom's lips all over his skin. Tom kissed his neck over and over again, before moving to brush his lips behind Harry's ear. Once there, Tom's stopped kissing Harry to pull him into an embrace, but still Harry was satisfied with this.

They held each other close, Tom's hands on the back of Harry's head as they slowly moved away from the wall, to hug better. Tom kissed Harry's ear every now and then, but in general they merely stood, feeling each other's body close and enjoying the knowledge that the other was there.

"What are the chances of us knowing two wizards involved with Grindelwald's people?" Harry mumbled into Tom's shoulder, his hands on Tom's waist now.

"I assume that it was Emeric and Quentin's similarity of age that brought on the apparent coincidence," Tom responded softly, panting slightly. "I believe Grindelwald's people are drawn to hiring younger wizards. The younger people are, the more gullible and able to learn they will be."

"It's going to be insane, trying to take on all of Grindelwald's people," Harry remarked.

Tom did not respond immediately. When he spoke, Harry knew Tom was avoiding his remark, but he didn't actually mind. "I would do anything to keep you safe," Tom said, kissing him again.

"I know," Harry mentioned. "I would do the same."

They stood for a minute more, enjoying their embrace as they thought.

"I'm going to kill Emeric," Tom whispered. His words were neither a threat nor a way of settling his own nonexistent anger at this time. It was fact.

"Not if I do first," Harry challenged. "And if you kiss someone else, it won't only be them who I hurt."

Tom gave a hum of laughter.

"I'm not lying," Harry warned.

"I know," Tom smiled, "and the sincerity of your words is what amuses me most of all."


	50. In Power & Will

The pain was unbearable… Harry stood above the sink in his bathroom, close to vomiting for a second time tonight as he clenched his eyes shut. Echoes of agony coursed through his body, causing him to shudder uncontrollably, his aching limbs barely supporting him. Every inch of his skin felt as though it had been torn by rough, broken pieces of metal, but not a drop of blood spilt from his seemingly frayed veins. His head was throbbing, his hands were unable to clench the sink beneath his fingers with any strength, and his lungs were refusing to take in air properly…

Three and a half weeks had passed since Harry escaped from Grindelwald's fortress. Harry's healing had begun to decline about a week ago, but it hadn't seemed like a problem to him at the time. Even Tom had assumed that his recovery from torture would start up again soon, for he thought that Harry's body was just at a sort of standstill. He had given Harry stronger potions and medicines when his health began to worsen completely, but as the days passed by even these remedies weren't enough.

Harry had felt only a dull pain in his body a few days ago. This had gotten worse, but Harry was bewildered as he stood in this cold bathroom now, feeling sicker than he could remember being since the night he came home. He didn't know what was wrong with him and he didn't know why Tom's medicine wasn't working. Tom had fed him potion after potion the last few days, yet here Harry was, unable to control his trembling body…

It was only a minute or two since getting out of bed when Harry heard Tom standing behind him. Harry didn't know whether it was his audible breath and vomiting or his general absence in bed that caused Tom to search for him, but he supposed the answer was irrelevant. Tom walked further into the bathroom to stand besides him, placing a hand on his back in reassurance. The bathroom was dark and cold, but neither of them particularly cared while they worried about the problem at hand.

"Are the potions weakening?" Tom asked softly.

Harry couldn't speak for a moment. His eyes were still closed while he tried to appear less sick than he really was. "I'll manage," he muttered in response, not trusting his proper voice.

"If the pain is getting worse, we will merely have to increase the medicine," Tom said quietly, blatantly noticing Harry's evasion while he was fooled by his act. "I'll give you twice the dose of a Sleeping Potion after I add more blood of Re'em in the draught of li–"

Tom stopped talking when his free hand found one of Harry's. His fingers touched the back of Harry's hand only very lightly, as though he feared he might hurt him with any slight pressure. Harry had been clenching the sides of the sink in a struggle against pain, and Tom was frozen in fear when he felt this.

"You're shaking…"

Harry swiftly tried to think of an excuse for this. "It's cold…"

"You wouldn't have vomited from the cold alone," Tom noted slowly. He was realizing, slowly, just how sick Harry must be. "You are very unwell…"

"I'll be fine," Harry whispered. He pulled away from Tom while he struggled to stop his hands from shaking. It was difficult to stand up without the support of the sink, but Harry tried to anyway. "I'll be perfectly fine…"

When Harry faced Tom the latter took the chance to withdraw his wand, to see precisely how sick Harry was. The magic Tom used wasn't painful at all, but merely standing up turned out to be uncomfortable for Harry. He tried not to move at all, because it hurt when he did. He waited for about thirty seconds for Tom to say something… but he was silent. The magic had stopped, so Harry opened his eyes.

It took a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of the bathroom, but when Harry lifted his gaze to his lover he could see clearly enough. One look into Tom's eyes told Harry that there wasn't much good news relating to his physical state. Tom was unable to do more than stare in silence. He appeared far more awake than before and far more frightened as he gazed into the bloodshot and strained emerald eyes before him…

When Tom turned away, unable to bear what he had just discovered, Harry knew that his worst fear had been confirmed. Tom visibly tried to gather himself as he ran his fingers through his already disarrayed hair, pacing the room – which he always did in distress.

"I must leave for England at once," Tom declared in an undertone. "I must seek out the best Healers to fix this…"

"You don't have to do that," Harry said weakly. "We'll be able to fix this – together we can do it, no matter what's wrong."

"I've been trying everything I can, but you're now sicker than ever!" Tom exclaimed, unable to meet Harry's eyes while he spoke. "We need help, we need to be sure you'll heal from this…"

"But–but you know all about these things!" Harry stammered. "You know how to brew potions better than anyone I've seen and healing – healing has never been a problem for you!"

"Yet this is what alarms me," Tom expressed, "this is what confuses and panics me…"

Harry analyzed Tom closely. He felt as though Tom's every movement reflected his own worry. He didn't want Tom to leave him alone here. He couldn't imagine getting much more sick than he was now and he couldn't imagine Tom lacking the skills to heal him. Harry was worried about his health, but he didn't want to bring more people into this – especially not when Grindelwald's followers were waiting outside for any of them to come out in the open.

"If I leave now, I'll be able to speak to people in England by tonight," Tom said, thinking about this a great deal. "I'll be back in three days at the most."

"Three days?" Harry repeated. He disliked the idea of even one day alone with the Death Eaters. "How am I supposed to look after your friends for three days like this?"

"I'll put one of them in charge with clear instructions," Tom explained. "As incompetent as they are, they won't have to do anything when I'm gone."

"I don't want you to go," Harry voiced, dreading the idea of no help or reassurance when he would feel mist ill. "This will all go away, and then we–"

"This will not simply go away!" Tom exclaimed in frustration. He turned to face Harry now, appearing impatient. "This isn't something that will heal itself, no matter how much easier it would be to believe this! You're sicker than ever and none of my potions are helping – none of the spells I've been using are working even remotely! Something within you is rejecting all treatment and if we cannot find out why, you – you're going to…"

But Tom couldn't seem to continue after this.

Harry felt anxiety swirl within him, but he tried to ignore it. He refused to believe that Tom's suggestions were anything more than panicked exaggerations. How could it be true that Harry might die from this, as Tom blatantly meant? He had been through so much in the past, so why should he die now, when he was so recently healing? These questions brought Harry solace in a moment of complete panic, so he couldn't help but doubt Tom's fear. He couldn't help but hope…

"I won't die from this," Harry assured Tom in a shaking voice, trying to convince himself more than anything. His tone wasn't very convincing. "The pain won't kill me."

"But it will get worse," Tom expressed, gazing at Harry solicitously from a few paces away. He examined Harry's weary eyes, as well as the slightly cowering angle at which he stood while he tried in vein to lessen the agony. Harry knew that Tom saw his hands shaking by his sides, and he heard that his breath was shallow while he attempted to stand up straighter. Harry couldn't put on a convincing act of healthiness because the evidence of his sickness was simply too visible. Even if Tom hadn't examined Harry already, he would have known that he was very sick.

Tom stepped forwards to take one of Harry's shaking hands in his own. He brought the hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

"It is unlikely that you'll get sicker within the next three days," Tom assured him quietly, reaching up his other hand to touch Harry's face. "I'll be able to heal you far sooner with help. I'll come home as soon as I can."

"I know," Harry said weakly. "I… I'm just scared of being alone."

Something in his words made Tom take another step forwards, perhaps involuntarily. "I'll have the others stay near you, if you wish. I'll leave stronger potions for you to take in the next few days, to lessen the pain before you can be properly healed."

Harry closed his eyes and nodded, feeling too nauseous to argue by this point. He gave into the reassurance of Tom's words without a fight, enjoying the comfort he felt beyond his worry about Tom getting hurt…

"You should go back to sleep," Tom advised softly. "It's not yet six in the morning."

He began leading Harry carefully forwards. Harry didn't object, no matter how ill it made him feel to walk out of his bathroom and towards his bed. When Harry was in bed, he relished in the comfort of the blankets and pillows around him. His whole body ached and he could barely think straight behind his closed eyes. There was only one thing that bothered him.

"Take some of the others with you," he implored, squeezing Tom's hand lightly. "I'd feel better if they went with you to England…"

Tom contemplated this request as he stood besides Harry's bed, gazing down at his lover. When he spoke, his voice was low. "If you would prefer it, I would be glad to take a few of them with me."

Harry nodded, but regretted this action as soon as he felt his head pounding in discomfort. When Tom's hand slipped away from his own, Harry opened his eyes. Tom was wasting no time in getting ready, evidently wishing to find a particular Healer as soon as he could. He headed across the room towards a chest of drawers and picked up a small glass container full of powerful a soothing solution, as well as a larger container full of sleeping potion.

"Take these," Tom urged, heading for Harry's bed and kneeling besides it. "I'll make sure that you have more than enough of this while I'm gone."

"Thanks…"

Tom passed the glass container into Harry's hands. Harry was about to drink the potions, before Tom leant forwards to kiss him delicately. "I love you," Tom whispered.

"I love you too," Harry mirrored just as softly.

Harry wanted Tom to stay, but he knew it couldn't be stopped when Tom moved away from his bedside. He was evidently keen to take a quick shower before getting changed. Harry watched Tom head towards the bathroom before he, Harry, drank the potions in his hands. The taste wasn't all that bad, to his relief. By the time Tom finished showering, Harry's eyelids began to feel awfully heavy… Tom was packing a small trunk, making sure he had everything he needed. Harry found himself slowly drifting off to sleep. He was glad of the chance to feel less pain again…

–X–

The sky was dark and ominous. Clouds full of snow obscured the moon and stars on this cold December evening and the window in front of Harry displayed almost nothing but darkness. Two days had passed since Tom left for England. Harry was feeling only a little better. The immensely strong potions that Harry was taking numbed the pain enough so he could walk around, but he still preferred to not move at all if he could help it. He would almost feel healthy again that way…

The only reason Harry was out of bed at this time was because he couldn't fall asleep, or rest in any way. Neither agony nor excess energy was to blame for this, however. Harry was tired and numbed enough to sleep, but he felt that there was something wrong. He stood before one of the wide windows of his bedroom, the curtains drawn aside. His bedroom was at the back of his house, so he couldn't see any of the other buildings on this land. He had a nice view in the daytime, but he regretted his choice in scenery while he dwelt upon a number of daunting things this evening…

Harry had worried initially that his unexplainable anxiety meant something bad had happened to Tom, but even with medicine Harry felt he would feel Tom's discomfort more clearly. There was nothing physically bothering Harry. Even the subtle sounds of the Death Eaters downstairs were of no annoyance. No, there was just an unseen, unheard, unknown something that kept Harry on edge. It prevented any calm state of mind, no matter how much Harry would like to close his eyes for a few more hours. Tom would be home by then…

Harry shivered a little while he stood in front of the window, thinking. He had been standing here for the last twenty minutes or so, unsure what he was waiting for. He knew he really ought to go back to bed… It was only around eleven O'clock at night and Tom wouldn't be home for a few hours yet. Harry had been anticipating his return for a day and a half now, despite knowing he would be gone for three days. Harry knew he would see Tom seemingly sooner if he went to bed… but in spite of this he still felt no desire to rest.

After about five minutes more of aimlessly staring out of his bedroom window, Harry decided to go downstairs. He told himself that he was merely being paranoid in Tom's absence. He needed something to distract him… and for the first time in memory, Harry was glad to find around seven Death Eaters sitting at his kitchen table, playing cards.

Harry supposed that Tom had strongly encouraged his friends to stay in this house while he, Tom, was away. Harry didn't mind much, for the only thing that the Death Eaters did was play Wizarding cards and idly waste time. It vaguely made Harry feel better to have other people wandering about, at any rate.

"'You alright Jonathan?" Avery asked distractedly when he saw Harry enter the room.

"I'm fine, thanks," Harry responded, taking a spare seat at the table. He didn't feel as though he needed any food or drink, nor any more potions. He was restless.

"I hope we weren't being too loud," Lestrange said not quite apologetically as he dealt cards. "I tried to shut Avery up, but he wouldn't be quiet about his views on why Faeries and Pixies should be considered the same creature. The sad thing is, he doesn't seem to know the difference between the two."

Avery scowled at Lestrange from across the table.

"The talking didn't wake me up," Harry responded honestly. "I couldn't sleep anyway."

"Do you want to play?" Nott offered. "We definitely have room for you."

"No thanks…"

The Death Eaters appeared subtly relieved at his unwillingness to join the game. From what Harry could remember, the last time he and Tom played cards with the Death Eaters all of Tom's friends had withdrawn from the game as soon as the first one was brave enough to – after losing a good few hundred Galleons. Harry found it amusing to play cards, but not when Tom was gone, and not when he felt ill.

"When will Tom be back, do you reckon?" Avery asked, as he reorganized the cards in his hand. Harry watched Nott staring at Avery's movements from the other side of the table. By moving his cards into order, Avery was unknowingly showing what hand he could have.

"He should be back in a few hours," Harry answered. "By tomorrow morning at most."

"Where's he gone, exactly?" Avery wondered aloud, speaking as informally as always.

"To search for some Wizards who might know what's wrong with me," Harry explained, wondering why Avery hadn't guessed this before. Maybe he was merely confirming it…

"I know that," Avery mentioned. "What I mean is; how's he gonna get someone to find out what's wrong with you if you're here?"

"He's going to bring the Healers here, obviously," Lestrange answered for Harry, appearing annoyed at Avery's needless questions.

"I was only asking!" Avery said indignantly.

"But I don't see why you feel the need to ask this at all," Lestrange expressed, glaring at both Avery and the cards he held. "The answer is obvious."

"But if Tom can't fix it, Jonathan must be really sick," Avery observed. "Tom has fixed loads of injuries before, so I'm just wondering what must have happened in that place to make Jonathan so sick. Unless Tom is too scared to risk–"

"Avery," Lestrange interrupted in a warning tone.

"What?"

Lestrange, Nott, Gonson, Dolohov, Rosier, and Gibbon all looked from Avery to Harry, appearing apprehensive. Harry stared at Avery, annoyed by not being directly addressed, no matter how little he cared about the Death Eater's inquiries about Tom's strength in power and will.

"I'm just saying," Avery began defensively, noticing his friends' awkwardness. "Either those Grindelwald freaks did a good job of torturing Jonathan, or Tom don't wanna do something wrong in healing Jonathan properly."

"It's _doesn't_, Avery," Lestrange corrected him in exasperation, "not _don't_."

"Whatever," Avery dismissed. He turned to Harry once more. "So did they torture you, or what?"

Harry watched as Rosier covered his face with his hands, Nott looked away nervously, and Gonson appeared close to shouting at Avery anxiously so he would stop asking questions. Gonson has been left in charge, because though he was often mute in such conversations, he had an apparent power over the Death Eaters because he was older than a lot of them.

Despite all of the Death Eaters feeling unsure about this conversation, they were secretly eager to hear some details about what had happened to Harry a month ago. This could be seen in their very open minds. Harry was feeling warmer than he ought to in this cold kitchen, but he knew this was unrelated to the conversation he was having. His heart pulsed sickeningly and he felt generally ill. He decided he needed to answer Avery's inquiries.

"Tom's reason for finding help is a mix of the two explanations you mentioned earlier," Harry elucidated shortly. "'Those Grindelwald Freaks' _did_ do a good job in making sure I had close to no chance of survival, and because of that Tom only trusts a professional Healer to work out what is still making me sick."

"He certainly cares a lot," Avery commented.

Harry hesitated before responding to this. "No more than he'd care about any of you getting sick."

"Nah, he never cares 'bout us when we're sick," Avery voiced almost apathetically. "He'll fix us when we're hurt too much to work, but he just gets annoyed 'bout us getting ill, normally. We can't get a cold around here without him blaming us for not being careful enough."

"I actually agree with Avery on this one," Lestrange admitted in his usual drawling tone. "Tom used to care about us at Hogwarts, but our health is irrelevant when there are no teachers around… He pays you a lot more attention, I've seen."

"In what way?" Harry asked curiously.

"This house is an example," Lestrange voiced simply, focusing on his cards for a moment. The game was very slow. "Only you and him have houses of your own."

Harry struggled for a moment to find a way to smooth over this suggestion. He felt bad for the Death Eaters… but he knew he couldn't do anything for them this very moment. He would be wiser to use this opportunity to justify Tom's favouritism. "That's different."

"How so?"

Harry tried to think of something – anything – to use as an excuse for this. He couldn't believe he had never spoken to Tom about this before… "Tom never expected to have to keep everyone here for this long… He didn't expect anyone to stay for longer than a few days or weeks at a time."

Lestrange gave Harry his full attention now. "Why should that mean you get a house while we don't?"

"Well, I don't have anywhere else to go," Harry reminded the Death Eaters, only thinking about this seconds before he said it. "This is where I'll be for however long it takes before Tom moves somewhere else, for everyone to follow."

The others thought about this. After a time, they seemed to decide that this was a perfectly rational explanation. They were satisfied. "Fair enough," Lestrange said in response. He was dwelling upon what he knew about Harry's past, wondering why he had never taken this into consideration before. Avery's thoughts, however, were a little less caring.

"Was it Grindelwald that killed your parents?" Avery wondered aloud.

Dolohov hid an awkward smirk while Nott suddenly wondered how much firewhisky Avery must have drunk to become so inconsiderate. None of the other Death Eaters could believe that Avery could be so idiotic. Harry ignored the rudeness of this question, knowing it was best if he settled the curiosity once and for all.

"Yes," he confirmed curtly.

"So," Avery continued, "Do you reckon Grindelwald killed Tom's parents too?"

Harry was confused by this question for a moment, before he remembered that Tom had always told the Death Eaters as little as possible about himself. Harry decided to try and end the conversation by answering a quick, "No, Tom's mother died when he was born."

"Oh, yeah…"

The card round was ending quietly. Gonson had won, and the others handed over almost a hundred Galleons.

"I always wondered how that happened," Avery added, his eyes squinting sceptically. "You barely hear of any Witches dying from giving birth. Which makes me wonder…"

"His mother was definitely a Witch," Harry affirmed.

"But how do we know that?"

"Do you doubt his power?"

"No," Avery said firmly, "we just can't know 'bout his parents properly."

"I don't think he would be very happy to hear you doubting his word," Harry stated. He was distracted for a moment as he rubbed his forehead in tiredness. This conversation was certainly doing the trick to make him crave solitude and sleep. "He's a Parseltongue, so we know he's related to Slytherin."

"Idiot," Nott added quietly, directing his words towards Avery.

"Even so, it could have been his dad who was related to Slytherin," Avery said. "His mum could have been a Muggle. It'd explain why Tom's dad left her."

The others were very uncomfortable with hearing Avery suggest these things. Harry wondered for a brief moment whether they feared that all of this was gong to be reported back to Tom. They might also be cautious that this would offend Harry too, somehow. "His father wasn't related to Slytherin. His mother definitely was."

"How do you know?"

Knowing that he shouldn't give too many details, Harry vaguely avoided the truth. "Tom told me and I trust his word."

"I do too," Avery commented, grabbing the firewhisky bottle to drink some more. "I just wonder if Tom could ever _really_ know the proper history of his parents. He was in a Muggle orphanage, after all. It seems a bit weird."

"So what do you think happened, concerning Tom's past?" Harry inquired somewhat impatiently.

"Fuck knows," Avery said. "I just think it would be funny if you were related."

When Nott gave a slight breath of laughter across the table, Harry glanced over at him carefully. Lestrange's theory of Harry and Tom being together – which Lestrange thought of only in humour – had blatantly been shared, because Nott seemed very aware of the idea. Lestrange and Nott were very good friends, so this theory being discussed was only to be expected, Harry thought. Yet Harry didn't mind them joking about it, because it thankfully hadn't become a rumour spread amongst all of the Death Eaters…

Harry lost interest in Nott's mind when he saw that the Death Eater merely found amusement in the thought of Harry and Tom not knowing they were brothers, especially if they were indeed sleeping with each other. Turning his attention back to Avery, Harry said, "We definitely aren't related."

"How do you know?"

"Tom's older than me by about eight months, to start," Harry said, "and I remember my parents. The chances of us being related are slim."

Harry saw Gonson slyly levitate the neglected bottle of firewhisky away from Avery's side, to hide it. Avery was too distracted to notice. "He could be your half-brother, with a different mum."

"Why are you so determined to try and prove we're related?"

"Like I said, it would be funny," Avery grinned. "It would also explain why he respects you more than us."

"We've both seen our own fathers and there's no chance that we have the same mother," Harry explained, not bothering to deny the fact that Tom respected him more, "and it wouldn't be funny."

"You've both seen your fathers?" Avery repeated. "When did Tom meet his?"

Harry regretted having let this slip. The others turned to look at him curiously, waiting for an answer. Harry felt that he should lie… but wouldn't the truth quieten Avery? Harry debated about what he should say. He supposed that maybe the truth would make the Death Eaters fear Tom more, thus making their questions cease. It wasn't like Tom would really care about keeping this secret now, at any rate.

"Tom met his father when he was sixteen," Harry admitted quietly. "The summer before his sixth year."

"How do you know?" Avery pressed.

"He told me," Harry answered. This wasn't a lie, even if Harry had initially learnt about this in his sixth real year at Hogwarts. Tom would still talk about these sorts of things if Harry wanted to know more…

"Why does he tell you this stuff and not us?" Avery demanded.

Harry mused this question. "Maybe it's a matter of being brave enough to ask him."

"So, if you're so brave in asking him stuff," Avery slurred, "tell us this; how many people has Tom killed?"

Harry actually thought about this. With Myrtle, Tom's father, Tom's Grandparents, Hepzibah Smith, the British Muggle, and the Albanian Muggle dead, as well as Burke being murdered by Tom's strong encouragement, and the possibility of Quentin dying at his hand, Tom had murdered nine possible people so far. At almost twenty-two years old, this was quite a serious amount of crime to commit. Harry had no desire to share this information while he struggled to accept it himself…

It seemed that many of the Death Eaters guessed from his silence alone that he wasn't prepared to answer this question. Harry heard Dolohov chortle darkly, and one of the Death Eaters began to speak.

"Even if Jonathan knows the answer," Nott began with a slight smirk, "I don't think Tom would allow him to tell–"

SMASH.

Something crashed through Harry's kitchen window, causing the only lit torch to smash and fall to the ground, extinguishing. The atmosphere changed so dramatically that both Harry and the Death Eaters were disoriented. The Death Eaters flinched and yelled in panic. Their voices were the only things that told Harry he was still awake. Without delay Harry reached for the pocket of his robes to withdraw his wand. He prayed that it would work for him now as he mumbled a quiet "Lumos".

The wand lit up and Harry felt some anxiety leave him. His head was pounding, his stomach was bothering him, and his heart hammered in his ribcage, but he paid no attention to that now. He stood up, ignoring the sharp pain in his body as he spoke to the Death Eaters. "Are you all alright?"

He received seven positive replies. Avery had fallen off of his seat, but he stood up with the others when he saw Harry standing. Gonson and Nott had ignited their wands too and with that there was enough light for everyone to see perfectly in.

"What happened?" Nott asked.

"It looks like a spell crashed through the window," Harry responded in a low voice, glancing at the broken glass next to the ruined torch on the floor. "There must be someone fighting outside…"

"Any chance of it being some of the other Slytherins?" Gibbon asked nervously.

"There's only one way to find out," Harry said. When he stopped talking, they could hear shouting in the distance. Reflected against the broken glass in the window frame was the light of spells off in the distance. Harry's heart was in his mouth. "Come on."

"Are you insane?" Gibbon squawked. "We can't go out there!"

"Well, what else are we supposed to do?" Harry demanded. "Just wait around for the danger to find us here? There might be nothing wrong… Come on."

He began walking out of the kitchen and the others followed him, most of them only slightly reluctantly. Harry extinguished his wand when he looked through one of the windows at the front of his house. After quickly making sure that none of the spells were being fired nearby, Harry headed for the front door. The Death Eaters followed him across the snowy ground. They were heading swiftly towards the spell-fire.

It appeared that someone was indeed having a fight and Harry's footsteps quickened. He felt nauseated and feverish, but he wouldn't allow his sickness to distract him now. The potions Tom gave him numbed the pain enough, even if his internal condition was fatal and steadily failing. It seemed to take forever to reach where the spells were being fired. Lestrange, Nott, Gonson and Rosier moved ahead of Harry after a time, to get there sooner. When there was a flash of familiar green light, Harry wished more than anything that he could break into a run.

When the spells stopped, his heart pulsed in further terror. He could see figures close to him by the time he passed the Death Eaters' buildings. Gonson had run back to him to give him the news. They never stopped walking towards where the Death Eaters gathered.

"Is anyone hurt?" Harry asked immediately.

"Just Ransom," Gonson answered. "He's been knocked out."

"What happened?"

"It – it looks like Grindelwald's people got past some of our defences," Gonson explained. They were close to where everyone gathered now. There were two shadows on the ground… "One of them got into our land by following Mulciber, Ransom, Macnair, and a few more of our people, who apparently just visited one of the towns near here."

"Who said they could leave?"

"No one," Gonson stated. "They decided to do it on their own."

Harry could feel that they were passing a few of the shields that protected Tom's land. Tom had set it up so any of them could leave in an emergency, but no one besides Harry, Tom, and twenty or so Death Eaters could get back in. The Death Eaters constantly complained about this rule, not knowing what useful and spectacular magic it really was. They were outside all of the remaining defences when they joined the group of Death Eaters.

"Why are there two bodies," Harry asked slowly, "if only Ransom was knocked out?"

Gonson averted his eyes when he heard this question. Clearing his throat carefully he said, "Well, I'm guessing there was a lot of confusion in the fight, and with five of our people against one…"

They had reached the bodies, so Harry didn't press Gonson for a more clear answer. Harry could see Ransom unconscious on the ground, but the second body was the only one that truly interested him. He headed for it, feeling sicker than ever. He recognised the face extremely well, even if he didn't know the name of the Wizard who had so persistently tortured him a month ago. The follower stared unseeingly up at the dark sky while the falling snow rested horrifyingly on his wide, soulless eyes. The snow melted only marginally while his lifeless body lost its heat…

"Is it one of Grindelwald's people?" Nott asked.

"Yes," Harry responded. "I recognise him…"

After a long moment, Harry tore his eyes away from the dead wizard. The Death Eaters were as shocked as he was at the idea of a follower finding his way even partially into their land – and moreover at the idea of one of the Death Eaters killing him. Harry stared into the faces around him, trying to read their minds to see what had happened. "Who killed this wizard?"

No one needed to say a word, for as well as everyone thinking about the answer, a lot of the Death Eaters glanced at Mulciber. When Harry followed the general gaze, he found the accused Death Eater facing him bravely. Mulciber's mind had changed dramatically in the last few weeks and this hadn't escaped Harry's notice. He had become distant and cold and he no longer laughed at anything that wasn't very either morbid or vile. Harry had wondered whether Tom had been honest in his claim of who killed Quentin. As he stood on the snowy grounds of this land now, there wasn't a doubt in Harry's mind that it had indeed been Mulciber…

"Did they attack any more of you?" Harry questioned, hoping this would be the case.

"No, only Ransome really," Macnair answered. "There was only one of them."

"How did you know that you had to fight this Wizard, then?"

"He was yelling at us in German."

Harry found himself becoming annoyed, somehow. "Not every German is going to be a follower of Grindelwald!"

"But – but that wizard was, right?" Gonson asked in pure alarm.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, "but you shouldn't _kill_ someone because they were shouting German!"

"He did start throwing spells at us though," Macnair added, "and we just got a little… carried away…"

Everyone took this to mean Mulciber had lost it. A lot of the others completely avoided eye contact with Mulciber, for they were all pretty concerned about his sanity now. With their avoidance, Mulciber got visibly annoyed. His glare caused more of the Death Eaters to look away, making him even more annoyed.

"What, so you're all gonna judge me now?"

Not a word was said in response. Even Harry was somewhat fearful of Mulciber by this point, but he hid it well. Wanting to spare further awkward silences as well as wanting to take action, Harry began telling the Death Eaters what needed to be done.

"All of you, keep watching out for more followers," he said. "There's bound to be more of them waiting around, since these defences couldn't be taken down by one wizard alone… Dolohov, Macnair, Gibbon, Nott, bring Ransom back inside and take the dead wizard with you, so we can burry his body somewhere…"

"Will he be able to get past the shields with the body?" Gibbon enquired.

"I don't see why not," Harry responded. "He's only a corpse."

Avery gave a gruff laugh, elbowing Dolohov as he walked past. "Too bad none of us are necrophilic, eh?"

Even Dolohov was too repulsed to do anything but grimace at Avery's drunken, repulsive joke. Most of the Death Eaters pretended they didn't heat it.

Harry felt anxiety storming through him while he looked out into the darkness surrounding them. It would be hours until Tom got back and Harry didn't know what might happen by then. Harry wouldn't be able to strengthen much of the magic keeping them safe because Tom had to be able to get back inside soon. But Grindelwald's people would know that the follower they sent here was either dead or being tortured, and they were likely going to do something about that. Harry suddenly feared his resistant wand more than ever before as he contemplated the possibility of more followers waiting in the shadows. He wouldn't be able to defend himself in his position…

Should Harry strengthen the protection or wait for Tom? No matter how powerful Harry attempted to make the shields here, it wouldn't be strong enough to hold back Grindelwald's followers or more than a few hours – maybe less, considering how weak Harry was at this time. Yet if Harry didn't put up more defences and if Tom didn't come home soon Grindelwald's people would attack this place even sooner. Either option wasn't going to work and Harry was panicking…

Then another unnerving detail suddenly struck Harry, and he turned to face the Death Eaters once more.

"Mulciber, get back inside," Harry ordered.

Mulciber looked annoyed. "Why should I?"

"Tom will be home soon."

"So?"

"So, I don't want you getting in the way," Harry expressed. "You could cause further problems."

"How would me being here cause–?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Harry asked sharply. "I can't risk your temper going out of hand again, in case you kill Tom too without my consent!"

Mulciber glared at Harry, likely in an attempt to scare him into changing his command. Harry decided to add something else, to make Mulciber leave faster.

"You did the right thing," he assured the Death Eater, "but your work tonight is done."

Without a word, Mulciber began to turn away bitterly. Harry was starting to feel extremely sick, but he wasn't sure whether this was just his worry or not. He urged himself to stay strong for just a little longer as he addressed the Death Eaters. His sickness could wait for later…

"Everyone, let's get back inside," Harry suggested, turning around to head for the nearest building that the Death Eaters owned. Harry's hands were shaking, so he hid them from view. "Tom will be back in a few hours – probably less – and by then we'll be able to be fully protected. We'll have to think of a pl-"

The sound of spells being fired drowned out Harry's words. The noise rang in their ears as the Death Eaters span around to locate where the spells were coming from. When Harry turned back, his stomach leapt in fear. In a matter of seconds Harry saw blood exploded from Avery, while orange whisks of dark smoke surrounded Lestrange's entire body. The two Death Eaters fell to the ground amongst a few others who hadn't expected this sudden bombardment in the slightest.

Without thinking about pain or his useless wand Harry began throwing curses. Only around two in every five spells worked, yet he nevertheless tried to continue fighting as terror tore through him. The Death Eaters were mostly running back inside in fear, but the few of them who fought were powerful enough. Harry couldn't see how many wizards fought against them, because it seemed to him that many of them just disappeared into thin air – through Apparition, he later supposed. Harry thought that surely not all of Grindelwald's people were here fighting…

He felt a huge wave of relief mix suddenly with his previous anxiety when he realised this wasn't a full attack, but perhaps as a result of this Harry's wand sharply gave up on him. The next thing Harry knew, a flash of red light hit his chest, causing him to stop in his tracks. Darkness was pressing in on his mind before he even hit the floor, but he tried very hard to stay conscious. He could hear more shouting, could see the light of spells beyond his eyelids. People were running past him, shouting things…

"_Avada Kedavra!_" he heard someone scream so very far away…

"Get them inside!" Gonson was surely saying. His voice was muffled, like the others.

Footsteps could be heard. More flashes of green light… The next thing Harry knew, he was floating. When he landed – still hearing the far-off screams and spells – he heard more people approaching him.

"Is he dead?"

"That wasn't a Killing Curse, idiot."

"But even a Stunning Spell would be enough to kill Jonathan by this point."

Someone was moving closer to Harry, looking for something.

"He's still breathing."

"Always a good sign…"

"Let's get him inside."

Someone was levitating Harry again without a word.

"Tom's going to kill us…"

"If Mulciber doesn't first."

Someone laughed humourlessly. Their voices were fading, and darkness was pressing in more persistently. Harry wanted to wake up, to help the Death Eaters, but his body couldn't fulfil this desire as his aching limbs lost all energy… The only thing he could hope, before he slipped into unconsciousness, was that Tom would get back here as soon as possible…


	51. Concern & Confusuon

"Harry?"

Harry took a deep intake of breath, opening his eyes. Everything was dark. He hadn't the slightest memory of what had happened to him. He only remembered the vivid dreams that had haunted him for hours on end. There had been the Dark Mark looming above every scene, as well as a lot of running, fighting, and death. But as Harry lay in the darkness now none of this unnerved him. He felt safe at the sound of Tom's voice.

When Harry turned to look at Tom his felt his heart soar. Tom had arrived back here in time. They had unmistakeably won the fight against Grindelwald's Followers and Harry was sure that Tom was keeping them more protected than ever before with the aid of magic… But why, then, did Tom look so miserable?

"What happened?" Harry asked.

Tom didn't answer immediately, but memories of fighting with the Death Eaters were coming back to Harry now.

"Are the others alright?"

"A few of them were hurt, but no one is dead," Tom informed him. His voice was soft and this calmed Harry. "Against all odds, they succeeded in fighting off Grindelwald's followers… I would complement them more on their work, if it wasn't for the fact that it was a large group of them who brought Grindelwald's people here in the first place."

"Well at least they're all still alive," Harry said, knowing how annoyed Tom must be with his friends. He tried to sit up on his bed, but he found that this caused him a lot of discomfort. He winced and Tom made an involuntary movement to help him.

"You shouldn't move too much," Tom told him quickly.

Harry noticed the distress that Tom seemed to feel with the knowledge of his pain. He felt Tom's fingers interweave with his own. Feeling bad, he tried to find the least painful position to sit in before he asked weakly, "How long have I been unconscious for?"

"Only a day," Tom said. "It's been around eighteen hours since I got home, which was an hour after you fought Grindelwald's people."

Harry guessed that in that eighteen hours Tom had gotten very little sleep. His eyes were dark and his entire appearance was worn and drained. He appeared happy that Harry was awake – there was no denying that – but it was evident that the many problems they faced were worrying him deeply.

"I'm sorry everything got so out of hand," Harry said quietly. "Mulciber, Ransom, and everyone else with them left without any of us even realising it. We couldn't stop it before Mulciber managed to kill one of Grindelwald's followers. Everything was happening so quickly and–"

"It isn't your fault," Tom assured him. "You're the last person who can be blamed for what happened."

"Did the Healers you brought here notice?"

"No, they didn't see a thing."

"What happened in the end? Did more followers try to break in?"

"No," Tom said quietly. "They didn't dare send more people in, even before I arrived…"

Something in Tom's voice made Harry think that he was bothered by something more than the followers breaking in. After a moment of silence, Harry remembered something. "The Killing Curses…"

Tom waited for him to work it out.

"Mulciber killed more people, didn't he?"

Tom appeared apprehensive about answering this question. Harry couldn't understand this, since Tom had said that none of their friends were dead. Shifting a little in his chair, Tom watching Harry intently. "You must understand that Mulciber was drunk, and very deranged from his past experiences with death…"

"How many people did he kill?" Harry pressed.

Tom hesitated. After a moment he seemed to decide that dawdling would only make Harry more anxious. "Past the one wizard you saw dead, Mulciber managed to kill five more followers… later killing one of the Healers I brought here too."

Harry stared, unable to believe what he was hearing. His voice was weak. "He managed to murder seven people?"

"There was no one to stop him," Tom mentioned in haste. "Gonson doesn't have as much power over him as you and I do and by the time he killed six of Grindelwald's followers he was too enraged to realise that the Healer who I brought home was on our side… Fortunately I still have another, better, Healer to replace the one who died. None of our other guests saw his death…"

Harry felt uneasy with the casual tone that Tom used as he spoke about these murders. The only emotion he seemed to have towards the situation was anxiousness to explain everything properly mixed with pure anger… but maybe this was a rational response, Harry thought slowly. Tom _had_ spent three tireless days hunting down the Healers who would have the best chance of fixing Harry. It had surely been very frustrating for him to find his friends so disordered, with six bodies to bury and a lot of evidence to hide. Mulciber killing a Healer just brought it to a point of absurdity…

"What happened when you were away?" Harry asked, hoping this would help him to discover the extent of Tom's exasperation. "Did you find who you were looking for?"

"Yes," Tom answered, appearing willing to share this information – perhaps to move on from angry reflections concerning his friends. "I travelled across much of Europe to search for the three sorcerers who I had the most confidence in for this job… The most easily convinced out of the three was Slughorn."

"Professor Slughorn?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Of course," Tom affirmed. He smiled shortly as he said, "I would have avoided contacting him at all costs had this been for anyone else but you. As you know, I severed my relation to anyone still at Hogwarts years ago – as you did – but I couldn't refrain from using my connection to Professor Slughorn at such an important time. He is a great Potions Master, and I would trust few others for this…"

Harry was somehow delighted to hear that Tom would risk going so close to Dumbledore and everyone else at Hogwarts just for him. He didn't know how to tell Tom what this meant to him. He wanted to ask Tom how he managed to get Slughorn here, but Tom answered this without encouragement.

"To no surprise, Slughorn was happy to be of assistance to us," Tom explained. "He'll be gone from Hogwarts for a weekend or so of the Christmas Holiday – and under my polite request no one at Hogwarts is to ever find out where he is, or what he's doing here. One meeting face-to-face was enough to convinced him that he should do this for free, as a favour to me and for old times' sake."

"Well it isn't exactly surprising that he would do this for you," Harry commented, smiling lightly. "Though I can't believe he isn't offended about the last two and a half years of not hearing from you."

"Slughorn never was one for being upset about such things," Tom assured him, smiling back softly.

"How long did it take you to persuade him into this?"

"Only a day, luckily. On the very night after meeting with him I disappeared off to Switzerland to convince a Healer there to help me. The day after that, I travelled to France to search for Madame Arouet. You've heard of her before, I assume?"

"Of course," Harry said, knowing that he had heard the name quite a few times in the past. He couldn't say he knew much about her, however. All he knew was that she was a famous Healer.

"She wasn't quite as easy to convince," Tom admitted. "I feared for a time that I would have to stay away for a fourth day just to get her help. However, Cygnus Black suggested – after a few hours of me worrying about Madame Arouet – that our best option by that point would likely be to bribe the old witch into leave her homely cottage in the centre of snowy northern France to heal you."

"She took a bribe?" Harry inquired, bewildered. As a respected Healer with a very large salary and a lot of reputation to keep up, it was surprising that she would do such a thing. "How much money did you offer her?"

"One hundred thousand Galleons," Tom answered.

In shock Harry laughed, unable to believe it. When the seriousness of this bribe settled in, the smile fell from his face. His heart sank. "We're never going to be able to pay that money back to Black."

"Oh, you needn't worry about that," Tom reassured him. "With such a rich family, Black doesn't feel that this is a large amount of money at all. He is very aware of the fact that he is the only friend of ours that I respect at the moment and he cherishes this thought… He also secretly believes that given a few years we will have more than enough money to repay him. With a powerful group of dedicated Dark Arts fanatics as well as a growing family of extraordinarily trained Dragons, Black thinks of this as a worthy investment, for later profit in both money and respect."

"That sounds exactly like the sort of thing Black would do," Harry remarked, thinking about Sirius's family. Cygnus Black was Bellatrix Lestrange's father, Harry knew…

Tom frowned, surprised. "I didn't think you knew about Black. He was a year above us at Hogwarts… Currently he's engaged to Rosier's older sister, Druella. Did Rosier mention him?"

"He must have," Harry lied.

Tom appeared satisfied with this explanation. "Rosier is quite happy to be closer to the Blacks. Cygnus's family has been renown amongst Purebloods for centuries. His great-Grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black, was of course a Headmaster at Hogwarts for a time."

Harry nodded, but made no response to this. The more he thought about it, the more he disliked having to think about Sirius's family now. He decided to change the subject somewhat. "But back to the point, how did you get Slughorn and the two Healers here without trouble?"

"I assure you, there was much trouble involved with hiding everything from them when I got back here," Tom said darkly, the Black Family likely leaving his mind the second this question was asked. "If convincing Slughorn, Madame Arouet, and the second Healer to help us wasn't difficult, then setting up their arrival to Albania certainly was. They don't even know what country they're in, in full honesty."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "How did you pull that off?"

"I'm not quite sure," Tom admitted. "I believe excessive talking had a lot to do with it, perhaps as well as confusing explanations of where I had travelled to find the right Healers and Potion Masters for this job… If I am correct, both Slughorn and Madame Arouet believe we are currently is Southern Italy."

"Why do they think that?"

"The climate and views suggested it, it seems. We are lucky it's winter. Most of the herbs and plants around here – be them magical or not – have died, or else are hidden by snow and frost, so they shan't be recognised in a group as being strictly Albanian. With only a few days or weeks of their attention needed, I'm sure nothing will tell our guests where we really must be."

"None of this seems very safe," Harry observed slowly, trying not to offend Tom too much. "Slughorn especially is going to wonder why we're so far away from England with all of your friends."

"I've taken care of that too," Tom said confidently. "Slughorn is under the impression that I am running a small, nondescript company that hired a few of our old school friends recently. Most of our friends are staying as far away from Slughorn as they can under my request. I transformed one of their buildings into what appears to be offices and rooms used only in the day, for work. Their second building is invisible."

"And he believed that?"

"He has no reason to doubt me," Tom smiled. "As such a successful ex-pupil of his, he is inclined to think only the best of me."

Harry thought about this for a minute, not truly knowing what to say as he smiled lightly back. He was happy that Tom was being so careful, at any rate… The room was quiet as they paused their conversation for thought.

"The only thing I fear," Tom continued more quietly than before, "is that our friends might slip up when talking to the Professor or Healer. Even people like Gonson or Nott could ruin everything without us even realising it…"

"They won't mess anything up," Harry reassured Tom. "They never let Slughorn know what they were really up to at Hogwarts, after all."

Tom didn't respond to this directly. He was lost in thought. "If they were more serious about their jobs, it would save us a lot of trouble and pain… They've messed up far too much in the past. We shouldn't let it continue. They have to understand how important it is that they follow my orders and work the hardest they can…"

Tom was staring down at their interlinked fingers, contemplating his own words deeply, it seemed. Harry didn't fail to see the shadow of annoyance in Tom's expression.

"You can't blame them for what happened to me," Harry reminded him quietly.

Tom looked up. He seemed to think about Harry's words as though he was unwilling to agree with them, until a few moments passed. The anger gradually disappeared in his expression. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "Yet I often wish I _could_ blame them…"

"Tom," Harry began in a hushed voice, "it wasn't your fault either."

Tom looked ready to contradict this, but something stopped him. Nott was standing at the door to Harry's bedroom. Harry wasn't sure how long he had been there for, but the moment they saw him, Tom slipped his hand away from Harry's. It was obvious that Nott had noticed this. His bright eyes moved from Tom to Harry and back again a few times while he thought about how he was supposed to react. He seemed to decide that pretending nothing had happened was his best option.

"I just wanted to tell you that Avery, Ransom, Lestrange, and Rosier are all improving," Nott said, directing his words at Tom.

"Thank you," Tom responded shortly.

"It's good to see Jonathan is awake."

"Yes, it is…"

No one spoke for a moment. Nott dropped his eyes from Tom, choosing to examine the floor. Harry wished he could see what Nott was thinking.

"How is Mulciber?" Tom asked.

"As bad as ever," Nott answered. He sounded uneasy.

"Is he staying away from Slughorn and Madame Arouet?"

"Yes," Nott confirmed, "he hasn't even been seen by either of them… He hasn't really left his room, in fact, but he doesn't seem to be doing anything in there. A few of us are a bit concern–"

"Don't waste your time worrying about Mulciber," Tom interrupted, "he'll be fine in a week or so."

Nott seemed close to mentioning that he only cared because he had to sleep in the same room as Mulciber. It wasn't exactly easy to forget that he had murdered seven people only last night… but Nott didn't say a word about it. "Of course," he responded.

His thoughts wandered to Harry and Tom again while he looked at them. Memories of walking into the Slytherin Dormitory to find them both looking embarrassed and (in Tom's case) annoyed in their seventh year came flooding back to him. He realised now that Tom probably hadn't been yelling at Harry after all…

Before anyone could say another word, Madame Arouet suddenly arrived behind Nott, contently making her way into the room. Saying "Bonjour" politely, she flicked her wand towards curtains, allowing the late wintery daylight to shine in from the now visible windows.

"Bonjour," Tom replied in response to the Healer's greeting. Harry and Nott said the same.

Madame Arouet was an elderly, surly witch who appeared to find her strength solely from dedication and passion for her profession. Her wrinkled face reverted back to a serious expression quickly when she smiled, but she didn't appear necessarily unkind. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing as she searched a large brown bag she had brought along with her, ready to work out what was wrong with Harry. It was no surprise that she was one of the only Healers that Tom would trust.

"So, how are you?" the aged Healer asked Harry. Her English was quite good, but she still had a strong French edge to her accent.

"I feel slightly better," Harry said truthfully.

"That will be the potions to manage pain," Madame Arouet informed him, smiling shortly. "What I mean is, where are you hurting?"

"Er, everywhere, I suppose," Harry said unconfidently, put off by the idea that he was still in this much pain while apparently aided by a number of potions.

"Nowhere hurts especially worse?" Madame Arouet pressed.

"No, the pain is pretty even."

"Pretty even, or exactly even?"

"Erm, exactly, I suppose…"

Madame Arouet frowned. His answer seemed to change something relating to her theories on why he was ill. She took a minute to dwell upon what this could mean. Then, quite suddenly, she turned around, saying, "I will have to do some more testing before we can know for sure what is wrong."

She turned to Nott.

"You have somewhere to be, I am sure?"

"Yes," Nott agreed. "Er, I should leave now…"

He turned to go without another word. Harry knew he was probably glad of the excuse.

"You should probably leave also," Madame Arouet suggested to Tom.

"Thank you, but I would much rather stay here," Tom said.

"Are you sure? There will be a lot of tests that I'm sure will bore you."

"You are mistaken," Tom insisted. "I find your work far from boring and I would really prefer to stay."

Madame Arouet seemed close to arguing, but instead she shrugged lightly, turning back to Harry. "As you wish…"

Harry and Tom watched in silence as she pulled Harry's left arm forwards, placing the tip of her wand to his palm as she began to mutter an odd incantation. Harry knew better than to ask her what spell she was using, because she appeared to be concentrating hard on the magic. When the magic ended, she frowned again, not saying a word.

When she started a second test, Harry glanced at Tom. Tom was watching Madame Arouet as though he was dreading something bad might happen. What he was dreading exactly, Harry didn't know, but he seemed very intent upon keeping an eye on the magic being used. When Harry turned back to Madame Arouet he was surprised to see her expression was confused and concerned. He couldn't refrain from asking, "What's wrong?"

"I think I have found the problem," Madame Arouet said slowly.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"I will have to do more testing, before I am sure," Madame Arouet explained, straightening up and turning towards her brown bag. "But it would appear as though it isn't only a series of recent injures that is hurting you. Your body is in fact mostly fine thanks to obvious healing magic… Most of the pain is – how do you say? An illusion."

"You think I'm faking it?" Harry asked incredulously.

"No, no," the Healer assured him. "Your mind simply believes you are in more pain than you really are. This is why such strong potions have so little affect on a lot of your discomfort."

"Is he struggling with a physical illness, or is magic the cause?" Tom inquired.

"This is what we must find out," Madame Arouet said. "We shall test if he is sick before we test for magic, of course…"

After this, Madame Arouet spent about an hour and a half examining Harry's head with the help of magic, asking him questions all the while and running through the main causes for his symptoms that she could think of. When she found nothing wrong relating to his brain, she appeared a little anxious. It didn't escape Harry's notice that Tom watched her even more closely at this.

Madame Arouet tested for magic next. She appeared more anxious with every negative test and after a while Harry could help but wonder if she was saving the worst possible cause for last. It was a long time after beginning her endeavour to find hurtful magic within Harry when Madame Arouet stopped working. She was pale and Harry feared the worst.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes," the aged Healer said, "I found the cause…"

She didn't elaborate.

"And?" Harry pressed.

Madame Arouet hesitated for a minute, apparently confused and worried about his condition. "You will live," she promised slowly, "but it is very odd, the curse that has been placed upon you. There is evidence that you have suffered a great deal of magical harm in the past, and you will need more potions and cures for that… but it would seem that someone never intended you to heal. They in fact hexed your body to repel most help with pain. The more time that passes, the more pain you are supposed to feel."

"But you can fix it, right?"

Madame Arouet smiled. "I don't see why not. Locating the problem was the hard part. It may take a few weeks or months for you to recover, but you will not be in so much suffering. You will, however, need someone to break the curse."

"I could be of assistance to that," Tom said softly.

Madame Arouet looked at him. "You have had experience with breaking such hexes?"

"I'm education on how it is done," Tom answered. Harry guessed that the Dark Arts books they owned probably had a lot to do with this. "I don't see the harm in at least trying to fix him. If I don't succeed, I can leave to find a better curse breaker by morning."

Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning. Tom would doubtlessly be able to find the right wizard for this if he couldn't break the curse himself. Tom smiled back at him softly, but his eyes didn't stay on Harry's for long. He was still watching Madame Arouet closely…

After a moment Madame Arouet remembered something. Harry wasn't sure if he imagined it or not, but she sounded a little more eager than strictly necessary when she said, "Of course, Professor Slughorn could be a lot of help with this! He is known for understanding such subjects… I'll go and get him now, so we can discuss treatments."

Before Harry knew it, Tom stood up.

"Oh, do allow me to accompany you," Tom insisted. His tone was lacking in kindness.

Madame Arouet faced Tom. For a reason Harry couldn't fathom, she appeared displeased and perhaps even fearful about this suggestion. "I don't think that is really necessary…"

"But I insist," Tom said, his eyes boring into hers. "I wouldn't want to waste time with not finding the Professor."

Madame Arouet was silent for a few moments. She then turned towards the door with a bothered expression on her face. "It is no problem either way…"

Tom cast Harry one blank glance before leaving. Harry spent the next few minutes in confusion, wondering why Tom had insisted upon joining Madame Arouet in a search for Slughorn instead of staying up here with him. Harry was too relieved that he wasn't dying to think about this very much, however. He was too thankful that he was going to get better, was going to feel no pain…

"Jonathan, m'boy!" Slughorn greeted him warmly when he entered the room minutes later. "It's good to see you awake!"

"It's nice to see you too, Professor," Harry smiled. He found himself in a good mood, and he couldn't understand why Tom looked so sullen when he sat down on a chair besides the bed.

"From what Madame Arouet describes, you should be perfectly healthy within a few weeks," Slughorn said. He chortled at his next words, "And with my potions mixed with Tom's ability to do well with any responsibility, you should be feeling better than ever when we're finished."

Tom smiled mechanically. "I do find it important to look after my friends…"

Harry continued looking at Tom even after he said this. Tom's eyes flickered between Madame Arouet and Slughorn every few seconds, as though he was uneasy about what the both of them were thinking. Slughorn began discussing the Potions he would have to make while Madame Arouet and Tom both joined in the conversation somewhat monotonically, despite Slughorn's merriness.

It was around half an hour later when Tom suggested that he should start trying to break the curse within Harry. Though he knew it might be hours – or even days – before Harry was free from this hex, Tom explained that he didn't want to waste a moment longer before trying his best to fix this. In confidence that Tom would succeed by tonight, Slughorn complemented him on his loyalty and suggested that he should leave to get started on brewing the correct potions for Harry.

Madame Arouet had talked through a long list of problems Harry was having from the harm that had been inflicted upon him. Although many of the problems could only be cured by Madame Arouet's magic or by medicine, Slughorn appeared as willing as Tom (likely because of Tom) to get to work with making Harry potions. It was, as Slughorn described it, 'a misfortunate condition that should be fixed as soon as can be'.

Slughorn got up, keen to read through some of the rare potions books that Tom had kindly given to him as a present for coming here on such short notice.

"I will, of course, have to teach you how to brew these potions," Slughorn reminded Tom, "but I can't say it will be very difficult for such a bright wizard like you to understand."

"Of course, sir," Tom said, forcing another smile. "I shall be more than happy to learn from you once more… The ingredients we have here will be enough for you to succeed in brewing these potions, I hope?"

"My dear boy, the ingredients here will far more than enough!" Slughorn beamed.

Tom smiled again, perhaps honestly this time. He had given Slughorn access to the large collection of potion-brewing materials that he had stored for emergencies like this. Tom knew how dangerous it was here, and he knew that many of his friends would get hurt as a result of the magic he experimented with, so he had collected enough ingredients to impress any Potions Master. His more illegal materials had been hidden, and he would only admit to having them if Slughorn directly mentioned needed one or two of them.

"If you do need any more ingredients," Tom continued, "I'll be happy to try and find them for you."

"No, no," Slughorn said jubilantly, "this will certainly do."

But after a moment or two Harry noticed the happiness slipping away from Slughorn's face. The Professor turned to look at Harry.

"But it is a curious thing… How was it that Jonathan got this curse, I wonder?"

"He could have had it for years," Tom answered smoothly, pretending he didn't know the actual cause. "There are a lot of odd people in this world. The curse could have been placed upon Jonathan by accident, even."

Madame Arouet appeared close to mentioning that the chance of Harry accidently falling victim to this hex was very slim, especially with the evidence of other harmful magic being used recently upon him, but one stare from Tom was enough to tell her that she should probably keep this information to herself.

"Of course, of course," Slughorn murmured, watching Harry whilst missing Tom's glare towards Madame Arouet. "There are a lot of wizards who would do something so cruel to someone they even don't know. It is a sad thing, the recent changes in the wizarding world…"

Slughorn took a long moment to reflect upon this, before he straightened up.

"But I best get started on repairing the damage," he said with a weak smile. "I'll be back within an hour or two, with ingredients and instructions at the ready."

"Thank you, professor," Harry smiled.

Slughorn smiled back and left. As soon as his footsteps faded away, Tom stood up.

Before Harry knew what he was doing, Tom shot a spell at Madame Arouet. When the spell hit her she flinched, and fell to the ground. She didn't make any noise, but after a few seconds her expression turned blank. She was Imperiused.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, shocked.

"She knows too much," Tom said.

"I thought you said she wouldn't find out anything?"

"Do excuse me if I didn't foresee her uncovering magic Grindelwald's followers placed upon you to kill you slowly," Tom barked. "If I had known you were cursed, I wouldn't have needed her."

"So you decided to decided to put the Imperius Curse on her?"

"We have to get her out of here," Tom muttered. He nonverbally commanded Madame Arouet to stand up again.

Harry stared, realising what Tom intended to do. He suddenly wished that he wasn't too ill to move properly. "Tom, you can't…"

"We have to kill her," Tom whispered.

Unable to stand this, Harry got out of bed. This caused great discomfort to both himself and Tom, who stared in perturbation. Ignoring the blinding pain, he said urgently, "There has to be another way."

"We can't let her tell people that you were tortured," Tom reminded him, his voice low even though Slughorn had left the house. "I already have to break the curse on you before Slughorn starts investigating."

"But," Harry began, thinking frantically, "but we can't just let such a well-known witch disappear! People will link this back to us – Slughorn will know immediately that this is the last place she was alive. You can't risk that. She probably told people where she is no matter what she promised to you!"

Tom was silent. Harry swayed on the spot a little, trying to keep his balance as his body ached. Tom understood that everything Harry said was true, but he didn't seem happy about it. Seeing his chance, Harry thought of a plan.

"We can modify her memory," he invented wildly. "We can make her forget she was ever even here. She – she won't remember a thing about any of us, and it's not like she knows where we are anyway. Memory charms worked with your uncle, didn't they? We'll be safe this way. We won't have to worry about covering up the disappearance of such a respected and famous witch."

Tom was still mute. He looked confused.

"Is there something wrong with the plan?" Harry asked.

"No," Tom responded quietly. "I'm just surprised… no, _impressed_ that you thought of this before me."

Harry stopped himself from mentioning that this was probably because murder wasn't the first thing that popped to mind when he reached a problem. "So you'll do this instead?" he pressed.

Tom turned back to Madame Arouet, who was staring into space. "I don't see why not…"

Harry felt relieved, but a twinge of anger appeared inside him, rather than happiness. This surprised him.

"I'll modify her memory tomorrow," Tom stated, turning away from the blissful yet possessed Healer. "I think healing you is more important at the moment."

"Modify her memory here, won't you?" Harry asked. He found that he couldn't quite shake off his still unexpected annoyance.

"You don't trust me?" Tom asked, smirking.

"Of course I trust you," Harry said, somewhat impatiently. "I just don't trust what might happen by the time you bring her back to France."

Tom seemed to notice Harry's irritability, but he didn't comment on it. He likely thought that Harry's pain was to blame. Withdrawing his wand, Tom said, "You should probably sit down."

"I'd rather stand," Harry responded.

Tom paused, trying to read his expression. "If it hurts too much when you're standing–"

"Then I'll be sure to sit down."

Tom watched Harry for a minute. He was confused, but he seemed to decide that pressing the subject was a foolish idea if Harry was going to react so angrily. Without a word, he raised his wand to begin testing for likely hexes.

Harry wasn't sure where his anger was coming from, but he tried not looking at Tom, to calm himself. It didn't work very well, since Tom was standing so close to him. Harry tried to think about how he was going to get better soon – this had made him happy less than an hour ago, after all. He was going to be healthy and free from this torture when Tom found the problem… Except, Harry thought savagely, Madame Arouet would likely be neither healthy nor free if Tom got what he wanted…

Harry tried to push the thought away… but he found that he wouldn't quite ignore how Tom had so thoughtlessly plotted out the best way to murder Madame Arouet.

Harry had to try harder to fight the pure vexation within him. Tom had probably spent the last forty-five minutes thinking about how he could kill the famous Healer. He had probably thought of ten different ways to do it, making it look natural or like a suicide. Harry felt more ill, but tried to forget his pain. Tom probably still wished, Harry thought furiously, that he could bring Arouet back to France before modifying her memory. He probably believed that killing her was really the only option they had. He was careless enough to completely forget everything he had promised Harry…

Harry looked into Tom's eyes, and before he knew it his anger overpowered him. Taking a few steps away from Tom, he asked furiously, "How can you lie about not killing innocent people? You completely forgot about what you promised me months ago!"

Tom stared at Harry. He lowered his wand slowly, apparently still confused about why Harry had moved away at all. "I didn't kill her," Tom reminded him.

"But you wanted to kill her!" Harry pointed out.

"Does she look dead to you?" Tom asked incandescently, indicating to the vacant Madame Arouet. "If I wanted to kill her she wouldn't be here now."

"But," Harry stammered, "but all you seem to be able to think about is killing off everyone who gets in your way!"

"And who do you think I do all of that for?" Tom asked incredulously. "You cannot seriously suggest that I do any of this because I want to! You cannot honestly believe that I would risk so much – being sent to Azkaban, having all our friends captured, having our aspirations stolen from us – if I didn't have a perfectly good reason to risk it all!"

Harry struggled with finding a response to this. He wanted to say that Tom must enjoy murdering since he did it so often; he wanted to say that killing Madame Arouet would be purely out of pleasure and simplicity if Tom did it, but a lot of things did contradicted these ideas. Tom wouldn't have travelled across Europe to search for this one witch if it wasn't for Harry, and if it wasn't for the fact that he admired her Healing abilities. Tom wouldn't risk Slughorn discovering what he was really up to (thus ruining his chance to become the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts) if he didn't feel like he had any other options but to kill Arouet…

"Do you not understand how stressful the past weeks – the past _months_ – have been for me?" Tom demanded furiously. "Did it not cross your mind for even a second that maybe after the fiasco with our friends last night I didn't have the energy left to think of a more logical plan relating to the problem of Madame Arouet? I haven't had a moment to rest in the past four solid days! I travelled halfway across Europe to find the right people to fix you, but it doesn't appear you realise or appreciate any of this!"

"But I _do_ appreciate it," Harry said less angrily than before, feeling guilty when he was reminded of everything Tom had done for him. They stood facing each other wordlessly for a moment, before another thought crossed Harry's mind, and his voice became irked once more. "But don't you know that I realise how badly your friends messed up last night? I was the one who had to look after them even though I was ill – I was the one who had to fight with Grindelwald's people –"

"And I appreciate that," Tom assured him sharply. He was visibility frustrated, but after a moment he seemed to feel more concern for Harry. Neither of them did anything for a moment. Tom's voice was softer when he spoke again. "I was impressed by the bravery and strength that you showed even in your weak condition."

Harry made no response to this. He felt bad for starting this argument with Tom, but he also felt as though Tom had deserved it… and it appeared that Tom almost understood this. They stood for a minute in silence, before Harry couldn't stand it anymore. Quietly he said, "I'm sorry. I was just… I was worried about you lying to me. I was scared that you didn't care whether you were caught for her murder or not."

Tom didn't seem to know how to respond for a moment, before he began walking towards Harry, saying, "I'm sorry too… Please know that I wasn't thinking straight. I wouldn't have gotten away with murdering her and you know I would have realised this eventually. I'm in dire need of rest, even if I know this is perhaps a poor excuse. With clearing up all the damage our friends caused last night I believe my ability to improvise is wearing thin at this time…"

"I understand," Harry said honestly, feeling Tom's hand holding his face softly.

"I shouldn't have put such needless stress on you…"

They stood and stared at each other for a moment.

"I should continue trying to break that curse," Tom remarked in a hushed voice.

Before Tom could continue his magic, Harry kissed him softly on the lips, ignoring the Imperiused Madame Arouet. "I love you, Tom," he whispered.

"I love you too, Harry."

Tom smiled and brought his wand up to continue his magic. Harry was glad that they had resolved their bitter grudges, because he knew that Tom (like him) felt better now. Despite how suddenly their argument had begun, Harry understood that sometimes yelling and fighting about a problem was far better than holding onto resentment and waiting for the perfect _planned_ moment of letting people how you truly feel…

–X–

By the end of the night, Tom managed to break the curse inside Harry. Slughorn never got the chance to see what magic had been used, so Tom lied easily to him about the nature and origin of the spell, reassuring his Professor with ease that it was northing to worry about. Harry would be as healthy as can be within a month or two, so Tom no longer needed the much-appreciated help of Slughorn and Madame Arouet.

Harry felt more alive than ever when the curse was lifted. Never before had he appreciated how glorious it was to feel no pain – and this was before he was even properly healed. He was glad that he was finally going to feel perfectly healthy again, but more than this he was relieved that Slughorn left the day after the curse was broken, leaving Tom to relax and rest for the first time in too long. It was a day later when Harry and Tom worked together calmly to modify Madame Arouet's memory.

With Gonson, Dolohov, and Black as protection, Tom left Albania for a few hours to bring Madame Arouet back to her home in France. Harry was of course still too sick to travel with Tom, but he didn't truly mind spending that day with a few of the Death Eaters, helping to heal Avery, Ransom, Lestrange, and Rosier, who were still ill from the incident with Grindelwald's people. When Tom returned home, Harry was satisfied to hear that he had run into no trouble in his travels.

The Death Eaters were doing well in the new training program that Tom had set up for them. They were learning more magic than ever before and it appeared as though this is exactly what they all wanted. Harry was impressed by how dedicated all of them were as he watched them in training, only having to join in once or twice in a day. They seemed eager to prove that they weren't completely useless when they were ready for a fight, but Tom couldn't refrain from reminding them all (as lightly as he could manage) that he needed them to be useful even when they _weren't_ prepared for combat.

Tom was also training the Dragons more determinedly than ever before. The entire Dragon family was now adult-sized, so it was harder than ever to look after them. Tom worked with one Dragon at a time, requiring at least ten of his friends to help him as he preformed extraordinary magic to keep the creatures calm and willing to follow his commands. By the time January and February arrived and passed, everyone in Tom's land was successfully improving in measures of health and power, and spirits were higher than ever.

Harry found himself feeling heartfelt surprise and even admiration for the Death Eaters. They were loyal to Tom even with Grindelwald's people looming overt their heads like an ominous gathering of clouds. Harry felt guilty to reflect that some of them might die from this war. He didn't want to think about it, but he knew he had to face it one time or another. All he could hope for was that Tom's friends would be trained well enough by the time Grindelwald's people attacked – whenever that might be.

It was March when Harry felt his mood decline for the first time since getting healthy. A meeting was being held with most of Tom's friends present. Tom talked eagerly to everyone, but Harry couldn't bring himself to listen very closely. Over the last few weeks Tom had begun searching determinedly for the location of a few of Grindelwald's followers – and Harry hadn't minded this. Tom had sent groups of his friends to places in Germany often in the last few months, but this was the first time they had received any positive news relating to it…

The Death Eaters were as eager as Tom was to hear that they had found a follower at last (without the follower trying to find them first), but Harry felt uneasy. It had been about three hours since Tom heard about the success in Germany, and it would only be a few more hours at most before Dolohov, Ransom, Macnair, and Gibbon returned here. What they would do to the follower once he was here, Harry didn't know – and nor did he want to think about it too much.

Harry wasn't at all sure how he was supposed to feel. It was one thing to think about kidnapping a wizard for interrogation and another thing to actually do it. He had never doubted that this day would come, but he had certainty hoped it wouldn't be so soon. It appeared that Harry wasn't being very discreet about his displeasure at the idea of a follower of Grindelwald arriving here tonight either. Some of the Death Eaters seemed to notice his despondency, but they thought he was just hateful towards Grindelwald's people.

Their thoughts about Harry's blatant surliness caught Tom's attention after a while. Harry guessed that it was because of this when the meeting ending slightly abruptly. Tom reminded the Death Eaters that could be hours before the absent friends returned home, but the Death Eaters were too happy and concerned about the idea of something happening to really care about whether they had to leave this room or not.

After only a few minutes, Tom and Harry were the only remaining wizards here. Tom turned to Harry as soon as they were alone. He was unable to refrain from grinning as he said, "I'm so relieved that something vital is happening at last."

"I know," Harry said, attempting a smile weakly. "I can't believe we actually managed to find someone…"

Tom was watching Harry closely, his smile fading. Harry looked away from him, trying to overcome his worry, but it appeared that this made it more obvious. As he stared down at his hands on the table, he saw Tom's join his.

"Why are you so anxious?" Tom asked softly. "Our friends will succeed in getting here. There's barely a chance that anyone would stop them coming home today, not when they have succeeded in coming back to us countless times."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Harry told Tom firmly, looking up at him again.

"Then what's troubling you?"

"I…" but Harry didn't know where to begin.

"You can tell me," Tom reassured him. "I'm sure whatever it is we can fix it."

Harry squeezed Tom's hands a little, taking a deep breath. "I just… I don't want you to kill that wizard when he gets here."

"I won't kill him," Tom promised. "Mulciber will be more than happy to."

Harry tried not to dislike that Tom wasn't joking in the slightest. "No, I don't want anyone to kill him, no matter who he is."

Tom paused for a minute, as if he was trying to find another meaning in Harry's words. "They tortured you," Tom reminded him, appearing disbelieving. "They were going to kill you."

"And we'll be just as bad as them if we torture and kill this wizard."

Tom stared at Harry, unable to believe it. "How can you ask me to be kind to these people?"

"I'm not asking you to be kind," Harry said, becoming more confused and upset with every moment that passed. "But – but killing them would… would be…"

Tom was shaking his head, never looking away from Harry. His voice lacked anger. "Why do you reject the idea of death so profoundly?"

"Because it's wrong!" Harry exclaimed.

"What they did is wrong," Tom said. "What we're doing is nothing worse."

"But it's nothing better either!"

Tom didn't seem to know how to react to this any more than Harry did. He struggled for a minute, his hands still holding Harry's and his eyes still watching him closely in what could only be described as concern and confusion.

"There's no one here to judge us on what we do," Tom reminded him in little over a whisper. "There's no one to hold us back, to tell us to stop even when we are doing nothing wrong to the innocent. We shall suffer no punishments for any revenge we may seek, or any crime we may commit to survive… No one is watching."

Harry gazed into Tom's dark, detailed eyes, thinking about his dead friends and remembering Dumbledore… Should Harry, as Tom suggested, feel no pity at all for what went on here merely because there was no one to punish him? This made Harry question why he cared so much. The only answer he could find was that he felt instinctively inclined to detest crime and death… but what if that inclination had been him following the beliefs of his fellow Gryffindors, rather than him following an instinct?

"You don't feel pity for them, do you?" Tom asked, generally curious.

"No," Harry admitted before he gave it much thought.

Tom didn't use this answer against him. Instead, he squeezed Harry's hands a little more tightly in affection. "Don't worry about this so much," he pleaded, admiring Harry's face. "It's all for the better."

"I know," Harry whispered. He found Tom's words comforting, even if he was still confused about how he should feel about Grindelwald's followers.

Tom smiled softly, analyzing Harry. They watched each other for a time, before Tom kissed Harry softly. Harry accepted the kiss, enjoying it in this quiet, empty room. The sound of Tom's breath and the feeling of his hand slowly making its way up Harry's arm made them deepen the kiss eagerly. Harry knew they really shouldn't be doing this in here, but he just could help himself – and apparently Tom felt the same way. Harry's heart was beating quickly as his lips moved against Tom's, their desire deepening… But then, quite suddenly, the door to the meeting room burst open.

"They're back, final–"

Harry and Tom moved away from each other as quickly as they could, but as soon as they saw Lestrange and Nott standing at the door, they knew it was too late. Harry couldn't think straight as he looked away from the two Death Eaters, who were shocked and speechless. He didn't know what expression Tom was wearing but he didn't dare look. A few painful seconds passed in silence, before they heard Avery and a few more Death Eaters arriving. They were too jubilant to notice anything odd about the four mute wizards.

"They're here!" Avery informed Harry and Tom gleefully, barging his way past Nott and Lestrange blindly. "The wizard is _well_ pissed, keeps shouting at us all in German."

More of the Death Eaters were entering the room, appearing eager to bring Tom to the captured wizard. Nott and Lestrange were now standing at the back of the group.

"Did Dolohov, Ransom, Macnair, and Gibbon meet any trouble on their way back here?" Tom asked.

"No, not that we know of," Gonson answered.

"Make sure to check they weren't followed."

"Rosier, my brother, and a few others are on that now," said Avery, still smiling.

Tom stood up and Harry did the same, glancing at Tom. His expression was blank and his eyes were averted.

"All of you, bring them in one of the spare halls and wait for me there," Tom instructed.

The ten or so Death Eaters in front of Harry and Tom all turned around, appearing pleased and animated about what might happen by the end of tonight. Before any of them could leave however, Tom said something more.

"Lestrange, Nott, a word please…"

Nott and Lestrange, who had been amongst those most eager to leave the room (for different reasons than Avery or Gonson might expect), both turned to look back at Tom, before giving each other a knowing, apprehensive glance. Harry was tempted to leave the room, but he was too worried about what Tom might be planning to do about the two now terrified Death Eaters. This was the worse day Harry had had in a while…

* * *

**AN: **Rushed update, excuse any typos. I had a rough few weeks…


	52. Delirious

The Death Eaters were leaving more slowly than Harry could take. They were all eager to go and see their first captured follower of Gellert Grindelwald, but they certainly took their time in vacating this meeting room. Many of them were curious as to why Nott and Lestrange were being kept behind by Harry and Tom, but they didn't dare ask any questions. Harry also knew that many of them must have felt that without Tom, seeing the captured follower wouldn't be very interesting, so they weren't very keen about distancing themselves from their leader.

Nott and Lestrange were petrified and perhaps even more apprehensive than Harry was while Tom was unable to stop himself from glaring at them. The last of the leaving Death Eaters were heading out into the corridor outside. Lively talking could be heard for many more painful seconds, but Harry didn't break the increasing silence even as the Death Eaters' footsteps and voices faded away…

Then, quite suddenly, Tom withdrew his wand. The reaction from Nott and Lestrange was immediate; they hastily backed away, their eyes wide in terror. Despite of the calmer countenance Tom had worn moments before, he was blatantly more furious than Harry could have feared.

"Tom–!" Harry began.

"Please," Nott begged, recognising the furious look on Tom's face even if he had rarely experienced the true intensity of it, "we – we promise we won't say anything! Won't – won't let the…"

"You don't have to do anything d-drastic," Lestrange said, taking over when he heard Nott's voice weaken. "We won't tell anyone, nor say a word about it–"

"Oh, but I know you too well, Lestrange," Tom informed the Death Eater through gritted teeth, scrutinizing him. "I know you won't be able to keep such a promise for long. You will let something slip – under the influence of a few drinks, perhaps–"

"I won't," Lestrange swore, his voice even less confident than before, "We won't tell anyone! It will be as though – as though it never happened! We'll easily forget about it!"

"I believe it would be far easier if the others had to merely forget about you," Tom hissed.

"Tom," Harry warned. "If you'd just–"

But Tom wasn't listening. He was edging even closer to the two Death Eaters.

"Trust us," Nott implored. "Please trust us!"

"And why is it that I should trust you, Nott?" Tom inquired, his wand pointed at the Death Eater's face. "Do give me your best reasons, won't you?"

"We managed t-to keep everything a secret at Hogwarts!" Nott reminded him, speaking more bravely than Harry could hope. "We're smart enough to know that your secrets are of – of immeasurable value!"

Tom bared his teeth as if to smile, perhaps finding humour in these words.

"And I'm sure this useless act of loyalty will be reminisced by the others when you're gone."

Without thinking, Harry took a step forwards to stand between Tom and the Death Eaters. Tom lowered his wand and appeared momentarily less angry when he looked at Harry, but his anger returned when he registered that the concern past Harry's exasperation was only for Nott and Lestrange.

"Listen to yourself!" Harry shouted in disbelief. He felt more enraged as he watched Tom's expression turn cold. "How can you think that – that getting rid of them is the only way this can be fixed?"

"It worked in the past, didn't it?" Tom asked, baring his teeth again.

"But they're your _friends!_" Harry shouted. "You can't just start doing these things to people when they're too much of an inconvenience to you, Tom!"

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Tom inquired. "Memory charms? I know how you love to use those, _Jonathan_, but you know better than I what complications we face here."

Harry glared at Tom to hide his unease, not wanting to admit that it would indeed be risky to modify Nott and Lestrange's memories…

As good with memory charms as Tom might be, the magic became more complex and difficult when there was a long history of guesswork leading up to the event that was forgotten. Nott and Lestrange would begin regaining their memories the moment they were reminded of their jokes and theories concerning Harry and Tom being together. There were a lot of things in Tom's land that would trigger their old thoughts, what was more…

"There has to be another way," Harry said, his voice less irked than before.

"There isn't," Tom responded curtly, looking just as annoyed as ever.

Harry tried to think of a good plan, but there wasn't much option. The only reasonable idea that he could think of was to trust the two Death Eaters, but he knew that the chance of Tom going through with this was slim. In spite of the years Tom had spent getting to know Nott and Lestrange, he was unlikely to trust them with a secret this big. Tom wasn't the sort of person to hand out his trust unless he had no other choice…

"Now, if you will let me continue…" Tom said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. He began moving to the left to get a better view of his friends.

"Wait!"

Harry had spoken before Tom could point his wand at the Death Eaters, who seemed unable to move. Harry didn't know what to say, so he ended up inventing his words wildly.

"The others will know you did this the moment they notice Nott and Lestrange are gone," he told Tom, knowing this wasn't strictly true, but not caring. "They'll become more scared of you than they already are and they'll leave this place before you can stop them."

Tom thought about this, appearing to take the suggestion seriously. Harry decided to keep on talking when he saw Tom lower his half-raised wand.

"If you just trust Nott and Lestrange," Harry began, knowing this was their only sane option, "all of this can stay between the four of us. You know that they've already been guessing the truth about us for months now, but they didn't share their theories with the others, did they?"

Nott and Lestrange didn't question how Harry knew about their theories as they watched the conversation attentively, not daring to say a word. Tom was considering Harry's claims a great deal, watching him with interest as his vexation subsided somewhat.

"They're terrified," Harry observed, "too terrified to dare go against your orders. They don't even care about us. It would be a waste to risk so much for something that can be avoided so simply."

Tom seemed to know that all of this was true. He stood for a moment, his wand held less tightly and his face displaying far less anger as his breathing levelled out. Something else also seemed to occur to him, but he didn't share his thoughts with Harry before he turned back to his friends, still furious with them.

"If you ever breath a word about this to the others," Tom said, his tone deadly, much like his stare, "I promise you I will make it my _personal _duty to ensure that you never return to England – never, in fact, leave the ground beneath your feet wherever you are… Have I made this clear?"

"Yes," they said in unison.

"I will know the moment anyone else discovers what you saw tonight," Tom informed them in little over a whisper. "If you lie to me, I will make you deeply regret it."

They were mute, unable to look away. It was only after taking a long moment to read their thoughts when Tom backed up slightly.

"Leave," he spat.

They did so without hesitation and without comment, closing the door behind them hurriedly. Their footsteps suggested they were running as they made their way along the hallway outside. Tom turned around gradually to face Harry, appearing not at all pleased with what he had just done.

"Thank you," Harry said honestly before Tom could speak.

Tom said nothing to this. He watched Harry's expression as though he didn't understand the relief he showed. "I would have felt a lot safer getting rid of them…"

"We're still safe now," Harry assured him. "Even more safe than we would be killing them, probably."

"No one would care if we killed them," Tom stated sourly.

When Harry said nothing to this, Tom thought. His expression suggested that he was unwillingly reassured by his own musings of the situation.

"The only comforting thought is that you and I are good enough liars to stop our other friends from believing a single word Nott and Lestrange say, if it comes to that…"

"That's true," Harry agreed simply.

He knew it would be pointless to remind Tom that Nott and Lestrange were smarter than this anyway, so he was silent. He was so relieved that he had convinced Tom to trust the two Death Eaters; he didn't care how hesitant Tom might be to accept what he had done. Harry wouldn't have been able to handle it if Tom's friends had died because of this…

Something in Harry's expression seemed to interest Tom, because he examined him as though every passing second gave him new things to think about. He began walking towards Harry slowly.

"It will ruin everything if they tell the others…"

"We can't know that," Harry reasoned. "If they fear you this much, it actually makes me wonder if maybe the others would also try and accept us–"

"Don't think for a moment that the others will understand," Tom warned him. His voice wasn't harsh, exactly, but serious.

"Why wouldn't they understand?" Harry asked. "If Nott and Lestrange–"

"We are talking about the same wizards who, in all my years at Hogwarts, were so determined to attack homosexual students that they left a series of wizards in the hospital wing for weeks at a time, not caring whether they were caught. Often the same students were attacked more than once. These sorts of crimes were the type that people like Slughorn heard about most often… not that he was truly bothered by it, in truth."

Harry's eyebrows creased in concern. "You never told me that before."

"I tried to forget it," Tom admitted. He was standing closer to Harry now. "The idea haunted me through all my years at Hogwarts… It was one of the few types of attacks I didn't initiate or encourage my friends to do."

"Yet Nott and Lestrange…"

"Will be more than willing to tell the others about us if they are repulsed enough."

Harry felt a great wave of despondency when he heard Tom speak these words. He could see a look upon Tom's face that he felt partially reflected his own while they dwelt upon this truth…

Over the years Harry had heard many jokes and insults from the Death Eaters relating to their pure abhor of homosexuals in any context, but in general he had learn to ignore it and forget it the best he could. Harry and Tom rarely spoke in length about the viciousness that many wizards – be them Death Eaters or not – displayed towards thought of homosexuals, but Harry understood it was something that bothered the both of them constantly on some level.

Tom seemed to be thinking about the same thing as Harry, but he appeared more frustrated the more he thought about it. His breathing was more strained as visible anger filled him. His hands curled into fists while he averted his cold eyes from Harry.

"We cannot let Nott and Lestrange carry around this secret," he decided, turning away. "We should bring them back here at once."

"Tom, don't do that," Harry implored, suddenly alarmed.

"They can't be trusted," Tom stated. "I don't care if I have to murder them in front of the others, we cannot allow them to say anything. We will lose everything that we have!"

"You can't bring them back here!" Harry exclaimed, panicking.

Tom wasn't listening. "I shouldn't have hesitated in stopping them. I should have punished them, at least, when I had the perfect cha–"

Harry grabbed Tom's arm and forced him to stop, not knowing what else he could do.

Tom was still irked as he looked at Harry, but his anxiety about their secret being known seemed to make him desire Harry more than anything. They looked at each other for a split second while Tom tried to shake Harry off, but Harry wouldn't let him go. Tom gave up trying to fight, and in a whirl of trying to gain control over his emotions, Harry suddenly felt Tom's lips pressing against his own, their bodies staggering in the shock of a fervent embrace.

Tom pressed Harry backwards in a heated mix of frustration and pure desire and hope that he would be able to stay with Harry forever. All Harry could do was kiss Tom eagerly, feeling his back hit the wall. Tom's every movement was rough and longing and Harry enjoyed it greatly. He breathed heavily while he pulled Tom closer…

Their kiss eventually ended due to the knowledge that they couldn't continue this here, but Tom stood close to Harry when this happened, debating whether he could really bring himself to leave. Harry listened to the pace of their breathing, his eyes closed and his desire to kiss Tom again very strong.

"Well, it's good to see we learnt from our previous mistake of the night," Harry murmured jokingly.

Tom gave a soft breath of laughter close to him, kissing his neck. "No one would find us in here again…"

Harry decided not to mention that they could easy he found here. After a time, they slid away from each other slowly, unwillingly.

"Let us go home and forget about all of this," Tom suggested, as he gazed at Harry in craving. "We'll spend the night together…"

"You have to go and meet the follower that Ransom and the others brought here," Harry reminded him, surprised that he had forgotten this. "All of your friends are waiting for you."

Tom didn't appear very pleased about this reminder. He didn't seem to want to leave…

"You should go," Harry said. "This is the first follower of Grindelwald we've found."

Tom reached up a hand to caress the side of Harry's face, his long fingers feeling the texture of Harry's hair. "Will you wait for me at home?" he asked softly.

"Of course," Harry whispered, smiling. He was glad that Tom understood how he didn't want to see Grindelwald's follower at all. "I'll be at your house."

Tom kissed him gently, and soon they left.

–X–

March faded slowly into April, bringing with it only marginally more bearable weather in Tom's land. Harry found himself plummeting into lower spirits while a growing number of Grindelwald's followers were tracked down and dragged here for questioning. He didn't know how many people Mulciber – and quite a few other Death Eaters – must have killed by this point, but he tried not to think about it in general, because he had began fearing this too in the nightmares that so recently haunted him…

Despite feeling healthier than he had in months, Harry couldn't quite shake off his emotional struggle even while he relished in the improvement of his physical state. He couldn't sleep nor concentrate on very much while he knew wizards were being tortured and questioned in the Death Eaters' buildings. He knew it was for the better and knew that these wizards deserved it, but he couldn't quite get his head around the idea of murdering…

Harry took a deep breath to steady himself as he leant above the table in his kitchen, waiting for water to boil for tea. His eyes were closed. He had barely slept, but he knew that the sun would rise in less than an hour or so. He was alone in his house because Tom had been with the Death Eaters and a follower last night, gaining more information on Grindelwald's people. Harry didn't know whether he wished Tom was here or whether he was glad he wasn't…

It was very hard to explain to Tom why he, Harry, couldn't sleep. No matter how much Tom tried to understand it, he didn't seem able to grasp that Harry suffered nightmares about what happened to him at Grindelwald's fortress because it still stressed him emotionally. Tom couldn't seem to fully understand that although Harry felt completely healthy physically, the idea of followers being brought here made him anxious and troubled him. But then again, Harry felt as though he himself didn't fully understand it either…

Tom had thought at first that the nightmares were happening because Harry wished to seek revenge, but Harry said that wasn't the case. Then Tom thought that perhaps Harry feared death, but Harry explained hastily it wasn't that either. His last guess was that Harry's mind was dwelling on how best to defeat Grindelwald's people even while he slept, but even when this too was denied Tom couldn't seem to refrain from asking 'why?' when Harry told him about his prolonged fear of how he had been treated.

The kettle was boiling. Opening his eyes, Harry headed towards the stove, extinguishing the flame and levitating the kettle with a silent swish of his wand. He turned to the counter behind him, ready to make the tea properly, when he caught a glimpse of the reflection in the window. Emeric was standing behind him.

Before Harry knew it, his magic failed and with a deafening '_crash!_' the kettle smashed to the floor, causing hot water to fly in all directions. Harry's wand was already out when he turned around; ready to curse Emeric before he could move… but Emeric was nowhere to be seen.

Harry's heart pounded in his ears as his eyes darted around the room frantically. He held his wand up, ready to fight. There was no way Emeric could have slipped out of the room before Harry had turned around. He had been staring right at Harry through the reflection, standing just behind him…

"_Homenum revelio_," Harry whispered.

No one else was in the house. Harry wondered if he had seen Emeric outside, but he knew he hadn't. It seemed highly unlikely that Harry could mistake someone being behind him if they had really been outside. The glass in the window reflected the kitchen like a mirror with the dim lighting. Harry reminded himself that Emeric couldn't have gotten in this land without either Tom or the Death Eaters knowing about it immediately, anyway. The only explanation was that he hadn't really been here. He hadn't been real…

Harry stared around the room in concern, unable to believe that he had imagined Emeric. He knew he probably hadn't slept enough, or was worrying too much, but this didn't make him feel at all better. He realised that he had been vaguely burnt by the hot water that fell. At this, he decided to clear away the mess. He wasn't eager to drink anything by the time he levitated the empty kettle back to the stove. His hands were shaking…

Without really thinking about it, Harry left the kitchen, deciding that he didn't want to be alone in this house any longer. He grabbed a travelling cloak as he hurried towards the front door. It was cold outside, but he drew the cloak closely around him as he walked. The sun was almost rising. After about a minute of wandering he was getting closer to Tom's house. Before he reached the house, however, he noticed something odd. The Dragons were making more noise than usual…

This alarmed Harry at first, but gradually he felt as though there was something calm in the Dragon's loud, distant voices. It was a beautiful sound the more he heard it. Harry understood somehow that Tom was with the creatures. He wouldn't be training them this early, but Harry felt as though he would be there… after a moment of walking towards the Dragons, Harry found he was right.

The first rays of sunlight could be seen shining above the forest that framed the horizon to the east. Grey fog obscured most of the scene in what might have otherwise been a light blue morning, but this only added to the beauty of the land. The Dragons loomed tens of feet high even while they rested, appearing tired as their gold and green scales glittered in the early morning light. Tom was watching them peacefully. Harry walked towards him, slipping his hand in Tom's when they were close.

"Did you not sleep well?" Tom asked softly, noting Harry's weariness.

"Not at all," Harry admitted.

Tom examined him lightly. Their cold hands were warming with the aid of the other. "You seem nervous about something," he remarked.

"It's nothing…"

Tom didn't look convinced as he gazed at Harry. "You can tell me about it, whatever it is."

Harry knew this was true. Tom wasn't exactly going to judge him, after all…

"I thought I saw Emeric at my house," Harry began. His words sped up a little when Tom showed signs of interruption, "But it wasn't really him, of course… I must have imagined it."

Tom seemed tempted to react in a worried way, but he refrained from doing so. He was placid. He took a moment to think about it.

"You need more sleep."

"I know…"

"We should go back inside…"

The sounds and the views of the early morning seemed to want to contradict Tom's suggestion. Some of the mist was disappearing as the sun rose slowly, shedding light on the cobwebs in the grass and on the dark scales of the Dragons. There was distant movement in the trees that caught their attention. The movement didn't last long, however.

"There has been a noticeable lack of birds here, ever since we went into hiding," Tom mentioned quietly. His eyes carefully scanned the forest that they partially owned. "Birds cannot return here once they leave, of course…"

"We should bring more in," Harry suggested, smiling softly.

"Or better yet conjure them," Tom said, returning the smile at the thought. After watching Harry for a little while longer he added, "But for now, let us return to my house."

Harry didn't object. He was sure that he would feel a lot safer falling asleep if Tom was nearby. It would be good to get some rest…

–X–

But even after days of rest Harry wasn't sure how he felt about Grindelwald's followers. No matter what Tom said about the followers deserving death for threatening it, Tom and the Death Eaters weren't exactly fighting for their lives when they captured wizards in small numbers, killing them after cruel interrogation. Harry had to question often whether it was really any better to murder someone because of circumstance…

Harry felt guilty of many levels. Tom was doing all of this for him, after all. He was tracking down these people through sheer determination, linking details together and trying to get even more information on other wizards who wanted Harry dead. Surely Harry shouldn't feel sick when he read the minds of the murdering Death Eaters, catching glimpses of bloodstains on their floors and hearing screaming if he was anywhere near their buildings on some nights…

"These people aren't innocent," Tom reminded Harry one cold, rainy evening. They had just left another meeting with the Death Eaters, but Harry wasn't gone soon enough to miss the cries of the newest follower, who spat words in angry, hysterical German between the curses being used by the Death Eaters in the corridor outside.

"I know," Harry said quietly. "I know they aren't innocent…"

The Death Eaters were bringing the follower to Tom. This large room, which was used for practicing magic in during the day, also happened to be the perfect place for questioning Grindelwald's people in. Harry tried to think of an excuse to leave when he saw the struggling man in the Death Eaters' grip. He didn't think he recognised this particular wizard, but the wizard seemed to know exactly who he was.

"Dolohov," Tom ordered, "if you will…"

Dolohov shot a spell at the wizard as he attempted to lunge at Harry. The spell seemed to hurt him, but he kept squirming and laughing madly, trying even harder to fight.

"He was just telling us about some of the crimes he's committed," Gonson informed Tom. "He seems to have given up trying to withhold information in general…"

"What did he say?"

"He keeps going on about some meeting place. I don't know if he's speaking sanely or not… You're probably better off talking to him in German."

Tom merely inclined his head, his eyes wandering back to the follower.

"You don't know vat you are doing," the follower said in a hushed voice the moment his eyes met Tom's. "You don't know who you are fighting…"

Harry watched the follower closely. He seemed absolutely mad while he fidgeted in the Death Eaters' grasp, his eyes continuously darting back to Harry, no matter who else he looked at…

"You are mistaken," Tom responded quietly, as he took slow, deliberate steps towards the wizard. "I know precisely what I am doing, who I am fighting… the fact that you are here proves this much, does it not?"

Some of the Death Eaters sneered and snickered, but the follower merely spat on the ground, earning him a dose of the Cruciatus Curse from Tom.

Harry left only a minute later. Without much effort, Tom managed to make the follower tell him exactly where more of Grindelwald's people were hiding. He sent Avery, Macnair, Gibbon, and Lestrange off to investigate the location without a moment of hesitation. From what Harry later heard, the Death Eaters were both satisfied and thrilled with how the night had ended.

–X–

Harry was terrified that he would see Emeric in his house again. He knew Emeric had never truly been here at all and he knew that it was only due to tired delirium that he imagined Emeric standing behind him, but he couldn't stop his fear nonetheless. It had felt so real seeing him in the window's reflection…

Harry ended up spending a lot more time at Tom's house, feeling too afraid to be embarrassed about craving constant company. Tom didn't seem to mind Harry staying with him – he appeared to quite like the excuse, in fact. Occasionally they would both stay at Harry's house to break the pattern, but Harry didn't mind that… so long as he didn't have to enter the kitchen alone.

It was late one evening when they sat together in Tom's living room, conversing about a number of things concerning the Death Eaters, Grindelwald's people, and how Nott and Lestrange had been acting lately. Tom didn't seem happy about trusting his two friends even though a solid month had passed with them keeping their word. Harry could barely believe it.

"It is irrelevant whether or not they have yet told anyone," Tom stated firmly as they sat in front of a quiet fire. "What matters is that they might tell the others in the future. No matter how long they hold their silence for, we cannot guarantee that they will be loyal forever."

"But they're doing well in keeping our secret," Harry reminded Tom; unable to understand how he was still worried. "Surely that's enough to prove they're reliable?"

"It proves that that they _have_ been reliable, not that they _will_ be in the future."

Harry shook his head, gaping at Tom. "They're not that careless, Tom – nor that stupid!"

Tom didn't respond to this.

"How long will it take for you to trust them properly?" Harry asked, hoping this might make Tom promise to trust Nott and Lestrange one day.

"Trust is a dangerous thing," Tom remarked, avoiding the question.

"But you trust me, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Tom said, "but this is because I love you."

"You don't have to love someone to trust them," Harry remarked.

Harry saw Tom's eyebrows crease in slight confusion. After a moment, Tom said quietly, "Well love certainly makes it easier…"

As Harry watched Tom, he began to wonder whether Tom thought of trust and love as the same thing, due to the fact that he had never loved nor trusted anyone before. For eighteen years he had cared for no one, connected to no one, and was devoted to no one in any way. Harry had changed that, and for the first time he wondered whether this is why Tom trusted almost nobody…

"Trust and love are two completely different things," Harry mentioned quietly.

"How so?"

"Well, it would be pretty hard to explain their differences," Harry began unsurely, wondering whether Tom would even understand this. "Since there are so many different levels to both trusting and loving someone, it would be quite hard to point out every difference…"

Tom's look of slight confusion had been replaced with a look of interest. "What do you mean by different levels?" he asked slowly.

There was a pause.

Harry knew that Tom wasn't an unintelligent person in any way, so it was a slight surprise to him when Tom evidently didn't understand what he was saying. Harry supposed, after taking Tom's past into consideration, that his confusion was only to be expected, but it was still a strange thing. Harry decided to launch into an explanation of his thoughts, wanting to be understood.

"Well, obviously people don't love their friends in the same way that they love their partners," Harry pointed out, "and a lot of people don't love certain friends in the same way they love other ones. I suppose it must be sort of the same with families…"

He didn't appear to be doing a very good job at explaining this because Tom appeared more confused again.

"Think about it this way," Harry pressed on, "You like your friends for a whole number of reasons, don't you?"

"Yes," Tom answered. "They're useful in many ways."

"But even past their usefulness," Harry said, "you obviously must like them all as people in different ways."

"A few of them have their good qualities…"

"And those qualities determine how much you like and trust each friends, right?"

Tom nodded once slowly.

Harry allowed him to think about this.

"So," Tom began slowly, "you're saying that how much I trust my friends proves how much I care about them?"

"Yes," Harry said.

Realising what he was agreeing to, he shook his head.

"Wait, no. I mean, the fact that you like your friends in different ways proves that there are different extents to love."

"I don't love my friends," Tom assessed quickly, as though the idea repulsed him.

"You must in some way," Harry said, "They're your friends."

Tom looked at Harry as though he was cautious that this might be some sort of test, a trick.

"Think about it," Harry urged, dreading the fact that he couldn't explain himself well at all, "If something was to happen to one of them, how would you feel?"

Tom frowned. "Annoyed that they failed in the task I set them."

"What if they didn't die because of something you asked them to do?" Harry asked. "What if they died because they were… murdered at a Quidditch match?"

"Well, they shouldn't be wasting their time watching Quidditch," Tom answered, looking slightly annoyed at the mere idea. "They deserved it if they choose to engage in such mindless activity rather than broaden their minds through knowledge and so on."

Harry had to refrain from mentioning that watching Quidditch hardly meant that people deserved to be killed. He decided to give up on trying to give Tom examples of love via the Death Eaters. That was a useless endeavour, when he thought about it.

"Look, what I mean is that trust _is_ the same as love in the sense that it changes with every person, but that doesn't make it the same thing."

Again Tom appeared dubious to believe his words.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"People love too carelessly, it seems," Tom mentioned quietly. "You are the only person I love and the only person I care about…"

Harry felt a twinge of sadness when he heard these words. He wished that Tom had at least one other person in his life to love in some way so he could understand that he, Harry, wasn't the only other human who could understand him. It was undeniable that Tom had never had friends before and – as Dumbledore had once suggested – nor has he ever truly wanted any…

If this is what Tom was like while Harry was with him, Harry could barely imagine what he could have been like if he hadn't fallen in love. Harry couldn't refrain from reflecting that Tom might have never experienced the need to care for, trust, or even properly listen and connect to another living creature…

"Only caring about me is probably why you can't understand this," Harry told Tom, his voice quiet.

Tom contemplated this. "Have you loved other people?" he asked, appearing to dislike the idea.

"Of course I have," Harry answered truthfully. "I used to have friends that I loved – in a far different way than I love you."

"Is that why you refuse to call my friends your friends?" Tom asked, the idea appearing important to him. "Because you don't love them?"

"No," Harry responded, thinking about it for only a second. "I refuse to call them my friends because I neither love nor know them."

Tom gazed into Harry's eyes, trying to make sense of it. "You've seen their minds," he said.

Harry smiled sadly. "But not their hearts…"

A moment passed in silence. Eventually Harry realised that someone was knocking at the door. Tom was reluctant to do anything as he dwelt on Harry's words.

"You should answer it," Harry advised.

Tom stood up reluctantly, not saying a word. When he turned away Harry got up too. He followed Tom, but let him walk further ahead. When Tom opened the front door, they found Nott standing on his doorstep.

"What is it?" Tom asked shortly.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Nott said, "but there's something I need to bring to your attention…"

"Do carry on."

Nott took a deep breath, before saying, "Avery, Gibbon, Macnair, and Lestrange, who you sent to Germany two days ago, are hours late now."

"A few hours of delay is nothing to worry about," Tom remarked after not much thought. "Our friends likely found nothing, thus didn't think to send anyone here quickly. They might have even stopped on their way back to drink and so on."

"I've thought of that," Nott mentioned bravely, "but Lestrange gave up drinking ever since you mentioned how he might say something if he was intoxicated."

"I didn't mean that literally," Tom said, annoyed. "It was a mere suggestion for an example of his weakest times."

"The thing is though, Macnair doesn't drink either. Gibbon does, but he doesn't have any power over anyone."

"Your point being?"

"Lestrange and Macnair would never be convinced by Avery and Gibbon to stop for a drink. They're the ones in charge. It doesn't make sense that they would be late."

"I assure you, they are doubtlessly taking a slow trip back here," Tom said. "It is nothing to worry about."

Nott was close to prolonging his argument, but he didn't seem to know what to say.

"I shall give them a few days to get back here," Tom informed the Death Eater. "Until then, there are other things I have to deal with."

Nott nodded, but said nothing.

"Goodnight," Tom said.

"Goodnight…"

Tom closed the door when Nott left. He turned to Harry.

"I don't understand why he would bother us about such a useless thing…"

Tom began walking across the room to lead Harry to his living room once more.

"He might be right," Harry mentioned idly.

"He isn't right," Tom stated. "Knowing Avery and Gibbon, they've probably convinced themselves and the others that I wouldn't mind a day's delay for them to relax – and they're right."

"I suppose so," Harry commented. He was of no true opinion to this situation, in full honesty. They entered the living room again.

This room had a surprisingly comfortable feel to it. The curtains had been drawn and the two or three lit torches shone a soft light against the stone walls, as well as the high wooden beams above them. The large fireplace warmed the entire room easily. Harry and Tom sat in the same seats as before, close together upon a comfortable dark green couch.

"I still don't think you should be so impatient with Nott," Harry commented. "He knows you have a lot to worry about, so I don't blame him for wanting to remind you that Lestrange and the others are late."

"He needn't remind me of anything," Tom stated, appearing vaguely annoyed. Harry wondered if he was just being bias towards Nott. "When the four of our 'missing' friends return home tomorrow, I'm sure Nott will forget he was ever worried about it."

Harry said nothing, not truly bothered by the idea in full honesty… But Avery, Gibbon, Macnair, and Lestrange didn't return home the next day, or the day after, or the day after that…

* * *

**Dear Readers:** I know this chapter isn't great, but I assure you that I have a back-to-normal and more well-written chapter waiting to be Beta Read, to be published within the next day or so. I actually ended up splitting up this chapter (which was ten thousand words) into two chapters, due to lack of time right now. I feel so stupid for letting another three weeks pass before this chapter, but again: the next chapter will be better and published soon.


	53. Nott's Theory

Tom remained unconcerned that Avery, Gibbon, Macnair and Lestrange were missing no matter how many times he was reminded of their continued absence. Whenever Harry brought the subject up, Tom would dismiss the idea of it being a problem, reminding him of the countless other things they had to deal with within this land. Harry found himself becoming distracted by his own worries after a time. Tom was finally allowing him to partially help with Dragon training, so he had even less time to spare thought for the problem concerning the missing Death Eaters…

When a week had passed since Avery, Gibbon, Macnair, and Lestrange had been sent away to investigate the hideout in Germany, Nott decided to do something more about it. Tom was busy training some of the other Death Eaters while Harry was idly making his way out of the Death Eaters' building. Nott took this chance to speak to Harry quietly, evidently hoping he would be able to get to Tom.

"Jonathan," Nott called from across the corridor, "I need to talk to you…"

Harry's pace slowed to a stop when he heard these words. Nott appeared a little apprehensive, but he was blatantly forcing himself to act braver than he felt in an attempt to convey this was a serious matter.

Harry felt as though Nott's timing was quite good; he, Harry, was in a better mood than usual because he felt more involved with Tom's work while he was able to help train the Dragons. The fact that he didn't have to interrogate anyone nor join in with many Dark Arts classes made him even more joyous. He hadn't worried about much in the past week or so…

"What do you need to talk about?" Harry asked, unsure whether he felt ready to explain his relationship with Tom, if that was the case.

"I'm worried about the four wizards Tom send off to Germany," Nott stated, not dawdling at all in conveying this.

"Oh, right…"

"It's been a week since they were supposed to return," Nott observed, keen to make Harry understand how important this was. "I can't just let Tom ignore it for longer when Avery, Lestrange, Gibbon and Macnair could be in danger."

"I'm not just a weak point you can use whenever Tom won't listen, you know" Harry informed Nott, in too much of a good mood to say these words at all harshly.

"I know you aren't," Nott said, "but this is too important for me to just disregard, especially when Tom is so busy all the time."

"Why do you think something bad has happened to Lestrange and the others?" Harry asked. Upon hearing his question, he added, "Past the fact that they've been gone for a week, I mean."

"You didn't see that wizard who told Tom about that hideout in Germany while he was being tortured," Nott mentioned. "He was absolutely mad. He kept going on about completely irrational and impossible things. None of us wanted to trust him or believe anything he said, but Tom didn't see what the problem was."

"So you think this wizard was lying about the hideout?" Harry asked.

"No," Nott answered. "I think he was just really eager to get some of our people there…"

"As a trap," Harry finished. It wasn't a question.

"So will you tell Tom this?" Nott pleaded.

Harry didn't have to think about it for long. "Yeah, I'll tell him," he promised.

Nott smiled, which lightened his otherwise deeply anxious expression. Down the hall, the Death Eaters were filing out of the room where they practiced and learnt Dark Arts. It seemed a little earlier than usual… Harry supposed that he might as well go and tell Tom about Nott's theory now. Before he could leave, however, Nott spoke again.

"I don't care about this because I care about Lestrange or anything, just so you know," he said in a low voice, so the other Death Eaters wouldn't hear him. "We're just friends."

"I understand," Harry said, not offended by Nott mentioning this. After a moment of thought, Harry decided to add, "But people like Tom and I don't have to avoid having friends because of what we are."

"I didn't mean that," Nott said quickly.

"I know," Harry said, "but I'm just making sure you understand this. I mean, I can't exactly say Tom is a good example of having friends in any context…"

Nott seemed to want to grin at this, but he was unsure whether he was allowed to. When Harry smirked he took it as a sign that it was indeed a joke, rather than a serious reflection on the fact that Tom seemed to greatly dislike the people he surrounded himself with and called 'friends'.

"It must be weird, being close to him," Nott said slowly, again as though he was unsure whether he should be talking to Harry so freely.

"I know what you mean," Harry admitted honestly. "He definitely didn't seem like the type of person I'd end up staying with in that way for four years…"

"So, you got together at Hogwarts then?"

The Death Eaters along the corridor seemed to be talking hurriedly about something.

"Yes," Harry answered, not seeing the harm in telling the truth by this point.

Nott seemed to want to ask Harry a million more questions out of pure curiosity, but he was still unsure whether he was allowed to. Harry couldn't say he was surprised. Nott had spent the last four years or so learning that to offend Harry was to directly offend Tom as well. Any slip in the wrong direction could make Tom annoyed, which Nott feared deeply.

Before Harry could mention that he didn't mind the questions, Rosier was walking towards them.

"I'm surprised you aren't crammed in the doorframes with all the others," Rosier mentioned, talking mostly to Nott.

"Why, what's going on?" Nott asked.

"We just captured two followers," Rosier informed him. "Two followers, moreover, who don't seem at all unwilling to be here, for once."

"Why aren't they unwilling to be here?" Harry inquired.

"That's what everyone's wondering…"

Before the three of them could do more than think about this silently, Dolohov, Mulciber, Gonson, and at least ten other Death Eaters were bringing two unrecognised wizards into the building. They were heading straight for the room where Tom taught the Dark Arts and Harry, Nott, and Rosier followed them there.

"We found these two circling 'round the general area," Dolohov informed Tom thickly as he helped throw one of the followers onto the ground. "Seemed proper eager to get in here, I'd say."

"Thank you," Tom murmured, before turning to the two kneeling wizards before him. Harry walked further into the room with Nott and Rosier, moving ahead of them to stand closer to Tom. Tom seemed to be asking the followers something in German, to which they gave no German reply.

"Our names are not of importance," a follower with dirty blond hair told Tom, smiling evilly. Harry thought he recognised the Wizard's face slightly… but he supposed he probably saw him in passing at Grindelwald's fortress. "Ve are only here to give you a message…"

"And what might that message be?"

"Ve have your people," the second, dark-haired follower spat. "Four of zem, to be exact…"

Harry glanced at Nott, who was staring at him from the other side of Tom. They realised simultaneously that this follower must be referring to Avery, Macnair, Gibbon and Lestrange… Nott was horrified.

"Zey are alive und vell enough," the first follower continued, "but ve vill not keep zem for longer than a few days."

"I'm guessing that your leaders want me to make an exchange for them, since they are all still alive?" Tom suggested, his tone light despite the seriousness of the situation. "One wizard given for four wizards back, perhaps?"

"Zat vould be correct…"

"I believe that is a fair enough trade…" Tom smiled slightly, apparently amused as a thought struck him. "Dolohov, seize Mulciber at once."

Mulciber didn't seem to realise that this was a joke; he stared at Tom in bewilderment. "Why me–?"

"Ve do not vant just any vizard, as I am sure you know," the dark-haired follower clarified. "Ve seek only a vizard who commonly goes under ze name '_Jonathan Smith_'."

Over two dozen pairs of eyes found their way to Harry at these words. Tom turned to look at him slowly, evidently contemplating something important past his carefree expression.

"Well, as I'm sure _you_ know," Tom voiced casually, "that's quite a bit less of a fair trade…"

Tom looked as though he was quite enjoying himself, but Harry wasn't sure whether this was from true confidence or the mere will to appear less of a threat. Harry hoped Tom had a plan, at any rate…

"You vill let your friends die for the safety of zis one vizard?" the blond follower inquired, pulling a false expression of confusion. "You value zis friend higher than four other friends combined?"

Harry felt the atmosphere shift a little at this question. By suggesting loudly that Tom valued Harry above all of his other friends, this follower was attempting to force the Death Eaters into believing that they were worthless in Tom's eyes compared to Harry. Although much of this was in fact true, Harry could tell that Tom didn't at all enjoy the risk of his friends realising this…

"Who is to say that your people will murder my four friends so soon?" Tom asked, a sharp edge of annoyance in his voice that might not have gone unnoticed by everyone. "Who is to say that I won't merely attack your people for my friends back, knowing where they are and how long they will be there for?"

"Ve have thought of zis," the dark-haired follower said. "You must send us back to our people so ve can arrange for a meeting time on your choice. Otherwise, neither group vill know where to meet, thus your friends vill be kept hidden securely. If you kill us here, or do not give a response to our people by tomorrow, your people vill be killed vithout hesitation."

Harry knew Tom hadn't meant his last words anyway. Tom was merely convincing the Death Eaters that he cared about him, because attempting to attack Grindelwald's people for Avery, Gibbon, Mulciber, and Lestrange so bluntly would be very risky. Harry hoped and believed that Tom had a better plan than this… or he would think of a better plan, anyway.

"It appears as though you thought this through well," Tom muttered dryly, appearing somewhat cynical for the first time. This made Harry feel uneasy. He hoped Tom's gloominess was an act…

No one spoke for a moment. The followers seemed to be waiting for Tom to make a decision, but Tom merely began pacing the room, thinking deeply. Grindelwald's followers got impatient while the silence continued.

"You vill have to decide quickly what you vish to do," the blond follower pressed. "It iz getting late and ve are a long vay avay from Germany."

"A few minutes will make no difference," Tom stated, appearing not at all anxious about the follower's words.

"If you give Jonathan up, zis fight between us vill end and ve vill not bother you any longer," the blond follower insisted. "One viward for your freedom and safety – fair enough, no?"

"Well, I don't believe we would be fighting at all if I thought merely handing over Jonathan would end this," Tom murmured, still appearing mostly lost in thought.

"Vat do you mean?"

Tom did not answer. He took many paces back and forth, before asking, "So you're telling me that your people would stop fighting us if we merely handed Jonathan over to you?"

"Yes," the dark-haired follower answered.

Harry wondered if this was just mindless conversation, an easy distraction for Tom while he attempted to think of a plan. His evident pessimism confused Harry, who much preferred Tom's now lost false ignorance.

"What might you do with him, if I were to hand him over?" Tom asked. "Interrogate him? Murder him? Turn him into one of you?"

The followers were silent. Tom didn't seem to really expect an answer anyway.

"Despite what you wish to do with him, the only question that remains is: what do you wish to do with the rest of us?"

"Ve vill leave you alone," the blond wizard said again, without hesitation. "Ve do not care for any of you."

"Which is a curious suggestion," Tom muttered. "It makes me wonder why you don't merely leave Jonathan here. You know that he isn't going to inform Ministries about you. Even if he did, you have vague information on us now, while Jonathan has very little information on you in general… Very little information on Grindelwald, too…"

The followers didn't respond to this either. They appeared a little irked at the mention of their leader, however.

Harry knew Tom was suggesting that Grindelwald's people were more interested in his Dark Arts group than anything. Tom was blatantly curious about whether this was a trap for him and the Death Eaters, rather than just an attempt for Grindelwald's people to murder Harry for the little information he might have. When Tom didn't speak these theories aloud, however, the followers seemed determined to keep him away from such thoughts.

"You have no choice but to give us Jonathan if it is that you vish to have your friends back," the dark-haired wizard reminded Tom bluntly. "Zis needless talking and stalling is getting us nowhere. You will be free as soon as we 'ave him…"

Tom's pacing slowed marginally, then fully. He turned to face the two wizards on the ground, a contemplative expression upon his face. He stared for perhaps a minute, but Harry couldn't imagine what he might be thinking.

"You will leave me and all my other friends completely alone if I agree to give you Jonathan?" Tom inquired.

"Yes," the dark-haired follower swore. He was staring right at Tom, which made Harry wonder whether these followers knew Occlumency. "You vill be entirely left alone."

"Are your people willing to swear it?"

Harry saw some of the Death Eaters cast each other glances.

"Yes, zey vill swear it, if zey must."

Tom frowned, apparently beginning to believe that this was the best option they had. Without looking away from the followers, he said, "Then you leave me no choice… Dolohov, seize Jonathan."

Harry didn't think he heard Tom correctly at first, but the expressions of the twenty or so Death Eaters around him told him that Tom was actually doing this. Harry was confused, unable to believe it. He stared, but Tom wouldn't look back at him. This had to be a joke, or some part of Tom's plan…

"Dolohov," Tom repeated more slowly, looking up at the unmoving Death Eater, "that was an order."

"B-but," Dolohov stammered, "you can't tell me you're really gonna just–"

"It is not for you to decide what I can and cannot do, Antonin," Tom said coldly, shocking Dolohov with the use of his first name for the first time in years. "Do as you are told."

The followers on the ground were smirking slightly. They were obviously very satisfied that Tom was agreeing to give Harry up.

Dolohov was moving away from the blond follower gradually. Harry felt his pulse begin to quicken, even while he reminded himself over and over again that Tom couldn't possibly be doing this seriously. Yet Tom was making a convincing show of his sincerity as he avoided eye contact with Harry…

"You can't be serious," Harry blurted out before he could help himself. Dolohov slowed down at his words, appearing even less willing to seize him. Tom didn't seem to be reacting at all, however. "You – you just can't do this. How can you believe what they're saying? How can you not understand –?"

"There's no point in pretending this wasn't an option, Jonathan," Tom said, still staring down at the floor as though none of this truly bothered him. "I've given my best efforts in trying to protect you, but at the expense of four others… there is little I can do."

Dolohov took more steps towards Harry, but he still appeared unwilling to get too close to him, in case Tom changed his mind.

"Don't be so shy, Dolohov," Tom told the Death Eater, "although Jonathan is a dear friend of ours, understand that by following my orders you are saving four others…"

"But I mean," Dolohov began, speaking as carefully as he could, "John is one of our best people and, I dunno, I thought–"

"There is no point arguing," Tom interrupted, his tone still apathetic. "Unless of course you find yourself growing fonder and fonder of Grindelwald's people. In that case, you have my permission to apprehend yourself – or I'll get Mulciber to do it for you, if you'd prefer for the full affect."

Harry heard a few of the Death Eaters laugh lightly as Dolohov turned away from Tom, bracing himself. He didn't look at Harry and didn't move yet. Harry didn't know what to do. He was confused by the expression that crossed Tom's face at the sound of his friends' laughter. He appeared almost inspired…

"I daresay Grindelwald's people would be more than happy to take you off my hands," Tom continued lazily, evidently tormenting Dolohov for mere amusement. "It might be somewhat of a relief, especially since sacrificing two for the price of four is still far enough."

"I'm doing it, alright?" Dolohov mumbled, still averting his eyes. Harry wondered for the first time whether Dolohov was merely scared to try and attack him, since he, Harry, was quite a bit stronger.

More of the Death Eaters were snickering. Perhaps as a result of this, Tom turned to face Harry for the first time. Harry stared at Tom, trying harder to understand why he was doing all of this. Before he could do much more than watch him carefully, however, Tom decided to speak.

"_Resist, Harry_." were his only words.

Harry was confused for a moment, before he realised that Tom was spoken in Parseltongue, far too quietly for any of the amused Death Eaters to hear. For the first time, Harry felt his heart soar: Tom had a plan and this was a part of it. Without really thinking, but whilst knowing it was the right thing to do, Harry withdrew his wand.

"_Stupefy!_" he shouted, aiming the spell at Dolohov with a furious swish of his wand.

Perhaps as a result of Harry's hidden rapture, Dolohov went flying halfway across the room, crashing into Mulciber and nearly hitting the two followers of Grindelwald on his way.

Harry then pointed his wand at Tom before the Death Eaters could do more than gasp in shock. Taking a few steps back and seeing the Death Eaters around him move away, Harry began pretending to care more about this, as Tom had ordered him to.

"You can't make me go back to those people," Harry said, rearranging his expression to suggest that he feared Tom was being serious. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what on earth Tom had planned…

"Jonathan, you really must understand that this is for the best," Tom said silkily, smiling softly as he talked. Harry saw Tom's hand edging slowly for the wand in his pocket, but he pretended not to notice.

"How is this for the best for anyone?" Harry demanded, glaring at Tom determinedly. "All they're going to do is attack you anyway when they have me – you know this! They'll just kill the rest of you for the hell of it! Giving me back to them will only put you in more danger!"

"I believe what they did to you might have gone to your head a little, Jonathan," Tom dismissed with a humorous air. The Death Eaters seemed unsure what they should do to help Tom, in fear of Harry attacking. "Though I can't say you'll have to suffer much more in the future, considering their patience is somewhat limited, doubtlessly."

Harry was about to find a retort to this, but someone else spoke before he could.

"Zis is not a joke," the blond follower said slowly, confused by the way Tom was acting.

"Well of course it isn't," Tom responded swiftly. His smile broadened. "I do believe that my name would have to be something closer to '_Gellert Grindelwald_' if anything concerning my followers was to be considered a joke."

The Death Eaters couldn't stop themselves from laughing loudly when they heard Tom say this. Harry didn't know how he was supposed to act. He glanced around at Tom's friends, then down at the followers who still rested upon the floor. When he turned back to Tom, he saw Tom's wand pointed straight at him.

"Expellia–" he began in shock.

But Tom was too quick. The next thing Harry knew he was staggering backwards with the weight of a silent spell, but then… all was bliss. Harry was floating in the contentment of his own empty mind, spared from every thought and every emotion beyond blissfulness. He was only vaguely aware that the figures nearby were all staring at him …

_Rearrange your expression to appear enraged,_ a voice in his head suggested.

Harry followed this order, feeling his face contort in false anger.

_Now look at me_, the same voice told him.

Harry allowed his eyes to float towards and focus on the handsome man who stood in front of him. The man was lowering a wand, but that provoked no change in Harry, who glared meaninglessly.

The wizard in front of him was talking to the room at large, making the irrelevant figures around him laugh. Harry didn't catch a word he said. All he could hear was the voice that talked in his head every now and then…

_Aim your wand at me again,_ the voice ordered.

Harry did so without hesitation, but as he glowered falsely at the man in front of him a waver of real thought struck him. He recognised this man… but he couldn't quite remember why or how.

_Say, "I don't have to listen to you"._

"I don't have to listen to you," Harry repeated, being sure to keep that annoyed expression, like he had been asked. The man in front of him said something inaudibly.

_Say, "you can't keep me here", with more annoyance. _

Harry repeated the required words like the voice asked. The figures around the man in front of him shifted nervously, but Harry barely noticed. The man said something else.

_Attack one of the followers,_ the voice in his head told him.

Harry's wand shifted to aim towards a wizard on the ground, but his eyes never left Tom. I won't attack that wizard, Harry thought.

_Attack him, Harry. _

Something in that voice made Harry think that he should follow the order, but somehow he couldn't.

_Don't resist me, Harry. Attack that wizard._

Without resisting, Harry shot a stunning spell at the wizard.

Quickly the voice said: _Attack him again, without stopping._

Harry did so. This was part of the plan Tom had, a whisper of a voice said from the back of Harry's mind…

_Make the wizard unconscious,_ the voice ordered.

Harry did so, not having to think of what spells to use. The figures nearby were becoming more animated as Harry attacked, watching blindly while blood spattered in all directions from the wizard on the ground, the screams and voices not reaching his ears.

There was something about the blood that put a speck of worry inside Harry, past the blissfulness… but Tom had a plan, and that's all that mattered…

_Try harder._

Harry did so, using more spells without thinking. The man now besides him appeared to be shouting at the other standing wizards.

_Now use the Killing Curse, but be sure to–_

"Ava–"

Then many things happened at once. Seconds before Harry felt a heavy weight crashing into him, he snapped out of the Imperius Curse that Tom had set upon him, feeling that speck of anxiety burst into a storm of alarm and panic. Mulciber was grabbing his arms and forcing him to stop the Killing Curse while loud voices overwhelmed and confused Harry further.

Harry could see a pool of blood that he had spilt around the blond wizard on the ground, who was unmoving on the cold stone floor. Harry's eyes then found Tom's, but before he could take in the sight before him, a cry of anger echoed through the hall.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

There was a flash of green light, and Harry stopped struggling to try and work out what had happened. Tom's wand wasn't raised, to Harry's surprise. Nott, who stood on the other side of Tom, had murdered the blond wizard, while the brown haired follower recoiled in panic, unable to believe what was happening.

Another Death Eater lunged at Nott, keen upon making him stop before the second follower was killed too. Tom appeared livid as he looked from Harry to Nott. They stood besides each other while the Death Eaters huddled closer, more of them joining in to stop these apparently murderous wizards.

Tom didn't say a word to Harry and Nott, and nor did he look away from them as he barked, "Black, Rosier, take our only living guest away from here before someone else tries to kill him too."

The Two Death Eaters did as they were told. The brown-haired wizard was staring around at everyone with a terrified expression, stammering shocked words in English and Germany at a quick pace. Harry turned to look at Nott quickly while Mulciber gripped onto his arms tightly. Nott's bright eyes were shining with pure confusion and innocence. Harry could tell that he too had been Imperiused.

As soon as the living follower of Grindelwald was taken from the room, Tom spoke. Most of his annoyance seemed to disappear without warning.

"Release Smith and Nott at once…"

The Death Eaters did as they were told, but after much silent deliberation. When Harry was free from Mulciber's strong grip, he found himself glowering at Tom, unable to believe that he had forced Nott to murder, after attempting to force him to. Tom only smiled, which made Harry furious.

"How – how could you do that?" Harry asked breathlessly, trying to control the rage, confusion, and fear that coursed through him. "How could you use the Imperius Curse to force us into murdering? I – I thought you had a plan. I–"

"I didn't force you to murder anyone," Tom stated.

"But you tried to," Harry said irritably, ignoring the confused Death Eaters around him, "You made Nott do it–"

"I made Nott pretend to murder that wizard," Tom voiced, announcing this as though tricking Harry made it more of an accomplishment. "Look, if you will: our guest is still breathing and there is a spell mark on the ground besides him. None of your spells missed, yet Nott's only curse most certainly did."

Harry glanced at the seemingly dead wizard on the ground. Past the pool of blood besides him was a sizeable chunk of stone floor missing where the Killing Curse had missed.

"I was ordering you to miss with the spell, Jonathan," Tom explained, "but you got far too frightened at my mention of the Killing Curse… I had to use Nott instead."

Harry looked up at Tom again, unable to say a word. It had all been a part of his plan… He could hear Nott laughing in shock and relief besides him, but he didn't bother to look at him. He didn't know how to convey how annoyed he was with Tom. All he could do was shake his head in disbelief, saying something before he could help himself. "Fuck you, Tom."

The Death Eaters were shocked, but Tom only smiled softly.

"I love you too," he said mockingly.

The Death Eaters laughed openly, not thinking twice about Tom's offhand comment. Harry's mind was buzzing with thought, wondering what they might end up doing with a falsely dead follower…

"But be prepared, all of you," Tom said more seriously to the room at large. "We have a lot to discuss tonight, concerning the issue of Gellert Grindelwald's eager followers…"

* * *

**Dear Readers:** I'm SO happy that I reached over one thousand reviews for TVoV! This is definitely a highlight of what has otherwise been a terrible few weeks/months. I must thank you all for every comment you've posted on this story! :3


	54. The Meeting Place

"We'll have to move fast," Tom informed the room at large. "The follower we sent back to Germany is likely talking with all of Grindelwald's other people as we speak. We must do everything we can to prepare ourselves before we meet with them in three hours."

"Three hours?" Gonson repeated in disbelief. "Why do we have to meet with them so soon?"

"Grindelwald's followers will be told shortly that we murdered the second wizard who accompanied the first here tonight," Tom reminded them. "If too much time passes while they continue to believe that their follower is dead, they will likely kill our friends as revenge, and if they realise that their follower isn't dead, our missing friends will be murdered later as a result of my failed plan."

The Death Eaters, who were all listening attentively, were stunned to hear this.

"This plan you keep mentioning sounds awfully dangerous," Black commented seriously from the middle of the crowd. "From what you suggest, Avery, Lestrange, Macnair, and Gibbon could be killed no matter what the other followers believe concerning this wizard's false death."

"The danger is nothing," Tom reassured him, "for with this plan we shall get all of our missing friends back without having to trade anyone valuable in."

"What, so you ain't gonna trade in Jonathan, then?" Dolohov asked thickly. He had been revived only a minute ago and was still slightly hurt from the stunning spell that Harry had used upon him. He was amongst those who were most confused about what was happening.

"There is no need to exchange Jonathan for our four friends now," Tom informed the Death Eaters firmly. "Grindelwald's people made it possible for me to avoid a sacrifice tonight when they gave me a weapon…"

When his friends were confused, Tom indicated the unconscious wizard on the ground, who was lying in a continuously growing pool of his own blood. Very few of the Death Eaters seemed to understand where Tom was going with this, but Harry felt his heart soar in happiness as he realised what was going to happen…

"Rosier, Black, Gonson, start healing the follower so he is – at least – awake. Fix his immediately problematic injures, but leave the rest."

The three Death Eaters who had been called began following Tom's order without hesitation.

"What're we going to do with that follower?" Dolohov asked.

"We're going to trade the follower in for our friends, naturally," Tom said as though it were obvious. A smile formed carefully upon his lips. The Death Eaters weren't any less confused.

"Do you think they're going to accept him instead of Jonathan?" Nott asked slowly. "I mean, if they sent this wizard here, surely they don't care about him all that much…"

"We shan't be sending him back how he is," Tom assured Nott lightly, appearing more confident and satisfied with every passing second. "We shall be sending him back as Jonathan."

A few of the slower Death Eaters glanced at each other, still confused, and shrugged unconfidently as if to excuse Tom's madness. Nott, however, was amongst those who understood what was going on.

"PolyJuice Potion?" Nott suggested, smiling.

"Of course," Tom responded. "I brewed the potion initially to be sure that we could transform Jonathan at any time, to confuse Grindelwald's people if they ever found us here… but I believe this is a far more interesting use for the potion."

Harry felt himself grinning in elation. Grindelwald's people would never guess that it was really one of their own followers being traded in for Avery, Gibbon, Macnair, and Lestrange. By making it seem as though Harry attempted to kill the blond wizard, Tom was ensuring that Grindelwald's followers would believe Harry was being forced away from Tom's group. By Nott apparently murdering the follower in the end, Grindelwald's people would think that Tom's friends were insane, thus very dangerous to attack in general…

"The rest of you, be ready to leave within half an hour," Tom ordered, "I want to have the time to inform you all about what will happen in Germany tonight…"

The Death Eaters began moving around in all directions, keen upon preparing themselves for the likely fight that would break out tonight. Harry was still happier than ever, unable to believe that they had such a promising plan ready. He watched the moving Death Eaters, viewing their apprehensive and eager expressions as they headed from this room. Their minds were buzzing with thought as they talked hurriedly…

But then Harry noticed one simple, important flaw in Tom's plan.

"Gonson, Rosier, Black," Tom called to the three Death Eaters who huddled around the unconscious wizard on the floor, "if you lack the ability to fix even this one wizard, I'm afraid I'm going to have to start making you work for all hours of the day to improve your skills."

The three Death Eaters mumbled some apologies, trying to work harder at these words. Tom appeared close to joining them in their endeavour to heal the captured follower, but Harry stopped him before he could go.

"Tom, wait…"

Tom looked back at him. The visible change from happiness in Harry's expression seemed to confuse him. "What's wrong?"

"Their minds," Harry said shortly, his voice low enough so the nearby Death Eaters wouldn't hear him. "Grindelwald's people know Legilimency; they'll see everything we're planning…"

Harry stood for about a minute, waiting for Tom to say something. He opened his mouth to speak, but he appeared unable to say a word to ease Harry's worry. There wasn't one Death Eater who knew Occlumency, and it wouldn't be wise for Harry and Tom to go to Germany on their own…

"We may need some help with this," Black's voice called from across the room. "He really is bleeding quite terribly…"

Tom's eyes flickered to bleeding follower on the ground, but his mind seemed to be occupied with contemplating the problem Harry had brought to his attention. He wasn't at all pleased…

"We need our friends to be there," Tom observed quietly.

Harry said nothing, knowing this was true.

"I shouldn't have told them anything…"

"We had to tell them," Harry reasoned. "We couldn't have just left them in the dark."

Tom glared into space now. Harry knew he probably didn't agree that the Death Eaters deserved to know his plans now…

"We could always go there alone," Harry suggested, not at all confidently.

"They will attack us on our own," Tom commented. "We'll be too weak…"

"We could have your friends waiting nearby," Harry said. "That way Grindelwald's people won't have to see them."

"Which would be too suspicious," Tom muttered. "Too obvious…"

Before Harry could again suggest leaving the Death Eaters here, inspiration seemed to strike Tom. His smile made Harry feel more relief than he could have expected, even before he voiced his thoughts.

"We shall mask our friends!" Tom announced triumphantly, a smile breaking across his face. "Their expressions – and thus minds – shall not be seen at all!"

Harry felt a sudden stab of fear, which momentarily overpowered his relief, but he tried to ignore it.

"What is more, this will doubtlessly scare Grindelwald's people," Tom continued, not noticing the change in Harry as elation gripped him. "The masks shan't be elaborate, yet it will be enough to warn them of our power…"

Harry found slight amusement in this idea, and he tried to focus on that. It would indeed be very interesting to see how Grindelwald's people would react to a swarm of masked and unreadable Death Eaters, who had apparently just murdered one of their followers without reason… He shouldn't be so alarmed at the idea of the Death Eaters wearing masks for this, even if it meant that they would, perhaps, wear the masks continuously from this day on when they were sent off on assignments…

"That's a brilliant idea," Harry said honestly, trying harder to push away his unease…

Tom's smile broadened at Harry's words. He seemed very satisfied with himself for finding a solution to this problem.

"We shall tell the others about this plan when they are all ready," Tom said. "It shan't be too hard to make them wear the masks without question… For now, however, I must help Gonson, Rosier, and Black heal the follower, so you must excuse me."

"Of course," Harry said, knowing that Tom would have a lot more luck than the three Death Eaters with healing the follower. He was secretly thankful that he had the excuse to be away from Tom for a moment… "Good luck."

Still smiling, Tom turned away, not wasting a moment before joining the three Death Eaters in their seemingly difficult task. Harry watched Tom go for a minute, thinking deeply…

He knew that he shouldn't have blindly agreed to the idea of the Death Eaters wearing masks when facing outsiders like Grindelwald's people. He felt immensely guilty when he reflected that this could have been a massive turning point in Tom's plans for his friends, and he, Harry, had just let it happen. Harry honestly couldn't know whether or not something as simple as masks could affect time, but it did make him a little anxious. Yet he knew that if Grindelwald's people guessed their plans, it could lead to a lot of death tonight…

Harry supposed that he could be worrying about this too much, but he couldn't be sure. The only thing that calmed him down was reflecting upon the fact that he could stop the Death Eaters wearing masks in the future, once they sorted out the problem of Grindelwald's people… He just hoped that Tom wouldn't like the idea of uniforms too much.

Looking up, Harry saw that Tom was succeeding in healing the captured follower, even if the progress was evidently slow. He was about to go and help Tom, to begin a discussion on the exact details of his plans, when someone else caught his attention. Between a few large groups of Death Eaters talking hurriedly about their theories on what would happen tonight, Nott could be seen standing on his own, staring into space as he twisted a wand in his hand distractedly. Harry headed towards him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

When Nott's bright eyes found Harry's concerned ones, he attempted to change his expression to one that wasn't quite so anxious and unwell, but it was too late; Harry could already see into his open mind.

"I'm fine," Nott responded as confidently as he could.

Harry took a moment to think about this, hearing Gonson, Black, and Rosier talking sheepishly to Tom while he continued to heal the captured follower for them.

"You don't have to leave Albania tonight if you're too shaken by earlier," Harry said seriously, knowing that Nott wasn't any happier than he was at the idea of being forced to murder – even falsely. "If you'd rather stay here, I'll talk to Tom about it."

"You don't have to do that," Nott said quickly, clearly worried by the idea of bothering Tom. "I'll be fine going to Germany…"

"Are you sure?" Harry pressed, seeing Nott's pale face strain under his attempts to look stronger.

Nott didn't answer immediately. When he opened his mouth to speak, Harry saw in his mind that he was struggling with a silent wish to stay here, but someone spoke before he could voice this.

"I'm sure Nott will be stable enough for tonight's events after half an hour or so of preparation, Jonathan," Tom's voice called from Harry's right. Tom had evidently been listening to the conversation as he finished his work. He was walking closer to Harry and Nott, leaving the half-healed follower with his friends. "You needn't worry about his condition. If this job was too much for him to take, he could always leave."

Tom was impassive as he spoke, but Harry thought he sensed a shade of annoyance coming from him. Harry hoped that Tom would be able to understand Nott's unease at the idea of having almost murdered someone, but he knew there was a thin chance of that happening, especially if Tom was already irked…

"We shouldn't force him to travel tonight, if he's still uneasy about earlier," Harry said carefully, "and we shouldn't force him to fight either if it comes to that. If he isn't able to focus–"

"Then we shall replace him when it becomes a problem," Tom interrupted. "We need all the people we can gather tonight, Jonathan."

Harry wanted to argue, to try and help Nott – who was obviously nervous about everything – but Tom wouldn't allow it. To Harry's surprise, however, Tom wasn't harsh when he spoke again.

"If everything goes well with Grindelwald's people tonight, there will be nothing to worry about concerning the health of our friends," Tom said, a shadow of a smile forming upon his lips at the thought. "Nott won't need to do anything tonight, except stand by us all."

"But we'll need a few people to stay here," Harry observed. "We may as well make Nott protect this land with a few others, so someone more willing can come with us to Germany."

Tom thought about this for a moment, his smile fading. The scepticism past his otherwise unreadable expression suggesting that he didn't much like the idea of treating Nott fairly in any way. After a moment, however, he seemed to give up trying to argue against the idea of him staying here.

"Very well," Tom said softly, "if you believe it is for the best…"

"I do," Harry said firmly.

Tom watched Harry for a moment. A soft smile broke out upon Harry's lips at the sight of Nott appearing more relieved than ever. Tom seemed to be thinking about something, but Harry couldn't guess what.

"Thank you," Nott said, speaking mostly to Tom. "I'm sorry for the inconven–"

"Don't be sorry," Tom said, his somewhat too-serious expression not going unnoticed by Harry. "You should be only thankful, for apologies should only be used at the most serious times, as the final option; weakness."

Nott's eyes met Tom's for a time. He opened his mouth to say something in response to his leader, but lacking the words he needed, he merely nodded, looking away shortly after. He began leaving as politely as he could.

"However," Tom said more loudly than before, causing Nott to look back, "I do believe this means that you must stay here too, Jonathan…"

Harry turned to Tom at the sound of his fake name, surprised. It took him a moment to register what Tom meant. He stared in disbelief. "Why would I have to stay here?"

"Well, beyond the fact that you'll be an obvious target for Grindelwald's people," Tom said, his dark eyes cold, "if Nott is so affected by what happened earlier, I'm sure you aren't in any better condition to fight."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew that Tom was doing this in anger rather than care, for there were a hundred ways for Harry to join Tom tonight without drawing attention to Grindelwald's people, and Tom's cold stare told him that he was only allowing Nott to stay here for this.

"I don't have to stay here if it's a problem," Nott suddenly said, trying to help. Harry shot him a warning look, which made him stop talking. Tom ignored him completely.

"You can look after the others, since you seem to care for them all so dearly," Tom continued, as though this was a completely rational suggestion, as opposed to a cruel punishment. "If murder unsettles you, I'm sure you would prefer this."

"I want to fight," Harry stated, irked and worried by Tom's suggestions. "I want to be there with everyone – you can't make me stay here!"

"You don't have to fight when you are evidently opposed to it," Tom stated. Harry understood that he had offended Tom somehow, but he felt this was all rather harsh. Lowering his voice, Tom added, "Since you are so opposed to murder, why not further avoid the risk of seeing it?"

Harry was positively glaring at Tom now.

"I want to do this – you know I do!" Harry exclaimed, struggling to keep his voice quiet enough to not disturb the other Death Eaters.

"You forget one thing, Jonathan," Tom commented silkily, "while you reside in my land, you are under my command and thus must do what I say."

"You can't make me stay here," Harry reminded Tom, getting more annoyed than ever. "I could leave this place tonight, and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it!"

Tom responded nothing to this while he stared at Harry. When the quieting Death Eaters caught his attention, he attempted to smile, but it was short lived and he had nothing to say.

"If you won't let me go to Germany," Harry began more quietly than before, "I won't let you transform that wizard into me. Your four friends will die and Grindelwald's people will find you all here."

More of the Death Eaters were turning their attention to the argument between Harry and Tom. They were awed and somewhat fearful of Harry's threat. The silence was growing. Tom didn't fret over Harry's suggestion, however.

"There is more than one way to get the last ingredient for the PolyJuice Potion," he reminded Harry more softly than ever. A smirk, more genuine than his last smile, formed while he thought. "We could find your hair, for example, upon any pillow you sleep upon…"

Harry didn't know what to say to this. He didn't really mean what he said about leaving, unless Tom really meant what he said about Harry being as good as too weak for this job…

"However," Tom continued, his smile fading and his voice becoming less falsely tranquil, "I must own that it would be a great loss if you were to leave for good…"

Tom began pacing the room a little, being sure to not walk too far away from Harry. Knowing that Tom was likely only trying to annoy him, and knowing that Tom had already succeeded in that, Harry guessed that he might make a better decision now; a decision that wasn't just a punishment for treating Nott fairly…

"Since you seem so keen to join us, and since you would plan such a threat in even a short amount of time to convince me of your seriousness, I cannot refrain from believing that allowing you to do as you wish is my best option here," Tom explained calmly, as though Harry had passed some sort of test. "You may accompany me to Germany tonight, if you wish…"

Harry felt as though some sort of weight had been lifted off of him, even if he was still annoyed with Tom for scaring him like that. He didn't know how to tell Tom that he was thankful without actually saying 'thank you'. He was happy with Tom's change of mind, but felt that a proper 'thanks' would be too kind…

"I'm glad we reached an understanding," Harry said after a time.

Tom stopped walking to look at him, a soft smirk on his lips once more. He was perfectly aware that Harry had chosen these words on purpose, but he seemed genuinely amused by this, rather than offended. The way he gazed at Harry suggested that he hadn't meant what he said before. He was just annoyed with Nott, and thus wanted to warn Harry where his patience and tolerance ended.

"I must concur," Tom voiced softly in response to Harry's last comment. After watching Harry carefully, he asked, "How do you wish to join us tonight? PolyJuice Potion? Invisibility Cloak? By mask?"

"By mask," Harry answered, knowing he would then look like the Death Eaters. "But with the cloak ready for emergency."

"Very well," Tom smiled.

Then, rather swiftly, he turned to all of his friends.

"Since I have all of your attention, I do believe we should begin discussing my plans for tonight. Again I must remind you all, we will have to move fast…"

–X–

"Which one are you then?" Harry heard Dolohov ask thickly.

"That's Gonson, Dolohov," Rosier said impatiently, speaking beyond a dark cloak, which made him almost indistinguishable from all of the other hooded figures nearby. "You can tell by his voice."

"Well I can't tell, can I?" Dolohov asked, in a statement more than anything. "How should I know what everyone sounds like?"

Harry walked past the talkative Death Eaters without saying a word to any of them. He was wearing the same dark cloaks that they wore, so no one could tell who he was, as planned. They were gathering outside of the protection of Tom's land – some of them for the first time in months – while a bright moon shone high above them in the sky. Everything rustled in a heavy breeze, illuminated only marginally by the moon and the lights from a few lit wands.

When Harry was standing besides Tom, the Death Eaters seemed to gather that it was indeed Harry under the dark robes, and many of them turned their hoods away to continue conversing with the others. Tom was staring up at the moon, thinking carefully. Harry watched him for a moment, understanding that Tom knew precisely who he was.

"When are we leaving?" Harry asked in a low voice.

Tom smiled softly at the sound of his voice. "Momentarily…"

Unlike everyone else, Tom didn't seem at all nervous at the idea of rescuing the four captured Death Eaters from Grindelwald's people tonight. Also unlike everyone else, he was not remotely distracted by the panicked and struggling follower, who now looked exactly like Harry and who was being held in the strong grip of Mulciber, Dolohov, and quite a few others.

"Do you have the cloak, Harry?" Tom asked gently, still staring up at the sky.

The Death Eaters began hushing each other at the sound of Tom's voice, many of them asking the others what Tom had said; to which no one responded assuredly. Mulciber silenced the follower, like Tom had asked him to do earlier.

"Yeah, I have the cloak," Harry assured Tom.

Tom appeared satisfied, for he looked down from the sky to smile at Harry, even if he couldn't see his face.

He then turned to his seemingly faceless friends, who, beyond their dark cloaks, wore masks that revealed neither face nor any sign that actual humans inhabited the clothing. Tom had decided that dark masks were better than masks with eyes or even face structure visible. Harry had to admit that this did make all of Tom's friends appear more sinister than they might have otherwise been.

"Prepare yourselves, all of you," Tom said in a confident, carrying voice. His suddenly official tone caught the Death Eater's full attention. "Though we shall doubtlessly succeed in our endeavours this evening, we shouldn't dither in our determination to be prepared for a fight."

The Death Eaters mumbled some words of nerves and excitement to each other, but Tom didn't give them much time to speak.

"You all know of our plan," he stated without question. "If any of you get lost on your way to Germany, I will personally ensure that you later regret your carelessness. Have I made this clear?"

Words of agreement were said, while the Death Eaters attempted to look more ready.

"Then off we go," Tom announced simply.

The next thing anyone knew, he Disapparated with a loud _'crack'_.

More cracking sounds filled the air after him while Death Eater disappeared with a swish of their dark cloaks. Harry span on the spot too, following everyone to the western edge of Albania. From there they would fly across the sea towards Italy, Disapparating through the country to fly across the boarder of Switzerland, Disapparating though Switzerland to be as close to southern Germany as they could be. They would be meeting Grindelwald's people there.

This was the only quick way to travel to Germany if they wanted to avoid the attention of the nearby Ministries, who wouldn't trust a large group like this to visit countries without a registered Portkey to aid them. Not only would registering a Portkey take too much time, Tom – and a few of the Death Eaters – had to keep themselves hidden from Ministries in general, in case something concerning a past crime put them into needless danger…

It only took about an hour and a half for all of them to move across Europe towards Germany, neither engaging in conversation nor truly seeing the whole rest of the group while Tom led them on, waiting for them silently at different meeting points. Harry was, to no surprise, one of the main people Tom waited for before moving on, but since he, Harry, was such a quick flier he worried for the slower Death Eaters, and had to remind Tom more than once that people would get lost if they hurried too much.

Finally, and with everyone in sight, they arrived at the meeting place in Germany.

Ahead of them was what appeared to be the ruin of an ancient Muggle church; the remains of walls and pillars that appeared to have been once beautifully carved now lay sprawled across the cold ground, between high grasses and weeds that swayed quickly in the harsh winds that were even stronger here than they had been in Albania. Statues of saints and saviours could be seen shattered in all directions, pieces of faces and hands giving the impression that carcases had been left, forgotten, forevermore…

Harry thought at first that they were the first ones to arrive here as he scanned the scene beneath the hood of his new cloak, but after a moment dark figures began making themselves known between tall, broken stone columns and upon grounds littered with stained glass… There were a lot of people here, for tens of Grindelwald's followers were emerging from the darkness, becoming visible whenever Harry didn't look, it seemed. Dark clouds were hovering low over Germany and the only light here came from a few of the Death Eater's wands…

Without a word, Tom, Harry, and the Death Eaters began walking towards Grindelwald's people. The two groups slowly met at the middle of the massive, ruined church. There were perhaps forty or fifty followers facing just over twenty Death Eaters, but this did not discourage Tom's friends. They followed Tom's earlier order and remained perfectly silent and still even after Tom signalled for them to stop walking, so he could move a few meters ahead. The leader of Grindelwald's people did the same, while Harry remained with the Death Eaters.

"How nice of you to join us zis evening," the scarred leader of Grindelwald's people greeted strongly, his words accompanied by a yellow-toothed grin. "I was not sure veather you vould arrive."

Tom smiled back at the older wizard, the glint of malice in his eyes going unmissed by very few of Grindelwald's people.

"Well, I never was one to go against my word," he spoke softly, causing every ear to strain in the hope of catching what he said.

The contrast in volume between Grindelwald's strongest follower and Tom might have been mistaken for Tom being the blatant weaker wizard here, but Harry understood very well that Tom kept his voice at this quiet level very consciously.

"This is not soon for me, moreover," Tom informed the yellow-toothed wizard coolly. "If I had wished to get here soon, I wouldn't have sent your last – living – follower here before joining all of you at a meeting place of my choice…"

While Harry stood amongst the Death Eaters, clearly hearing what Tom said, he knew that Tom was choosing his words very deliberately. He was not only reminding Grindelwald's followers that he had murdered one of their people without care, he was threatening them, very subtly, with a claim that he could have found and attacked their main base at any time had he wished to face them in a non-civil way.

The leader doubtlessly noticed this, but he did not drop his grin.

"You are very young for a vizard of such _apparent_ power," he voiced, as though he didn't value Tom's last statements at all. The way he stressed 'apparent' suggested that he didn't believe Tom's power was anything more than an exaggeration. "How old might you be? Twenty-five, perhaps?"

"Younger, even," Tom admitted lightly. "I am but twenty-two."

"Very young, very young," the leader said, sneering while he found some sort of humour in the idea. The other followers appeared just as disapproving as they spoke in whispers.

"And how old might you be?" Tom asked, not displaying a flicker of changed emotion past his carefree expression. "Seventy-five? Eighty?"

The Death Eaters snickered while the yellow-toothed leader's nostrils flared. The smile slipped off his face somewhat as his dark eyes scanned the cloaked Death Eaters, trying to view the their hidden faces. Though he didn't look at all weak in age, there was no doubt that he was quite a few decades old while grey and white mixed with his otherwise black hair, lines carved deep into his brutal face.

"I vould not except someone as young as yourself to value ze importance of age, and thus ze importance of visdom," the leader responded coldly to Tom. "Ze fact zat you are here tonight, fighting ze dedicated worshippers of Grindelwald, proves this much."

Tom appeared mildly surprised. "I was under the impression that meeting with you tonight would mean that such fighting would subside."

"Ah, it vill," the leader assessed, "ze fighting vill end as soon as this exchange of your people is made, of course…"

A light smile crossed Tom's lips. "Then we shouldn't hesitate for a moment longer before beginning what we are all here for tonight…"

"I must agree." The leader grinned widely, before turning to the wizards behind him. He evidently ordered his people in German to bring the four captured Death Eaters forth, because only a moment later around eight followers were escorting Avery, Lestrange, Macnair, and Gibbon towards Tom.

"Mulciber, Dolohov, if you will…"

The eight followers and four Death Eaters stood close behind the leader of Grindelwald's people. All four of Tom's friends looked in poor condition, and a sudden fear gripped Harry when he realised that Lestrange appeared to be the most hurt while he wore an expression that displayed great fear, even though he was about to be handed back to Tom. Perhaps it was _because_ he was going to be handed back to Tom, Harry thought…

The next thing that caught Harry's attention was himself, apparently, being dragged towards the centre of the church where both the leaders and followers stood. Harry had to move out of the way while Dolohov and Mulciber forced the transformed follower past him.

"Very good, very good," the leader of Grindelwald's people spoke softly, his dark eyes resting on the false Harry with great interest.

The false Harry had been put under a silencing charm as well as having a piece of material tied around his mouth to stop him wording German words, but the leader didn't seem to find any of this suspicious. He examined the false Harry for a moment before trying harder to see the Death Eaters faces, but to no avail.

"I vonder, I vonder…" the leader muttered, before his voice grew stronger. "Did you perhaps bring all of your friends here tonight?"

"No, not all of them," Tom responded. "Quite a few remained behind."

He gave no indication as to how many others remained in Albania, but it appeared as though the leader of Grindelwald's people had no interest in asking this. His dark eyes were resting on Tom again.

"Zen I vonder veather or not a particular friend of yours is present?" the leader began in a careful tone, "a follower who, if my information iz correct, murdered Thorfinn Rowle, a dedicated follower of Grindelwald who was sent to you earlier zis evening?"

Harry stared at the leader of Grindelwald's people, his heart suddenly beating rapidly. The leader surely hadn't just said 'Thorfinn Rowle'… that was impossible…

"The two wizards you send to us tonight did not disclose any information about themselves – not even their names," Tom informed the leader apathetically. "I can't be sure whether we did anything to the particular wizard you're referring to… however, I cannot pretend that one of my friends didn't murder one of your people."

Grindelwald's people began muttering to each other from the crowd, their voices hushed and angry. Harry could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Thorfinn Rowle was supposed to be a Death Eater that Harry had come across quite a few times in the past. It didn't make any sense that this wizard could be a follower of Grindelwald…

"But vere might ze vizard responsible for Thorfinn Rowle's death be?" the leader asked curiously, not able to hide the annoyance from his voice.

Harry supposed that it was possible for Thorfinn Rowle to be alive now, but he didn't have the faintest idea as to how he would become a Death Eater one day… Harry found himself becoming more and more anxious as useless explanations for this began running through his mind…

"I'm afraid that the particular friend of mine who murdered tonight is not with us currently," Tom informed the leader honestly, appearing not at all bothered by the thought. He then added, somewhat sarcastically, "I could always send him a message via us, if you wish."

"No need," the leader responded with another cruel smile. "I vas merely curious… Vonce ve have dear 'Smith' under our control vonce more, I am sure zat both of our groups can move on with our own ambitions quietly. You can go back to Muggle-Loving and so on, vhile ve prevail…"

Many of the half-distracted Death Eaters suddenly looked up at the leader of Grindelwald's people, before turning their heads to Tom in silent confusion.

"Muggle-Loving?" Tom repeated softly.

"Oh, do not tell me you have not heard zis expression before," the leader laughed. "Surely you are not zat cut off from vizards such as ourselves?"

The leader signified for the followers holding Avery, Macnair, Gibbon, and Lestrange to move forwards, while Tom nodded for Mulciber and Dolohov to do the same. The false Harry struggled against the grip of the two Death Eaters but didn't seem too reluctant when he realised that he would be returning to Grindelwald's people.

"I believe you are confused as to what it is my friends and I do," Tom informed the leader of Grindelwald's people quietly. "We are not, as you suggest, Muggle-Lovers in any way."

Harry felt his heart leap in anxiety while the followers took the false him into their own hands, leaving the four beaten Death Eaters to join the crowd behind Tom. He still couldn't work out how this wizard could possibly be Thorfinn Rowle, and he was panicking. What if he was making a mistake with letting that wizard go? What if he was meant to bring him back?

"Vell, I cannot imagine zat you vould be foolish enough to attack us, ze noble supporters of Grindelwald, if you vere not in many vays Muggle-Lovers," the leader pressed, half-distracted while he watched the false Harry being dragged back to his people.

"Perhaps we are foolish," Tom said delicately, "but that is a fair price for being dedicated Dark Arts fanatics…"

"You don't have to deny it," the leader said with a cruel grin. "It would be insulting to ze many filthy Muggle girlfriends I'm sure you all have vaiting at home; your whores."

The followers who understood English laughed when they heard their leader say this. Many of them began translating the insult to the others, who laughed too. Tom was visibly irked, and Grindelwald's people thought this was a triumph. Harry hoped that this just meant Lestrange might not have said anything about him and Tom, miraculously…

"You vill probably marry zese Muggle whores one day," the leader continued, playing to Tom's annoyance, "starting families and having veak Squib children who vill likely die at our hand… Ve shall not attack your group now; no, but we can not guarantee that ve'll spare your children if zey get in our vay."

Tom glared at the leader of Grindelwald's people now, perhaps especially annoyed while thoughts of his parents struck him. "We are pureblood, and we do not love Muggles, nor care about them remotely."

At this, the leader let out a cry of laughter, while many followers joined him.

"Do not claim vith your unvorthy tongue zat you are a pureblood!" he exclaimed in a disbelieving tone. "It vould be an insult to ze memory of any Muggle and Mudblood mothers and fathers of yours who vere killed by our ha–"

BANG!

Tom had attempted to throw a spell at the leader, but it appeared as though an invisible shield stopped him from doing this. Grindelwald's followers were all shocked by the noise and the lights that flashed from Tom's wand, yet they laughed when they saw that Tom's spell hadn't hit its target. They were confused when they saw Tom had conjured a dark, ten-foot long cobra.

"Iz zis truly your attempt to hurt–?" the leader began. His words were interrupted, however.

"_Come here,_" Tom hissed quietly to the snake. His eyes were fixed on its long, powerful form. "_Rest upon me…_"

The snake began gliding towards him without hesitation. When it was close, Tom reached out his wand hand to touch its hard, scaly head. It was large enough to begin climbing its way up his body in the silence, resting upon his shoulders while he smiled softly.

"_Something stopped my movements,_" the snake voiced quietly.

"_I know,_" Tom said soothingly. His wand was still in his right hand while he stoked the snake softly. "_Next time, there will be no wall…_"

Harry saw that every follower and Death Eater in sight was staring at Tom, the followers gaping in what could only be described as pure shock. Many of them were blatantly unsure whether Tom was really talking to the snake or whether he was just lucky to be alive right now.

"_I'm going to have to ask you to try again,_" Tom told the snake. "_Attack that wizard once more…_"

"_Of course,_" the snake agreed. After a moment, it asked,_ "When, master?"_

Tom seemed to be thinking about this, but Harry suddenly realised, then, that Tom was using magic slyly while he held the snake. Before the followers truly noticed this, and before any of them realised the shielding charm was being lifted, Tom's cold eyes snapped towards their leader's.

"_Now._"

Before Harry knew it, the snake slid rapidly off Tom's shoulders and began sliding at a quick speed towards Grindelwald's people. The leader, like many of the followers, didn't expect anything to happen until the snake was inches away from him. There was another loud '_BANG!'_ and the cobra recoiled somewhat, but was ready to fight again in only a second.

"Weg da!" one of the followers shouted furiously, pulling on the leader's arm to stop him.

The leader shook him off and raised his wand again.

"Herr, tut das nicht–" another follower began.

"Ich werde tun was ich will!" the leader screamed in frustration.

The Death Eaters began laughing while Grindelwald's people shouted in panicked, angry German. They thought that Grindelwald's people were overreacting to the fact that Tom had broken their shield charm, or the fact that Tom was an Heir of Slytherin.

"Herr–!"

The leader made violent slashing movements with his wand, cutting the snake in several places until it was decapitated. Grindelwald's followers froze. Then, quite suddenly, a follower did the same thing to the leader, until he was decapitated too.

When his head fell to the ground, Grindelwald's people seemed to loose any speck of restraint they may have had before. Wizards suddenly turned towards each other in the group and shot spells in all directions, causing the Death Eaters to stare and gasp in confusion. Flashes of hexes and cries of pain issued from the crowd, and when spells started heading towards Tom's friends they withdrew their wands.

"Wait!" Tom ordered his friends loudly.

The Death Eaters stopped, many of them confused as to why Tom ordered them to wait. Harry suddenly saw that some of Grindelwald's people were running towards Tom and the Death Eaters. Tom pointed his wand at them, seconds away from firing curses, before they spoke.

"Please!" one of them exclaimed, raising his hands in innocence as one or two others prevented him from getting hit in the back by his people. "Ve mean you no harm – ve vant only to help you! Ze Heir – ze Heir of Slytherin!"

Harry gaped at the scene in front of him as followers began kneeling at Tom's feet, many of them murmuring words in quick, overjoyed German. The Death Eaters didn't say a word, but many of them struggled to deflect spells that shot their way.

Tom saw their struggling and he began deflecting spells to with shocking ease. He put up a barrier to stop hexing from hitting anyone.

When followers began noticing that the wizards near Tom were being protected, many of them headed towards Tom too, enraging the followers of Grindelwald who had been fighting for the now dead leader. Only around ten wizards ended up bowing before Tom, while forty or so followers of Grindelwald appeared enraged to say the least. Wizards who couldn't get to Tom in happiness either Disapparated into thin air or got hurt, killed, and captured by Grindelwald's true followers.

"What's going on?" Rosier asked frantically from somewhere behind him.

Tom had no time to answer. Grindelwald's people were attempting to break past his Shield Charm but he wouldn't allow it.

Then, quite suddenly, another thing distracted Grindelwald's people.

The fake Harry was suddenly transforming back into his original form. As spells from the Death Eaters travelled through this side of Tom's protection as though it wasn't there. Grindelwald's people seemed to be under the impression that some sort of odd spell had hit 'Jonathan'. When they realised that Jonathan was beginning to look like their dead friend, many of the wizards holding him dropped him as though he were infected.

The fake Harry, who had been watching the fight closely, began running back to Tom against all odds. Tom let him through the barrier after only a moment's hesitation.

"Es lebe die Ritter von Walpurgis!" one of the wizards in front of Tom shouted almost madly, turning back to Grindelwald's true people.

"Die Ritter von Walpurgis sind tot!" a follower of Grindelwald spat. "Bald werdet ihr sterben!"

"What are they saying?" Harry asked anxiously as he walked closer to Tom. "Why are they joining you?"

"It would appear," Tom said quietly, yet strongly enough for his friends to hear, "that we aren't the only ones who now have something against Grindelwald's people…"

"How?" Harry inquired in shock. "Why would some of them start joining us?"

"Parseltongue," Tom answered simply. A mad smile was creeping upon his face slowly. "They are the Knights of Walpurgis, and they have found their true leader…"

Harry stared at Tom, but Tom didn't bother to attempt looking at him for long. The ten or so wizards who now stood before him, their faces torn between several emotions, were distracted him. Despite how many emotions they displayed, however, one expression they all shared in common was awe.

"Vat iz your name?" one of the closest Knights of Walpurgis asked.

Tom took a moment to think of an answer to this, the mad happiness he felt blatantly gripping him. He smiled only softly, gazing at the ten wizards before him as though he was being reunited with a group of people he had long since missed.

"I am Voldemort," Tom responded softly. "Lord Voldemort."

* * *

**Dear Readers, **I have a million things to say about this chapter, and my choices in it… but I'll save that information for later, due to lack of time.

Please excuse my doubtlessly terribly incorrect German. I don't know the language at all, but I'm trying my best, haha.

I'm facing a million problems in life right now, but I love this story too much to ever stop writing it due to real life. I'm still writing every day, but I'm slow.

Also, since my last chapter I'm now a year older, haha.

Hope you enjoyed this!


	55. Lord Voldemort

"As all of you know," Tom began clearly, his voice carrying over the group of gathering Death Eaters, who were all eager to hear about what was happening, "tonight we successfully met with and overpowered Grindelwald's true followers, keeping all of our own people safe, as well as protecting a few new additions to our group…"

Tom paused here, allowing the many Death Eaters before him to glance curiously at the eleven Knights of Walpurgis, who stood by the edge of the crowd. The Knights appeared patient and unfazed, most of them never glancing away from Tom even when almost every Death Eater scrutinized them from beneath their hoods. None of them had yet removed their masks.

"Although tonight's endeavour ended more victoriously than any of us could hope," Tom carried on, "we are still facing quite a few difficulties concerning the true followers of Gellert Grindelwald. The four friends of ours who were rescued by us earlier this evening have been recovering quickly since our return, but beyond this positive fact we are still forced to remain vigilant and alert, for Grindelwald's people are mere miles away from us as we speak, keen upon seeking quick revenge."

The Death Eaters around Harry began mumbling to each other, sharing their thoughts in tones of concern. Many of them were keeping their voices lower than usual, and Harry couldn't help but wonder whether they distrusted the distant yet listening Knights of Walpurgis.

"Protecting this land further shan't be a problem, however," Tom assured his friends firmly, having heard the doubt clearly in their voices. "As very few of you know, we are fortunate enough to have gained the trust and support of one of the best curse breakers Grindelwald's people had, so we shan't worry about the incantations around this land breaking. We now know what protection they will expect, and what magic is too difficult for them to crack…"

The Death Eaters didn't say much to each other at this, and their lack of relief didn't go unnoticed by Harry. Tom had spent the last hour talking mostly to the Knights of Walpurgis in quick German that no one else understood, and the Death Eaters blatantly weren't pleased about this.

Tom had given instructions for a few of them to begin healing the four previously captured Death Eaters, and he had also said a few things here and there to his friends in general, but it appeared as though he was too distracted by the night's events to realise that he was offending, annoying, and worrying the Death Eaters in a lot of ways.

"With inside information upon Grindelwald's people, we shall be safer than ever before," Tom told his friends confidently, appearing proud to say it. "Even if this means we must still fight–"

"How do we know we can trust them, though?" Mulciber's loud voice called from the middle of the crowd. "I mean, we can't know they're telling the truth, can we? They joined our side pretty randomly, from what I saw."

Tom appeared a little more annoyed than usual with being interrupted… or perhaps he just felt that he needed a moment to gather his thoughts; Harry couldn't be sure. "As I was about to inform you all, the eleven Wizards who join us here tonight are not, in fact, Grindelwald's people."

"Well, how'd they hide with all of Grindelwald's people then?" Dolohov's voice wondered aloud from beneath a dark mask, joining the other Death Eaters' general confusion.

"Our newest guests are all part of an organization referred to most commonly as 'The Knights of Walpurgis'," Tom stated clearly, answering to many similar questions being asked at once. "They have been with Grindelwald's people for a number of years, yet the act of joining Grindelwald was not something many of the Knights agreed to take part in."

"Why'd they join Grindelwald's people then?" Dolohov asked, annoyed in his confusion, as though he firmly thought that Tom believed an obviously flawed series of lies.

"Despite being against Grindelwald due to his lack of understanding and experience with ancient legends, a few of the Knights – such as those who gather here tonight – felt that they needed to support Gellert Grindelwald in memory of their past leaders… In other words, they felt as though any group dedicated to the Dark Arts was a group they shouldn't hesitate in joining."

"So, you expect us to believe–" Gonson began, but someone cut off his words.

"Please understand zat ve vere mistaken," one of the Knights said bravely, his eyes resting mostly upon Tom, yet darting to the curious Death Eaters every few seconds. "Understand zat ve felt zere vas no more hope for ze Knights of Walpurgis. Ve could never expect – ve could never _dream_ – that a true Heir himself would still be alive in zis day and age… and a powerful Heir, most of all…"

The Death Eaters all glanced at each other silently. Harry could feel his stomach lurch in anxiety while he clenched his jaw, reluctant to fully reflect upon the meaning of this Knight's words…

"Heir?" Nott repeated from the front of the crowd. "Does he mean–?"

"Salazar Slytherin's Heir, yes," Tom confirmed. Though his voice was even, he was unable to keep the blatant elation out of his expression. A smile crept upon his face while his eyes burned with mad happiness – though Harry knew this wasn't a tenth of his true expression yet. "Slytherin was, naturally, a leader of the Knights of Walpurgis for a great while…"

"Did he form the group?" Nott asked in bewilderment.

"That I cannot tell you," Tom admitted, still unable to truly control his smile. "The Knights of Walpurgis are a very ancient group. Many people do indeed claim that Slytherin was their true, initial leader… yet the Knights have always existed. Dark Magic has always been worshipped for its power on some level, even if Slytherin was, perhaps, the first creator of the strong, solid group that was and is now known as the Knights of Walpurgis…"

At this, the Death Eaters appeared somewhat impressed, but this didn't banish their doubt completely. Harry didn't say a word to anyone. He could barely think straight at all…

"How many Knights of Walpurgis are there?" Rosier asked from close to Harry. "I mean, if around ten of them have joined us so far, not counting those who couldn't make it, and if we take into consideration that a lot of followers probably left Grindelwald at his downfall…"

At this, Tom turned towards the eleven Knights, indicating that they should answer the question for him. A Knight standing at the front of the group nodded politely and turned to the Death Eaters, frowning slightly as he thought.

"Vell, zere are possibly hundreds, or even thousands, of Vizards who know about ze Knights of Walpurgis and who vould be villing to join it," the Wizard began, his tone contemplative, "but very few true followers remain. I vould say zat zere are only about thirty to fifty Knights who vould be able to join our true leader vonce and for all."

The Death Eaters began to mutter to each other again, some of them sounding impressed, while the majority was clearly sceptical. Upon examining the Knights of Walpurgis, Harry found his eyes resting upon the tall blond wizard that they had captured only earlier this evening to use as a fake Harry for Grindelwald's true people. Thorfinn Rowle, a future Death Eater…

The Death Eaters continued to ask Tom tens of questions around Harry, but it appeared as though Tom was unwilling to answer any of them. After one or two attempts to try and get his friends to ask the Knights themselves about their relation to Grindelwald's people, Tom seemed to decide that he had to do something more.

"The new arrivals to this land shall be sharing dormitories with all of you from this point on," Tom informed everyone as voices began to die down. "If you have any further questions, then I stress again that you will be better off bothering the Knights themselves with your inquiries. We have accomplished tremendous work tonight, and I believe it is only expected that we end the evening here, without any further fatigue."

The Death Eaters were quieter at this. Many of them sounded disappointed, but a lot of them were somewhat relieved at the prospect of sleep. Harry could tell they were just as uneasy as he was at the idea of the Knights of Walpurgis sharing their rooms, however.

"Now, all of you remove your masks, and return to your dormitories," Tom ordered lightly, appearing almost ready to leave the room.

The Death Eaters all glanced at each other slowly while a few people, including Harry, began removing their masks. Many of the Death Eaters didn't reveal their faces. Many more of the Death Eaters didn't move.

After a moment, even Tom understood that his friends were too unsure to follow his orders, but he had very little sympathy for them. Without saying a word, but whilst appearing slightly irked, he raised his wand and removed the masks from every Death Eater still wearing them. Without pausing to see their reactions, he turned to the Knights, unfazed.

"It is not safe for any of you to venture beyond this land tonight," Tom told them seriously. "If you wish to contact the other Knights of Walpurgis, I'm afraid it's going to have to wait until at least tomorrow evening. Grindelwald's true people are waiting mere miles away from this land, and brining our defences down at this time would be running a very high risk of invasion."

The Knights showed signs of agreement so sincerely that it appeared as though Tom's claim was a dire order they had to follow as if their lives depended upon it… though, after a moment, Harry supposed that their lives probably did. The Death Eaters, who were blatantly a little uncomfortable with showing their faces, were barely looked at once by the Knights, but this didn't reassure them in any way. Many of them headed for the corridor to follow Tom's previous orders in spite.

As the large room they stood within began to empty, Harry headed towards Tom at a slow pace. The Knights of Walpurgis looked at him curiously as he approached, but the minds that weren't guarded by Occlumency told Harry they weren't watching him with the keen interest and hatred that Grindelwald's people might have shown. They no longer cared for anything but Tom.

Harry found himself examining the eleven Knights carefully as his heart pumped what felt like pure anxiety through his veins. Thorfinn Rowle was one of the youngest Knights, at around a mere two decades old. Most of the others appeared to be around fifty or sixty years old, though it was hard to tell while they held themselves with such pride and elation at having found their true leader at last…

It didn't seem possible to Harry that these wizards were soon to become Death Eaters… Yet he knew by this point it was impossible for them not to, unless it was mere coincidence that a wizard named Thorfinn Rowle joined them today, dedicated to Tom so strongly that he would give up his old job and risk his life just to stand by Tom's side.

"Goodnight to you all," Tom said quietly to the Knights, turning away casually.

The eleven addressed Wizards said goodnight to Tom too, but Tom was already distracted by something else by the time they said it.

"Nott," Tom called across the hall, causing the blue eyed Death Eater to turn back, "I'm afraid you will have to return to your dormitory later than the others. There is an urgent matter I must discuss with you…"

Harry felt that Nott's confusion and slight worry mirrored his own as the both of them walked closer to Tom. Nott didn't ask what the urgent matter was, for Tom showed every sign of not wanting to discuss anything here.

"You should join us too, Jonathan," Tom said softly, before indicating that they should start walking.

Harry felt somewhat relieved at this, as he reflected that Tom wouldn't punish Nott unjustly if he, Harry, was watching. Tom led them out onto the corridor beyond the meeting hall, but in the opposite direction of the Death Eaters and Knights, who were heading for the dormitories. Harry thought at first that they were about to head outside, until, to his surprise, Tom entered the room where the four previously captured Death Eaters were healing.

The hospital room was quite narrow for the Death Eaters' building, yet it was still wide enough to fit ten beds on the left-hand wall, whilst leaving enough room for a few wizards at a time to walk by the ends of the beds, to the right of the room. A few Death Eaters were talking quietly upon some of the furthest beds, and Tom led Harry and Nott towards them.

Gonson, Rosier, and Ransom were sitting at the ends of Avery and Gibbon's beds while the latter Death Eaters lay with the covers pulled up above them, prepared to have a well deserved night's rest after the horrible events they had struggled through in the past week. Macnair stood nearby, healed from most of his pain and eager to talk, while Lestrange sat a bed apart from everyone, almost hidden in the shadows.

Lestrange was sitting upon neat bedcovers, apparently without any desire to get under them, or even to change out of the dirty robes that he had worn since being captured and questioned by Grindelwald's people. Although all of his open injuries were gone, as well as most of his internal problems relating to the torture that Grindelwald's people had put him though, he was still visibly far from healthy as he stared into space, having suffered far more trauma than his three Death Eater companions…

When Tom, Nott, and Harry approached Lestrange, he looked up slowly. When he saw Tom standing besides his bed, he stood up. He looked relieved, and Harry was quite surprised. He had believed firmly that Lestrange would be terrified at the sight of Tom. Lestrange had likely shared some of Tom's secrets with Grindelwald's people under the stress of torture, so it confused Harry to see him now, looking as though Tom's presence meant only good news.

Then, Lestrange's eyes fell upon Harry.

"Are you alright?" Lestrange asked. "How are you here?"

Harry stared at the Death Eater, too confused by these questions to answer. When his eyes darted to Tom in concern, Tom looked at him for only a second before turning his attention back to Lestrange.

"From what I've heard," Tom began, "you suffered some sort of accident, which caused you to loose your memory. You are, if I am correct, still under the illusion that it's December of 1947. You have lost all memory of the last four months."

Lestrange gazed at Tom in fright for a moment or two, before looking around to everyone else to see their reactions. Nott and Harry were nothing but bewildered.

"It weren't just 'some sort of accident'," Avery's voice called from two beds away, "it was completely mental – turned his own wand on himself, Lestrange did. Used some spell that none of us heard the name of, which messed up with his brain, by the looks of it. Gridenwald's lot couldn't get one piece of information out of him about the last few months. It was weird…"

Tom appeared as surprised as Harry was at this piece of information. Yet Harry, perhaps like Tom, soon understood what must have happened. Lestrange had used a Memory Charm upon himself to conceal the secrets he had learnt about Harry and Tom in the last few months. Doubtlessly, this quick plan had worked completely in stopping Grindelwald's people from gaining information, even if the price was worse torture for Lestrange.

"But is that why you send us away?" Lestrange asked, "to rescue Jonathan? But then why is he here? How did he escape from Grindelwald's people?"

"Jonathan was rescued around four months ago now," Tom informed Lestrange calmly. "It is April, 1948. Grindelwald's people ambushed you on a far different mission, one that was only initiated to take down a few more of Grindelwald's people. You needn't worry about Jonathan, or anything of the sort."

"But – but," Lestrange stammered, appearing greatly unsettled about the whole situation, "What happened to me? Why am I the only one with memory loss?"

"I believe the memory loss was self-inflicted," Tom informed Lestrange quietly. "I have a few theories as to why you did it, but I believe it will be a few weeks or months before you regain your memories. For now, I stress again that you needn't worry."

Avery, Gibbon, Gonson, Macnair, Rosier, and Ransom were all listening closely, but they couldn't truly hear what Tom was saying. Lestrange wasn't very reassured by Tom's words, but he seemed more willing to withhold the many questions that were bothering him. Tom decided to add something more, as a last attempt to calm him.

"Come with me," Tom beckoned, turning away from Lestrange's bed, "I must tell you that Nott will likely be a great help for you in your attempt to regain your memories. He has been with you often in the last four months. This is why I think it's only fair that you should be put in the same room, perhaps away from the others…"

They were entering the main hall of the Death Eaters' building, just outside of the hospital room. Harry was equally as confused by Tom's statement as the two Death Eaters were.

"You want to separate us from the others?" Nott asked carefully.

"Yes," Tom confirmed. "For a few months, at least."

All four of them were silent, walking further along the corridor.

"Why?" Lestrange asked bravely.

Tom did not answer immediately. It was only when they were near the main entrance when he stopped walking to face Harry and the two curious Death Eaters.

"I'm afraid your questions will have to wait until tomorrow evening," Tom said simply. "For tonight, I ask only that you follow my orders with trust, and remain away from the others until further instructions."

This seemed to confuse Nott and Lestrange further, and even alarm them.

"You will be staying at Jonathan's house," Tom carried on, as if he didn't notice their concern. "I will set up a room for you both, and I expect you to stay within his home for the whole of tomorrow, until I visit you. Understood?"

The two Death Eaters nodded slowly, mumbling some words of understanding.

Harry was somewhat surprised by Tom's choice in letting Nott and Lestrange stay at his house. Yet despite the fact that he still didn't understand why Tom was doing this, he felt as though he should trust that Tom had some sort of plan…

"So, without further ado, let us venture forth to set up your room…"

–X–

"What was all of that about?" Harry asked Tom ten minutes after they had walked back from his own house to spend time alone in Tom's. "Why are you asking them to stay away from the others?"

"Their minds," Tom answered simply from the bathroom. The sound of running water suggesting that he was cleaning his hands. "As I am sure you noticed, the Knights of Walpurgis all seem perfectly able to use both Occlumency and Legilimency… even if they, in truth, do not seem to want to use either against me…"

Harry thought he heard a smile within Tom's voice. He was sitting upon Tom's bed, waiting idly for him to return from the bathroom for a fuller conversation.

"So, what's your plan?" Harry asked the moment Tom appeared in the doorway. "You can't keep them away from everyone else for long. They'll start to get suspicious. Everyone will."

Tom headed towards one of the cupboards, vaguely looking for something. He didn't answer Harry's inquiries yet, while Harry decided to stand up.

"Unless," Harry said slowly, "you're planning on teaching them Occlumency…"

"My plan precisely," Tom smiled. He stopped searching the cupboard to give Harry his full attention. "I know their minds well already, so even if they learn Occlumency they shan't be a threat. Having two friends with the ability to attempt to hide thoughts from me is worth it for keeping our secret safe."

"_Attempt_ to hide thoughts from you?" Harry repeated, not missing the meaning behind Tom's words. "If you're going to teach them Occlumency, you should do it properly."

"Oh, I will do it properly," Tom said lightly, "but even the best of Occlumens can't block the access of every thought… Or so they say…"

Tom's smile had faded. His expression wasn't distrustful while he watched Harry, but there was certainly a lot of evident thinking going on behind his dark grey eyes. Memories of worrying in the past about Tom's Legilimency skills came flooding back to Harry in the silence.

Voldemort was, as many people claimed, one of the greatest – if not _the_ greatest – Legilimens the world had ever known. Although Harry firmly believed that Tom had never once seen into his mind, the idea of that happening often haunted him. Harry was protected by some sort of ancient magic that had been put in place to ensure that time travellers wouldn't disrupt the flow of time with their mere thoughts, but even this theory couldn't settle Harry's worry completely, at times.

"You're a very good Occlumens, you know," Tom said softly, as if to inform Harry upon his trail of thought.

"I know," Harry admitted. "It's… how I've survived. It's habit, and I can't break it, as I've told you."

"Indeed," Tom said. He cracked a smile. "It only makes me wonder how brilliant your teachers must have been with the ability of Legilimency… There is always one Legilimens who is better than any Occlumens, after all."

"Probably not anymore," Harry said with a weak smile.

It took Tom a second to understand what Harry meant by this claim. He returned Harry's smile, somewhat more strongly. "Ah, yes, perhaps death has separated the best Legilimens and Occlumens…"

There was a short silence while the two of them thought about this. An idea drifted in Harry's mind, one that made him wonder whether it would be his fault if Tom became a great Legilimens. Maybe Tom would attempt to learn Legilimency well enough to one day read Harry's mind… Since this goal was impossible to achieve, it could lead Tom to obsess over it, making him become the best Legilimens known to the Wizarding world.

Harry felt slightly bad at the idea that Tom would think his imaginary ex-Occlumency Teacher was better at Legilimency than him, but Harry was sure Tom would get over the idea eventually. He would probably rationalize that Harry must have improved his Occlumency skills over the years, anyway…

Harry couldn't help but notice, suddenly, how very ironic it was that he had become such a good Occlumens. After enduring so many lessons with Severus Snape all those years ago, here Harry was, a greater Occlumens than Snape had ever been, without ever having to try or train… Though Legilimency hadn't been easy to learn on his own, Harry reflected.

"Do you think Nott and Lestrange will be able to learn Occlumency well enough?" Harry asked, perhaps to change the subject.

"Oh, I shall make sure they do," Tom said. "They will have no choice but to learn it, no matter how long it takes."

"Won't the others and the Knights get suspicious if the two of them are gone for too long?"

"If it becomes a problem, we'll find a way to fix the rising questions," Tom said. A smile then crept upon his face, "but understand that there are no longer any 'others', Harry…"

Harry was about to ask Tom what he meant by this, but he stopped himself when his mind registered Tom's meaning. He didn't want to hear Tom say it. The same large, wild smile that Harry had seen in the eleven-year-old Riddle was forming upon Tom's face…

"Our friends are now the Knights of Walpurgis," Tom said in little over a whisper, "and I am their Lord…"

The mad happiness within Tom was overpowering. Harry couldn't find his voice, or the words to say in response to this. All he could do was stare at Tom, fear washing over him.

In the silence, Tom let out a breath of laughter, his smile wide, as he began to pace the room, so consumed with his sense of elation that he couldn't notice Harry's concern, or the meaning behind his silence.

"We shall become great with this army of dedicated followers, the Knights to the Dark Arts," Tom told Harry quietly, unable to control his deranged happiness. "We shall become more powerful than he could ever imagine, spreading our views on the Dark Arts heavily while we train great beasts to join us too, reforming the world's shallow view upon the greatness of magic…"

Harry didn't know what to think, or what to do. He didn't know whether this was supposed to happen or not. He didn't know if he was causing the Death Eaters to be more powerful than they were supposed to be, or whether this is what had happened in what he still referred to as 'the past'. If he hadn't been here, Quentin would never have captured him, alarming Grindelwald's people. The Knights would have never have joined Tom, and the Death Eaters would be called Death Eaters, not the Knights of Walpurgis…

Yet Thorfinn Rowle, Harry remembered. He was a future Death Eater… or a son with the same name would be…

"We shall both be great leaders," Tom carried on, abruptly stopping to meet Harry's eyes again. His eyes were large with rapt attention, while Harry's were large with fright that Tom couldn't see. "We shall both be Lords, and we shall lead together… We could do great things together, Harry."

Tom gave another breath of laughter, this one stronger, as he walked forwards. He brought up a hand to brush the side of Harry's face, examining him as though he were a prised possession.

"We shall make history together," Tom breathed. "All who know of our power shall barely dare to speak our names when they refer to us, and we shall forevermore live in the glory of having defeated all our enemies, continuing the goals that our ancestors long ago dreamed to achieve…"

Harry hated hearing Tom say these things while he was so confused about what was happening to history with this event. He gazed up into the face that he so dearly loved, not knowing what to think, what to feel, while he struggled with his terror…

"Even Death shall not stop us," Tom continued, smiling unblinkingly down at Harry. "We will redefine the way this world works – we shall be unstoppable! As Lords we shall be known by each and every Witch and Wizard who dwells upon this earth, as Lords we shall be–"

"I don't want to be a Lord," Harry whispered.

Tom's smile faltered somewhat. He found a response to this after only a moment, however.

"You don't have to be if you don't want to," he said. "You can remain a second leader, if you would prefer it."

"I don't want to lead anyone," Harry informed Tom a little more strongly. "I don't want to… to help those Knights."

Tom was visibly confused. His hand slid away from Harry's face, and Harry took a step back when he had the chance, turning away from Tom's stare for a moment.

"Why are you so keen to lead these people?" Harry asked, if only to continue talking. He felt dazed, unable to think.

Tom looked almost offended. "I am their true leader, Harry. As the Heir of Slytherin I must–"

"We already have followers, we don't need them too," Harry said uneasily, terror at the idea of letting Tom rule the world washing over him in massive waves. He decided to sit down on Tom's bed again. He was unable to stand…

"Do you disapprove of the idea that our group is growing in numbers?" Tom inquired incredulously.

"No, I just…" Harry couldn't find the words to say. He buried his face in his hands, trying to think straight as he rubbed his palms against his eyes. If all of this was leading up to Tom rising to power more prepared that he was supposed to, it would all be Harry's fault…

"Is this because the Knights were working with Grindelwald's people?" Tom asked seriously, every note of joy gone from his voice. He sounded slightly less angry than before. "Is this because you feel it is treachery to your past friends and family if you allow people associated with Grindelwald to be ruled beneath you?"

Harry lifted his head up, bringing his hands together beneath his chin for a moment, fingers entwined. His vision was somewhat foggy as a result of rubbing his eyes, but he didn't look at Tom yet. He didn't know what to say, or what to do about any of this. His silence seemed to convince Tom that he had guessed correctly about what was bothering him.

"They are not truly Grindelwald's people," Tom stated forcibly, trying hard to convince Harry of this. "They are to work with us now, and what they were linked to in the past shan't affect you. Don't let your worry interfere with what I was meant – what I was _destined _ – to fulfil."

Harry winced into space, fearing Tom's words too much to even look at him as he said this. Tom moved forwards to sit by Harry's side, reaching a hand to unlock Harry's fingers lightly, while his other hand reached up to touch Harry's face once more.

"By doing this we are taking away Grindelwald's false followers," Tom said softly, trying hard to make Harry appreciate this as much as he did. "Thus we are leaving Grindelwald's true people more defenceless, while we gain the help of Witches and Wizards that they were unable to win the dedication of."

"I still don't trust them," Harry whispered, examining the wooden floor in front of him determinedly.

"I'm not asking you to trust them," Tom said. "I'm asking you to trust me."

Harry said nothing to this, still examining the floor as though it was greatly interesting to him. Tom's breathing was still heavy in his doubtlessly continued undertone of contentment…

"Look at me," Tom asked of him.

When Harry met his eyes slowly, he was relieved to see that most of Tom's mad happiness was gone. Tom smiled when he gazed at Harry, but it was his usual smile, not the one Harry disliked. Tom moved his long fingers along the side of Harry's face gently while they watched each other. Tom then leant in to kiss Harry softly upon the lips.

After the first simple kiss, Tom moved away marginally, allowing their breath to mix while his nose touched Harry's very softly. A breath of laughter escaped his lips. When their lips met again, Tom kissed Harry less lightly, urging Harry to follow him in the rhythmic pattern that began. Harry followed, finding it was easier to do so. He felt Tom's other hand sliding along his thigh, moving up and down it slowly to suit the mood of the kiss…

The kiss deepened, and Harry found himself immersed within it. It was easy for him to forget about what was bothering him while Tom's lips pressed against his own, his tongue testing, touching, and teasing Harry's while his hand continued to rub against Harry's thigh, moving higher. Tom's hand ended up sliding up along Harry's hip, to Harry's slight disappointment… But Tom began moving to find a new resting position; sitting upon Harry's lap, his hands upon Harry's shoulders, and Harry didn't quite mind this change…

Harry found himself breathing heavily, relished in the feeling of Tom so close to him. Tom's lips moved away from his own to begin kissing his neck vibrantly. Their breathing was heavy with desire while Tom began moving closer, pressing their bodies together. Tom then moved his lips close to Harry's ear. He laughed softly again.

"I can't help but think," Tom began in a hiss, his breath causing Harry to feel disorientated with desire, "how funny it is that the potential next greatest Dark Wizard of all time is sitting here, upon your very lap…"

Harry opened his eyes. He said nothing to this while Tom remained so close to him. Despite the fact that Tom was whispering in his ear, their bodies pressed together, Harry was suddenly less interested in all of this…

"Although," Tom continued in a whisper, "I could always let you sit upon mine, if you'd prefer…"

Harry breathed out heavily in desire when he heard Tom say this. He then took a sharp intake of breath when Tom began kissing his ear and licking him in lust, sucking on his earlobe. Harry found that his eyes were closed again, while he struggled with thinking whether he should give in to Tom or not…

"So, which one would you prefer?" Tom pressed, his desire evident. "Would you like me to stay where I am?"

Harry was dizzy. He didn't want to think. "I… I don't know…"

"Well, that response won't do." Tom smiled. "You're going to have to give me a proper answer… 'Yes, my Lord' or 'No, my Lord' would be prefer–"

Tom stopped talking when he felt Harry moving. Harry saw him grinning widely at first, until he saw that Harry was moving away from him. Harry didn't even know what he was doing by the time he was halfway across Tom's room, running his hands through his hair. He felt sick when he turned back to face Tom vaguely, hoping he didn't notice his trembling fingers.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked, clearly lost as to why Harry was acting like this.

"I –I just –" Harry began, not even knowing what he was saying. He stood for a moment, the realization that everything could be going wrong petrifying him. "I just need some time to… to think about this…"

"To think about what?" Tom asked, his tone suggesting that he honestly couldn't decide what was bothering Harry so much.

"About everything that's happened!" Harry exclaimed, frustrated that Tom didn't understand this yet. "Everything that – that's changed. Everything that's going to…"

He couldn't find the words to explain himself at all. In the silence, Tom seemed to understand that it was Harry's past that was bothering him… Though, of course, Tom wasn't referring to Harry's true past in this assumption.

"The Knights of Walpurgis are not Grindelwald's people," Tom stated firmly once more, standing up as he did so. "How can you continue to worry that the two are related when you know that I was meant to lead the Knights? Grindelwald's people want nothing to do with joining us."

Harry thought about this, knowing he should be glad that the rest of Grindelwald's people were never going to join Tom now. Maybe some of the Knights would leave after the fights with Grindelwald anyway, Harry thought. Maybe some of them would die, leaving Tom not much more powerful than he would be without them…

Then another thought struck Harry. If it weren't for him, maybe the rest of Grindelwald's people would have joined Tom anyway, at one point or another. Witches and Wizards who were dedicated to the Dark Arts weren't often fussy about whose side they were on, after all. Whoever was the most powerful Dark Wizard of the time would get the same followers, often… So who was to say that Harry wasn't making Tom weaker, perhaps? Or else, he wasn't changing Tom's strength at all…

"Please," Tom said, "don't be so uneasy about all of this. I couldn't stand it if I had to give up my duty because of your distaste towards the Knights… You have every reason to hate Grindelwald's people for what they did to you, but the Knights are different."

Harry had to admit that he didn't think the Knights were all that different to Grindelwald's other people, but he didn't share this thought with Tom. He watched Tom for a moment, feeling a lot more reassured as he focused on the idea that it was just as likely that something similar to this had happened in 'the past'…

"I still don't know about this," Harry voiced truthfully.

"Give it a few days," Tom suggested. "Perhaps you'll get more used to them then…"

Harry appreciated the suggestion, even if he knew that wouldn't help him much. He nodded slowly in response to Tom's words, at any rate.

Tom waited for him to speak next.

"I didn't mean to suggest that you should give up the Knights of Walpurgis for me," Harry told Tom quietly, "I know they aren't really Grindelwald's people, it's just… it's just a lot to take in, I guess."

Tom smiled softly, closing the distance between himself and Harry. He took Harry's hand within his own, and gazed at him contently. Something about the way they watched each other seemed to inspire him.

"I love you too much to allow something like that to get between us," Tom said softly. "I hope you will get used to the Knights eventually."

"I probably will," Harry admitted. He squeezed Tom's hand softly, smiling for the first time. "I love you too."

Tom looked as though he would very much like to kiss Harry once more, but something stopped him. He seemed to be contemplating something seriously.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asked softly, examining Tom's handsome face.

Tom didn't answer immediately. When he did, he still didn't smile. He was watching Harry's unmoving lips.

"I can't imagine other people feeling what we feel," he said.

Harry was somewhat confused by this. "What do you mean?"

"I can't imagine anyone feeling the power of love as strongly as we feel it," Tom explained, appearing to find the thought deeply interesting. "People use the word too loosely. Far too loosely, in fact… Unless this is something more than just mere love…"

"What could be more than love?" Harry asked, smiling slightly at Tom's words.

"I don't know," Tom admitted. His eyes found Harry's again. "But when you talk of love and trust in relation to our friends… I cannot help but mention that I would happily lose them all a thousand times over just to keep you safe."

Harry didn't know whether to smile or worry by this point. Though he supposed that the Death Eaters were nothing more than followers for Tom… or the Knights, or whatever Harry was supposed to call them now.

"I suppose everyone feels love in different ways," Harry said slowly, "but I don't think we feel it more than other people. Love is pretty powerful, after all. Dumbledore is known for claiming that it's the most powerful type of magic, as you know."

Tom seemed to wince somewhat. Harry hadn't really thought about Tom's loathing for Dumbledore – or even his own dislike for him – when he had said this. Yet Tom wasn't too offended, after a moment. He was still somewhat lost in thought when he spoke.

"I imagine Dumbledore probably believes that love is the reason why he won the battle against Grindelwald three years ago," Tom voiced almost sourly. "Though I presume he didn't tell that to the press… unless such ideas have truly ruined that ancient mind of his."

Harry was again confused as to how he should react to this. "You don't believe that love is the strongest type of magic, then?"

Tom took a moment to think about this, knowing that both a negative answer and a lie would annoy Harry… he attempted to avoid this dilemma.

"Magic can defeat the bond of love by causing any heart to ache while Death separates two beings… Even if the living being continues to think of their lost lover determinedly, the love will eventually fade and slip away."

"So, you're saying Death defeats all?" Harry asked.

"No," Tom said curtly.

Harry stared at Tom. He was vaguely startled that Tom had stated this so forcibly. Tom seemed to notice his mistake, however, for his voice was quieter when he spoke again.

"No, magic can defeat Death too, as you know…"

Harry hoped that Tom wouldn't lead this conversation back to Horcruxes, as he always hoped when immortality and death was mentioned by Tom…

"None of this explains why you think our love is stronger than other people's, though," Harry stated.

"I haven't found an explanation for the theory yet," Tom admitted. He turned his head to one side after saying this, analyzing Harry. "But maybe I have merely never liked someone as much as I love you…"

"Maybe," Harry repeated, smirking.

Tom returned the smile, before moving closer to kiss Harry's jaw. He kissed his way back to Harry's lips, dwelling there for a moment in thought. Harry encouraged the embrace to continue and deepen, as he wrapped his arms around Tom contently…

He felt a lot better now that he had spoken more about the Knights, and he was more willing to spend time alone with Tom peacefully tonight, even if his worry for the far future was still residing somewhere in the back of his mind…

* * *

**Dear Readers:** You know the drill for lately, there may be spelling mistakes but I'm too keen to upload this chapter to care xP

I hope, hope, hope I've gained my inspiration back…


	56. Love is Strange

Nott's eyes moved cautiously as he examined Jonathan's kitchen for the first time in daylight, taking in the simple decorations that characterized this (admittedly quite bland) room. The walls were unadorned and a plain, roughly made wooden table rested in the middle of the room, two chairs currently positioned around it. No curtains were framing the large windows and no carpets or rugs rested upon the cold stone floor. There wasn't even a dishtowel in sight, nor many kitchen appliances, as though Jonathan hadn't yet spent enough time here to think of getting any.

The way the entire house was set up suggested – even after what must have surely been almost a year of inhabitation – that Jonathan had no true intention of making this house his home. Nott wanted to assume that this was because Jonathan expected Tom to leave this land abruptly at any time, but that didn't really explain why he wouldn't keep a comfortable design that could be packed away via magic in an emergency. Surely Voldemort wasn't going to leave too fast anyway, considering his house felt a lot more lived-in than this place…

As Nott's light eyes took in the details – or lack thereof – before him, he couldn't help but allow his mind to wander. If Jonathan didn't consider this place his home, Tom's house was probably a greater comfort to him, Nott thought. It was obvious that Jonathan hadn't slept here last night. The thought of Jonathan often being absent from this place had never crossed Nott's mind while he resided in the building that Tom had built as headquarters, but it was obvious now that Jonathan was often away. Lestrange might not have noticed Jonathan's absence, however…

Nott's attention was directed to the wizard who sat opposite him when Lestrange crossed his mind. Both he and Lestrange had been silent for minutes and it appeared as though Nott wasn't the only one who had become lost in thought in that time. Unlike how Nott had been a few seconds ago, however, Lestrange was staring down at his breakfast with a frown. He was evidently trying hard to remember something that he had forgotten.

Lestrange looked up to see Nott watching him. The determined expression that he had worn in his attempt to remember lost memories faded away. He smiled weakly, trying to brush away any concern Nott might have shown.

"It is odd, having such a prominent, continued sense of almost remembering things," Lestrange voiced, his drawling tone very able to hide a note of annoyance, as always. "It's much like attempting to remember a dream, except it could be years before I get the details right…"

Nott took a sip of coffee before saying, "Which is, arguably, the same for both dreams and lost memories."

Lestrange prodded what remained of his breakfast, looking down at his plate idly. "If that is the case, then I don't know which is less likely; regaining lost memories or attempting to remember aged dreams."

"The memories will probably come back to you, eventually," Nott commented, trying to brush away his friend's worry. "Even if it takes a while."

"Though I can't imagine there is much information I have to gain back. From what you describe, not much has changed in the past four months."

"Things have changed," Nott correcting Lestrange, "just not a lot, really. Besides for Jonathan returning home and a few fights going on here and there, nothing will be all that different until we actually fight Grindelwald's followers properly, I think."

"You mentioned last night that Tom spent the last few months training all of us more," Lestrange said. "He will doubtlessly be somewhat annoyed by the idea that I must learn everything a second time."

"Well, he didn't seem annoyed last night, when he brought us here," Nott pointed out. After a moment of evaluating this claim, however, he felt the need to contradict it. "Though, he's always been pretty good at pretending to be calm, just to make it worse when he actually shouts at us…"

"Or does worse than shouting," Lestrange added.

Yes, Nott thought, there was always that too.

"He might just be keeping us here to make sure no one else is alarmed if we get visibly hurt," Lestrange said quietly, sounding determinedly calm. "To punish us for one reason or another…"

"I don't think I'd be here if that were the case," Nott reasoned, "and that's a bit extreme, even for Voldemort. He wouldn't have made a secret of his anger."

"Ah, yes, he's 'Voldemort' now," Lestrange said lazily, perhaps to just assess this aloud for himself, "or _Lord_ Voldemort, I heard a few people claim…"

"Where'd he get that name, do you think?" Nott wondered aloud.

"I don't know," Lestrange admitted. "We've known about the 'Voldemort' part for years, but I never once heard he was a 'Lord' before last night."

"Do you think he knew about these Knights of Walpurgis before? It would make sense, if 'Lord Voldemort' was some sort of reference we didn't know about."

"Don't ask me, you're the one who remembers the last four months." Nott wondered whether Lestrange gave this answer from lack of knowing or lack of caring… He'd be more willing to bet on the latter, in full honesty.

"I only found out about the Knights of Walpurgis last night, like you did," Nott said. "Neither of us has really questioned Tom's determination to use the name 'Voldemort', either."

"_Touché_…"

Lestrange smirked at his own response, but the use of French seemed to strike a thought, after a moment.

"_Vol de mort_…"

"'Flight of Death'," Nott said. "Though we've known that for years, now."

"The name probably has no connection to the Knights of Vall-pur… whatever it was."

"Walpurgis," Nott said, "and you're probably right about that."

"Walpurgis," Lestrange repeated quietly, not commenting on Nott's other words. "Vall-pour-gus…"

"I can't imagine how Jonathan must be taking this, though," Nott mentioned after a time. "Grindelwald's followers tortured him for about ten solid days, I can't exactly imagine him being pleased that some of the same wizards are now joining us."

"Why do you care how Jonathan will take it?" Lestrange asked lazily.

"I don't really," Nott said, unsure whether this was the truth or not, "but with the fact that Grindelwald killed his parents, I imagine he's pretty annoyed about this… Though then again, Tom doesn't seem to like Grindelwald's people much more, so they might have reached some sort of agreement here. Just for the Knights."

"Why does the thought of Jonathan's feelings strike you, though?" Lestrange pressed. "Jonathan is already favoured by Tom –"

"– Voldemort –"

"– so why should it bother us if Jonathan doesn't like the Knights? We are all the Knights of Walpurgis now, as _Voldemort_ said. I don't know why Tom cares so much about him already, or why we should care at all."

Nott had to think of a response for a moment. He distracted himself with drinking more coffee.

He had been warned harshly last night to not even hint to the fact that Jonathan and Tom were dating, so he was going to do as Tom asked. He knew that Tom would happily go through with his threats if indeed Lestrange remembered about his secret with even the tiniest remark to encourage his memory. Nott wasn't going to risk pissing off Tom just to bring back memories that Lestrange probably wanted to forget anyway…

"Jonathan sort of became our friend in the last four months," Nott told Lestrange truthfully. He didn't elaborate.

Lestrange was visibly sceptical, as Nott had expected. He seemed close to asking 'why' above all else, but something stopped him from doing so – perhaps the knowledge that Nott could be offended if he was indeed friends with Jonathan now. He couldn't seem to find a decent response to this, so Nott decided to speak, to lessen Lestrange's curiosity.

"It's pretty good – and useful – for us to be friends with Jonathan," he said, trying to convince Lestrange that it wasn't all that bad. "He's managed to stop us getting in trouble with Tom quite a few times now, which was – and still is – a relief."

Nott understood that Lestrange had been jealous of Jonathan for the past few years, ever since Tom started paying more attention to John (… or Harry, or Richard, or whatever his real name was, Nott mused). Nott knew that he would be best off trying to make Lestrange approve of Jonathan, because if Lestrange continued to hate Tom's boyfriend without knowing the full story, Tom could very easily go against his previous promise to Jonathan – the promise that said he wouldn't hurt Nott and Lestrange, even for what they knew…

"Well, I suppose if it's more convenient I can't complain about Jonathan," Lestrange said slowly after a few minutes. He didn't sound sure of his own words.

"It's very convenient," Nott assured him. "He's a pretty good person, as well, once you get to know him."

"Where is he now, I wonder?"

There was a slight hesitation.

"He's probably just working with Tom, or something," Nott said, not fully believing his own words.

"At this hour?" Lestrange asked. His eyes were slits again.

"I think the both of them wake up pretty early…"

Lestrange scoffed. "Probably tries hard to impress Tom with his readiness to spend each hour of the day with him…"

Nott didn't doubt that. "I don't think he has much else to do, to be honest. He's sort of just here for Tom, it seems."

"Who isn't?" Lestrange asked.

Nott smiled, somehow not truly feeling happy while he did it. He could find no response to this, while the smile faded. He often regretted having to stay here in Albania, even if it meant he could learn the Dark Arts from perhaps the most talented Dark Wizards alive today. Nott knew he could have had a better life, perhaps, had he not chosen the Dark Arts above all else… but there was no way he could leave now…

He wondered how Lestrange would react to the idea of Jonathan and Tom being boyfriends. He very much hoped that Lestrange wouldn't remember about it, since he probably wouldn't have the same reaction as before… Nott didn't know what he would do if Lestrange couldn't accept the idea of homosexuality. He knew that Lestrange regretted knowing this information before, and he wouldn't be happy about knowing it again…

"Nott?" Lestrange began to ask slowly.

"Yes?"

"What if… what if I am to be lost with what is happening with my family back in England, due to my memories being erased?" he asked, appearing concerned.

Nott watched the other wizard for a minute. It was odd to see how affected Lestrange was at this idea… Normally Lestrange appeared nothing but bored or apathetic even when a possible problem arose. Lestrange didn't particularly like a large part of his family, moreover, so Nott was confused. After some thought Nott decided that Lestrange was probably only worried due to feeling uncomfortable about the whole idea of memory loss…

"You never mentioned anything particularly important happening with any of your family members," Nott told Lestrange, the both of them knowing that he would have heard of it if anything had happened. They had quite a few family connections. "Plus, you've kept all your letters to them, haven't you?"

Lestrange appeared relieved. "Ah, yes, there are always letters…"

Nott hoped secretly that none of these letters would trigger memories for Lestrange that Tom wouldn't approve of… though he didn't see how they could. He also hoped that Lestrange hadn't written to anyone about Tom and so on – but again he couldn't think why Lestrange would do that. He was paranoid already. This was going to be a stressing few weeks, Nott thought. He stared down at his half-eaten breakfast. He couldn't think when it would be safe to assume Lestrange wouldn't remember anything more…

"Are you alright?" Lestrange asked, his words interrupting Nott's thoughts.

Nott looked up sharply. He attempted to rearrange his expression into something less worried, surprised that Lestrange had asked. Cracking a meaningless smile he said, "I'm fine."

He didn't know whether Lestrange was convinced. Dark eyes watched Nott for a time, while Nott tried to appear what he thought could be normal and carefree. He felt as though he had to say something to change the subject, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He dropped his gaze to the dull table before him. He wished Lestrange would stop staring.

"You know, I'll probably remember everything within a few weeks," Lestrange said, as though he thought this would calm Nott. "As we both know, I was never very good at Memory Charms in general."

Nott only nodded to this, not knowing how else to react. He felt nervous hearing Lestrange say this. He hoped Lestrange wouldn't see he was uneasy. He still couldn't bring himself to look at the other wizard.

Whether or not Lestrange noticed anything odd, it appeared as though a new thought distracted him from caring about Nott's wellbeing, to Nott's relief.

"What sort of lessons do you think Tom has in mind for us?" Lestrange asked curiously, despite the fact that they had discussed this already last night.

Tom had informed them, upon leaving them in this house, that he wanted to teach them some sort of magic away from the others. He hadn't given any details about it, to no surprise, but Nott and Lestrange had a few theories about what he might be teaching them.

"I still don't know at all what he'd want to teach us," Nott admitted truthfully. "Even if he wanted to help you gain back your memories – which I doubt he really cares about – I don't see what use I'd be. I know I've been near you these last few months, but it wouldn't really make sense."

"Well, I hope he wants to re-teach us all the magic I forgot," Lestrange said, appearing to like that idea more.

"Again though, why would I be a part of that?" Nott questioned.

"I don't know," Lestrange continued, blatantly hopefully, "but he might just want you there to help me with the magic if he gets bored of it."

"Hmm, maybe," Nott responded.

It was certainly possible that Tom could want Nott here merely to help Lestrange learn the magic he had forgotten, though this still seemed a bit needless. When Nott thought about it, it seemed more likely that Tom might just want him here so he could stay with Lestrange all day, to be sure that if or when Lestrange remembered about Jonathan and Tom, for example, Nott would be able to do something about it. What Tom expected him to do, however, Nott couldn't guess.

"I hope it's the Dark Arts lessons," Lestrange said again, smiling as he said it.

Nott watched his smile, thinking about how happy it made everyone in his land when Dark Arts lessons were being held every day. Nott enjoyed the lessons along with everyone else, but there was a part of him that couldn't shake off a bad feeling about the Dark Arts, even to this day. The Arts were like a horrible addiction to him; an addiction that he wouldn't be able to stop now even if he felt he wanted to.

"Well, he might not stop teaching us the Dark Arts with the other Knights, even if he teaches us something else as well," Nott said indifferently. "The more lessons the better, I guess…"

Lestrange didn't respond to this immediately. He appeared confused. "You seem rather unenthusiastic, lately," he remarked.

Nott felt as though Lestrange wasn't one to talk, considering he rarely showed any signs of interest about anything. Rubbing his forehead with his palm, Nott wondered why he felt so frustrated about this question.

"I'm just tired," he responded to Lestrange, unsure whether he meant this or not.

Nott didn't look up to see Lestrange's reaction. He heard a faint "alright" from the other wizard before they fell into silence. They didn't have much to talk about past this. Nott was somewhat relieved…

Nott spent most of the day worrying about Lestrange, even if he took the time to write to his family and quite a few other people too (perhaps as a distraction, he later mused). Lestrange had been walking through the house restlessly, exploring all the rooms, looking in cupboard and drawers, and picking up books for the mere sake of it as though he wanted to invade Jonathan's personal space as much as he could while he had the chance. The idea made Nott smile a little, even if he did worry about what Jonathan would do if he found out someone had been searching his house…

Jonathan and Tom showed up at the house at around seven in the evening, after Nott and Lestrange had made themselves quite comfortable in Jonathan's living room. Jonathan had returned to stay, while Tom was only here to drop Jonathan off and to tell Nott and Lestrange that he expected to see them in the main meeting hall of their headquarters within fifteen minutes.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us?" Nott could hear Tom asking Jonathan quietly at the front door, while he and Lestrange stood in the living room. Lestrange was listening too.

"I can't teach them Occlumency," Jonathan was saying. His voice was low and he sounded almost annoyed. "I don't know how to, even if I understand how Occlumency works. You'd be better at it."

"I still believe that you would be a fine teacher," Tom said, his voice indicating nothing but calmness. "But if you would prefer not to…"

Tom's voice faded away and Nott turned to Lestrange. The front door closed, suggesting that Tom left, but before either of the Knights could talk to each other, Jonathan entered the room. He appeared solemn, his tired green eyes not meeting anyone else's for a moment while he thought. Nott wondered whether the Knights of Walpurgis were making Jonathan so sombre, or whether he was just weary from the recent stress. It was hard to guess.

"If you need me, I'll be upstairs," Harry said shortly. He seemed to be trying hard to not sound monotonic. "I'll probably still be there when you return, but I might go back to Tom's house later on."

Nott nodded and Lestrange gave a faint comment of understanding.

Jonathan turned to leave after this, not saying a word more. The two Knights of Walpurgis stood for a moment, waiting for his footsteps to fade away.

"Tom doesn't seem to need much personal time anymore, I see," Lestrange said quietly.

"He's just busy working with Jonathan," Nott said. "He doesn't need much time alone."

"You'd still think he'd care for it," Lestrange muttered. "You'd think he'd want to be alone with us at some time – or at least just for these lessons…"

"I wonder what 'Occlumency' is," Nott commented, ignoring Lestrange. "Why would Tom want Jonathan to help with it?"

"I'm just glad Jonathan refused."

Nott wished Lestrange wouldn't say that. "You're supposed to be his friend."

"I don't see how," Lestrange said. "I can't imagine why I would want to be his friend at all."

Nott didn't even bother replying to this. He wanted to tell Lestrange that he should be less rude since they were staying in Jonathan's house, but he refrained from doing so. "Come on, we should get our cloaks…"

Fifteen minutes later, Nott and Lestrange were being escorted into a small room that wasn't generally used for practicing magic in as far as Nott knew. Nott couldn't imagine what sort of lessons Tom had in mind, especially as he viewed this location, which looked more like an office than a practice hall. Tom, however, seemed sure that this was the right place as he led them further in.

Once in the centre of the room, Nott and Lestrange looked back at Tom just in time to see him locking the door. This made Nott feel a little uneasy at first, but he still had his wand in his cloak pocket, so surely Tom wasn't planning on attacking either of them? Tom smiled at the two wizards before him just after this. Nott thought again about the wand in his pocket.

"There's no need to worry," Tom said quietly as he examined Nott and Lestrange. "I am not here to punish either of you."

Nott wondered what gave away their worry as he stood besides Lestrange. He didn't want to look away from Tom, somehow, because he knew Tom wasn't one to care whether or not one's back was turned before he cursed them.

"Now," Tom continued, "I'm sure you must be curious as to why I suggested we meet together tonight. Moreover, you must be curious as to why I choose such peculiar meeting location for what is surely going to be a series of magic lessons, as always…"

Tom began pacing the room in front of Nott and Lestrange, obviously not expecting a response. His dark, reddened eyes stared thoughtfully at the views before him. Not supposed that he must be thinking about how best to word his thoughts, so he didn't interrupt.

"For the last few months the both of you have been progressing satisfyingly with your work," Tom said softly, his pace slow and even. "You have, in fact, progressed so continuously in the last few years or so that I feel as though I should begin teaching you a few pieces of magic that I might, admittedly, regret teaching many of the other Knights…"

"But I've forgotten a lot of magic that you taught us in the last four months," Lestrange pointed out, confused. "How can you now think that both Nott and I need to learn more advanced magic?"

"What you've forgot will likely return, due to the magic being more instinctive," Tom addressed shortly. "What I wish to teach you has less to do with combat magic, what is more… Understand that the reason you are here is because a possible problem caught my attention recently. A problem that, in a short explanation, might affect not only your own safety, but my own ability to ensure that what we do here remains a secure secret…"

"What sort of problem is it?" Nott asked. He wondered whether Tom truly cared about their work being kept a secret, or whether he just wanted to hide his own secrets further.

"It would be difficult to explain…"

Neither Nott nor Lestrange pressed Tom for further explanation as he continued to pace the room. Nott still didn't have the faintest idea what this could be about.

"Have you ever wondered why," Tom began… but he stopped here. Taking a moment, he started again, turning to look at them as his pace slowed to a stop. "Have you ever felt the nagging suspicion that someone has, despite the absurdity of the claim, understood exactly what you were thinking or feeling, before you had even said a word about it?"

Nott and Lestrange were silent. Neither of them knew what to say. A smile crept upon Tom's face.

"Did you never once wondered why I demanded so harshly in our later years of Hogwarts that no one looked at Albus Dumbledore in the eyes?" Tom asked. "Did you never sit and contemplate why it was that I stopped telling you my plans at that school? Or why I was always able to spot a liar, even if I had no previous evidence to back up such a claim? And don't pin it all of my being mad, Lestrange, you know that's an invalid theory."

"I don't think you're mad," Lestrange said quickly.

Tom was not convinced. "It is obvious that you are lying, Lestrange. You mind is wide open."

Lestrange turned to glance at Nott quickly. He seemed discomforted at the situation while a dawning sense of realisation gripped both Nott and Lestrange.

Nott had to admit that even he thought Tom was a bit insane when he requested bizarre things such as that no one should look at Dumbledore in the eyes. It seemed even madder that Tom knew Lestrange thought this, especially since all of the other Slytherins had made sure to not voice their true opinions to Tom. If no one had told Tom about these opinions, Nott couldn't see how Tom knew about this. Unless…

It would make sense if there was an actual reason (beyond likely insanity) for why Tom neither trusted any Knight with information nor allowed them to spend much time near enemies such as Dumbledore. If Tom had feared Dumbledore's gaze for an actual reason, there were only a few possibilities…

"You don't mean to say," Nott began slowly, unsure about his own inquires, yet too determined about hearing an answer to care, "that you… er… can tell what people are thinking?"

Tom's smile refreshed. "That's exactly what I mean to say."

Nott could see out of the corner of his eye that Lestrange had turned to look at him, but he didn't glance back. His eyes were fixed on Tom, while he began to realise that this made sense… as absolutely insane as it sounded.

"You've got to be joking," Lestrange said.

"I'm not," Tom assured him. He didn't bother elaborating.

"How long have you been able to do this for?" Nott asked. His brow was furrowed as he tried to get his head around this.

"Since our mid years of Hogwarts," Tom responded simply.

"But…" Lestrange began. He couldn't seem to find the right words for a moment. "But surely this isn't allowed – _surely_ people like Dumbledore can't be permitted to invade people's personal space like this?"

"Well, it isn't exactly legal… and I can assure you that Dumbledore makes a great secret of his Legilimency ability," Tom said. He sounded almost bitter about it. "It was a great number of years since meeting him before I began to realise that he knew more than normal people could possibly know… So I soon looked into it and learnt about Occlumency and Legilimency."

"What are Occlumency and Legilimency?" Nott asked, while Lestrange was silent with shock.

"Legilimency is, in short, the ability to read minds," Tom explained, "while Occlumency is the ability to prevent one's mind from being read."

"Are you saying you're going to teach us how to read minds?" Lestrange asked, seeming suddenly more interested.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Tom said. "At this moment I wish only to teach you Occlumency; the ability to shield your minds."

"But what use will that be?" Lestrange inquired. "If we could read minds it would be far more–"

"You need to learn how to shield your minds first," Tom interrupted. "You shouldn't get excited about the idea of reading minds until I am satisfied you can shield your thoughts."

A silent fell here. Lestrange appeared annoyed and confused, but Nott understood, suddenly, that this was probably to keep all of Tom's secrets safe. Though he didn't feel as though he could complain about this – if indeed he was going to learn how to read minds from all of this.

"Why are you teaching us all of this now?" Lestrange asked. "Why didn't you mention it before?"

"Well, I didn't see the point in spoiling the magic of my mind reading, so to speak." Tom smiled. "This is very advanced magic, moreover, and the less people who know about it, the better. Yet I feel as though you are now more worthy of learning such things…"

Nott could tell that Tom was being extra complementary to Lestrange and him today and he couldn't help but wonder whether this was to do with the fact that he, Tom, wanted to keep his secrets safe. He probably didn't want more questions to be asked about why he was doing this and flattery about their skills was a clever way to stop curiosity – especially from Lestrange, who valued himself very highly when it came to magical ability.

"But now," Tom said, after watching the two of them for a time, "I do believe we should ask no further questions, so as to start these lessons without wasting further time…"

It was mad, absolutely mad. Nott didn't know why he had never guessed about mind reading before. He had always thought that Tom was a mastermind when it came to reading people, but nothing more than that (though Nott later discovered that this was, roughly, the idea of Legilimency). It seemed impossible that Tom could have learnt this ability in his years at Hogwarts when Nott began to learn more about it… Yet then again, Nott thought, this was the same wizard who had learnt how to move objects using only his mind before the age of eleven, and before he had ever attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

The room that Tom had set up for Nott and Lestrange within Jonathan's house was small, yet quite comfortable. Nott was sure that it was normally used as an upstairs library, for there were many shelves around and the room didn't seem to have much purpose beyond storing hundreds of books. Nott and Lestrange had their own separate single beds, of course, and the both of them currently sat upon them while they discussed the day's events.

"Mind reading," Lestrange said in disbelief. "I still can't believe it exists. We've never once heard about it before…"

"It isn't surprising that it's kept as such secret though," Nott observed, "and there's no wonder it's illegal in general. It's sort of unfair."

"Unfair?" Lestrange repeated. "It's brilliant!"

"You know what I mean though," Nott said, "if everyone knew Legilimency, there would be a massive divide in the rights of those more and those less powerful with magic. Not to mention, no kids or young adults would have any privacy."

"It would still be brilliant, being able to read minds," Lestrange said. "To know what everyone else is thinking…"

"I'd rather be able to protect my thoughts first, to be honest," Nott said quietly. He hated the idea that Tom, Jonathan, and Dumbledore had all been able to read what he was thinking about at all times… They both thought about this for a few minutes.

"You know," Lestrange began after a silence, his mind having evidently wandered, "Voldemort doesn't seem very keen upon helping me regain back my memories, I noticed…"

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, he didn't mention anything directly about it," Lestrange reminded him, "and don't you remember what he said about the magic I had forgotten?"

"He said you would remember the magic because it was more instinctive, didn't he?" Nott only remembered this because it made him think about how magic was registered in the brain.

"Exactly," Lestrange said. "That must mean that he doesn't think he should bother helping me. If I know the magic, he won't care about anything else concerning the memory loss."

"What do you mean by suggesting all of this?" Nott asked, genuinely confused. "There isn't that much for you to remember anyway."

"But I _want_ to remember," Lestrange complained. "I don't want to keep worrying about what information, thoughts, and lessons I might have learnt in that time. I wish Tom would help me with it – you know he probably knows how to lift the charm, or something."

Nott didn't know what to say to this. He didn't know why Tom wasn't being helpful and he didn't want to mess up any plans Tom might have about lying to Lestrange. For good measure, he decided to say, "There might not be a way for him to lift the Memory Charm, since it was self-inflicted."

"What will that change?"

"Well, you hear about witches and wizards having to learn about Memory Charms when they're in St. Mungo's so they can heal themselves from trauma, sometimes," Nott said. "Self-inflicted Memory Charms are a lot harder to break. They aren't often broken, really."

"Are you saying I should try and break it myself?" Lestrange inquired, appearing to like the idea.

"No," Not assessed quickly. It would be dangerous on many levels. "I'm saying that Tom wouldn't be able to help you and your best bet is waiting for the magic to wear off."

"That could take months," Lestrange said restlessly.

Nott couldn't see how that was a bad thing. "Better than never, I guess…"

"But it could be never too!" Lestrange exclaimed.

Nott said nothing. Lestrange sat back on his bed, sighing heavily and staring up at the ceiling. Nott examined Lestrange's frustrated expression in profile for a moment, before his eyes wandered down to the other boy's long, thin frame.

"It makes me wonder whether I know something I shouldn't…" Lestrange muttered.

Nott's eyes snapped back to Lestrange's face at these words. "What?"

Lestrange turned to look at him. There was a pause. Nott's words had been sharp.

"I mean, why do you think that?" Nott asked more curiously, trying to hide the fact that he was fearful. His voice was light and calm.

Lestrange seemed convinced that Nott's quick response wasn't odd, after all. He was glad that his theory was of interest. "I just don't understand why I would use a Memory Charm on myself," he expressed. "It wouldn't make sense unless I felt as though there was a secret I knew I had to keep from Grindelwald's people. The fact that Tom won't help me makes me more suspicious…"

"Why wouldn't Tom want to help you, if he knew you chose to forget something important?" Nott asked, trying to assess where Lestrange's theory led.

"He likely knows what I've forgotten," Lestrange answered simply. He sounded defeated as he rested his head back down on his pillow. "He probably doesn't care whether I remember it or not… He won't trust me with secrets."

"But he's teaching you Occlumency," Nott pointed out, knowing Lestrange well enough to understand that he felt neglected by Tom again. "This must mean that he wants to trust you and I with secrets later on."

"Jonathan learnt Occlumency years ago," Lestrange observed sourly. "Probably when he was still at Hogwarts…"

"Voldemort wouldn't have taught Jonathan Occlumency that early," Nott said. "He would have read his mind for a while, being Tom."

"That doesn't change the fact that Jonathan learnt about this magic first…"

Nott couldn't deny that, so he said nothing.

"Why are _you_ being taught Occlumency, anyway?" Lestrange suddenly asked. He looked annoyed. "If you don't know any secret information, why is Voldemort giving you the skills to protect your mind from intruders?"

"Didn't he say he was teaching us Occlumency because we've both been learning the Dark Arts so well?" Nott inquired. He didn't believe that was Tom's true reason, but he decided to join Tom's lie. "Plus, he might be planning on 'promoting' us in the future; trusting us with his plans and secrets."

This didn't seem to make Lestrange any less annoyed.

"Don't start getting annoyed with me just because Voldemort treats us the same," Nott said, almost annoyed. He could never really be angry with Lestrange. "It's only because we work well together – you know how much Voldemort values that."

"But he values Jonathan on his own," Lestrange said, glaring into space. "Jonathan is never paired up with anyone… expect Tom himself, of course…"

Nott was going to say this meant Lestrange should give up trying to be a solo team since Tom obviously thought pairs were better, but he stopped himself. There was no point letting Lestrange understand this, since it would only irk him. He wondered somewhere in the back of his mind how Lestrange might re-evaluate his hate for Jonathan if he knew the whole truth about Jonathan's connection to Voldemort…

"I don't see why Tom wants to pair us up all the time," Lestrange said, annoyed as he always was with Nott's silence. "Even _if_ we work well as a team…"

"Would you prefer it if I didn't work with you?" Nott asked, his voice monotonic. Lestrange got this way quite often due to his jealousy of Jonathan.

Lestrange looked even more annoyed. It wouldn't be surprising if he were in half a mind to say, 'Yes, that's precisely what I'd prefer.' Nott tried hard to not find this offensive.

"It isn't that," Lestrange said, "it's just that I wish Tom would stop ignoring how hard we work."

"Voldemort knows we work hard," Nott said. He didn't know whether this was actually true, but he felt as though Lestrange needed to hear it. "He even admitted that he thought we were progressing well – hence why he started these Occlumency lessons."

Lestrange didn't seem to want to believe it, but after a minute or two he seemed convinced that Nott was probably right. "He doesn't quite appreciate my work enough, though…"

Nott privately felt that they wouldn't have gotten so much work done had they not worked together, so he felt it was a bit selfish of Lestrange to refer to their work as 'my work'. Again, however, Nott didn't feel like entering that argument.

"If Tom wants me to forget something," Lestrange carried on, "I know I should likely respect his choice and should likely stop searching so determinedly for my lost memories… yet I just _can't_ refrain from thinking about it – it's _frustrating!_"

"We still don't know if you really have a secret stored in your mind," Nott commented idly. He was still thinking about how little Lestrange valued their teamwork.

"But I truly think it must be true – it just _fits_."

"As you said, though, Tom probably wouldn't want you to remember it."

"He wouldn't have to know I'm trying."

"He'd know," Nott said. "He always does."

"I'll just avoid eye contact," Lestrange announced almost triumphantly.

"It's still risky."

Lestrange didn't bother arguing about it. He was sure that this is what he wanted, and nothing Nott could say would change his mind.

"I think I _can_ will the memories back, you know," Lestrange voiced, keen upon the idea. "If I try hard enough, it should work…"

Nott knew this was true, but he didn't know whether he should encourage the idea.

"I should start with the last thing I remember and try and gather information from there," Lestrange continued, impervious this time to the lack of response. "Of course, more important memories will be the easiest to gain back. Memories that would still make me feel alarmed, happy, angry, embarrassed…"

Nott didn't like the sound of this, in full honesty. He had a sinking feeling that discovering Harry and Tom were dating would be a very venerable memory for Lestrange to remember, if indeed he continued trying to recall the past…

"The last thing I remember has to be when we were all getting ready to attack Grindelwald's fortress for the first time," Lestrange said. "I remember we had that Dragon and I remember how happy Tom was, after all that worrying… Something happened before that though, something about Mulciber… Why were we all scared of him?"

"He killed Quentin Pyrites," Nott admitted. "At Voldemort's command, of course. Then, about a month later, he managed to kill seven people. One of them was a healer that Tom brought here to fix Jonathan when Jonathan got really ill after being tortured by Grindelwald's people."

Lestrange hummed in disbelief. "I don't remember all of that… but it makes sense, especially with the fear I feel at the idea of Mulciber."

"That Dragon we used to break into Grindelwald's fortress also died," Nott said. "Tom was furious."

"Ah, I remember that." Lestrange shook his head. "I don't know how we all managed that…"

"Do you remember anything after the Dragon died?"

Lestrange's brow was furrowed as he thought. "I remember how worried Voldemort was about Jonathan – that annoyed me quite a bit – but I don't quite know about after that… Jonathan got ill, you say?"

"Yes, and Grindelwald's people attempted to attack us when Tom left to look for Healers for Jonathan." It was odd, suddenly, that Lestrange now had no recollection of any of this… "Mulciber killed those people only a few hours before Tom returned. He had Slughorn with him, as well as the Healer Madame Arouet."

"I sort of remember that…" Lestrange's face was vaguely contorted when he thought. "I remember seeing Slughorn here, for sure… and I remember seeing Jonathan sick in his room… I also remember playing cards in this house, before that. Seeing the kitchen reminded me. Avery was being such an idiot that night."

"He was drinking." Nott smiled a little. "Kept asking Jonathan a bunch of questions about his and Tom's pasts."

"I don't really remember… though I assume it was uncomfortable."

"It was. He just wouldn't stop talking."

"At least Tom wasn't there."

"No, Avery wouldn't have dared to do that in front of Voldemort."

Nott watched as Lestrange brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his forehead in thought. "I just can't remember anything else…"

"That's only to be expected, really."

"But I feel as though I'm so close to remembering something more…"

"There's a lot you have to remember," Nott said. He didn't have to hide his concerned expression while Lestrange was rubbing his eyes with his palms. He didn't know how he could help make Lestrange let it go…

"All I remember is how obsessive Voldemort was about Jonathan's recovery," Lestrange said, not at all cautious about his embittered tone. "He cared about Jonathan more than he ever cared about the rest of us when we were ill. It was completely unfair… What is more, Tom probably knows how annoyed we all are about it, since he's read our minds – he mustn't even care!"

Nott wondered if any of the others really cared about Tom's favouritism towards Jonathan. Lestrange seemed like the only one who hadn't gotten used to it by now. Everyone else became rudely bored when they heard Lestrange complain about it constantly – everyone but Nott, that is.

That's probably the only reason why Lestrange didn't break away from him, Nott thought. They were both each other's closest friends… Which probably put Nott's life into perspective, in truth. Nott sometimes wondered whether he should just leave Lestrange and become better friends with the other Knights now. Unfortunately, he didn't like any of his old Slytherin companions more than he liked Lestrange as a friend…

"Even if Tom has noticed your annoyance, but hasn't done anything about it, what does that change?" Nott asked. "It just means you're going to have to get used to Jonathan."

"Of course, _you_ would say only this," Lestrange seethed, "being such a _dear_ friend of Jonathan's now…"

Was Harry Nott's friend? He seemed like a surprisingly interesting person when he wasn't overwhelmed by twenty of Tom's followers at a time, or when he didn't feel the need to take over as leader when Tom was busy or away. Nott hadn't had very many conversations with Jonathan yet (or, rather, not that many proper conversations since finding out his and Tom's secret) but Jonathan struck Nott as someone who had quite a similar mindset to him.

Nott could never really place exactly what he meant when he thought that Jonathan and him had a similar mindset, but it seemed to be the closest thing to a definition for why he felt that Jonathan could be a good friend. Maybe it was the fact that Harry didn't have many friends either (unless Tom counted), or the fact that they were both drawn here by an addictive force – in Nott's case: an obsession with the Dark Arts that he couldn't seem to break out of, in Harry's case: a strong connection to Tom that he couldn't replace, likely.

"What do you suppose we all refer to him as 'Jonathan'?" Lestrange suddenly inquired, interrupting Nott's ponderings. "The rest of us only go by our last names… Is that disrespectful, or merely because he's close to Voldemort?"

"It's probably because he has so many false names, it doesn't even matter," Nott responded, not really thinking about it.

Lestrange laughed coldly to himself. "The main reason why we use only our surnames is to refer to our blood purity… something Jonathan is likely uninvolved in."

"You don't think he's a pureblood?"

"I've seen no proof of it."

"I don't think Tom would care about Jonathan so much if Jonathan was Muggle-born."

"He might only care about Jonathan because he was an orphan," Lestrange observed. "If Jonathan was raised by Mug–"

Lestrange stopped talking. Voldemort was always furious whenever anyone mentioned that he had been brought up by Muggles, so none of the Knights dared to mention it. It was a forbidden subject.

"I don't think that Voldemort _just_ gets along with Jonathan well because of the past, even if that's true," Nott carried on, as if to help Lestrange's mistake. "Jonathan is quite skilled, as you know."

Lestrange didn't appreciate the reminder. He sat staring into space for a moment, giving no reply. It appeared as though his thoughts were dragged one last time back to what was truly bothering him.

"I think Jonathan has something to do with what I _know_ I specifically forgot," Lestrange murmured. Nott began watching him carefully at this point. "I still can't imagine what it might be, however… but if it's about Jonathan, Tom might not know. I might have a chance of finding out what it is if I work hard enough. I could use it as blackmail, perhaps…"

Lestrange smiled darkly to himself at his last words.

Then, after a minute or two, he turned to Nott.

"You seem awfully quiet about this," he observed. He was wary.

Nott wondered whether Lestrange was attempting to scare the worry out of him, to force any guilt or nerves to jump to his face – even for a second. Nott, however, was unfazed. "I just don't know what to say, really… I think whatever you're doing by remembering the past four months could be dangerous."

"Why do you suppose I do then?" Lestrange snapped, annoyed. "Let it go and lose this chance of getting information about Jonathan that could be useful?"

"You've taken this too far," Nott said. "You don't even really know if this is about Jonathan, you just thought of that – for the hope of revenge, likely."

"I didn't make it up!" Lestrange said indignantly. "I _know_ I've forgotten something vital – don't you get it? It's my mind! All I know is that I know something, and I'm sure it's about Jonathan now!"

Nott wished that he didn't know what Lestrange had forgotten. That way, he could easily just keep denying that it was about Jonathan – saying that that was irrational jealousy speaking – and it would force Lestrange into moving on from his obsession. Nott couldn't bring himself to lie that directly to Lestrange. He didn't know what to do…

After a minute, he stood up. "You should just do what Voldemort asks," he said. He sounded defeated. When Lestrange made no comment about this, Nott left the room, saying he was gong to take a bath before sleep. They didn't speak much for the rest of the night.

Mid April faded gradually into early May, but even with two solid weeks of practicing Occlumency, Nott and Lestrange found themselves making little or no progress. Tom didn't seem very annoyed by this so Nott assumed that this was quite usual, yet he wondered privately how long it was going to take before he could return to the headquarters, to live a little further away from Lestrange – or at least with distractions from him…

It wasn't that he always disliked spending time with Lestrange, it was merely that sharing one small room with him was quite unbearable, especially when Lestrange took it upon himself to make a point every day to break down his thoughts on why Jonathan didn't deserve to be so close to Voldemort. It continued to make Nott uncomfortable every day when Lestrange obsessed over lost memories, determined to remember everything he could…

It was late one evening when Nott and Lestrange were sitting in the living room of Jonathan's house, as they often did for a few hours after returning from Occlumency lessons. The room was surrounded by bookshelves and filled with many chairs and couches so it was the best place in Harry's house to spend the otherwise quite dull evenings.

Jonathan had returned home early from work with Tom and he was currently in the midst of talking to Nott and Lestrange. Nott listened to what he said contently; relieved to speak to someone other than Lestrange for once, while Lestrange sat on a nearby chair, quietly (yet not quite reluctantly) listening to the conversation without contributing to it. Lestrange was only glad to see Harry here because it meant he wasn't spending absolutely every hour with Tom, at least.

Harry appeared wearier than usual and Nott couldn't quite work out why this might be. Although he was still training Dragons with Tom most days, it seemed as though what made him tired was relating to a psychological strain, rather than a physical one. His eyes were darker and redder than usual and his face was getting progressively more waxen while he slept through most of the day, missing the sunlight, and spending a lot of his time with fifty foot, fire-breathing beasts.

Admittedly, however, there was not one Knight of Walpurgis now who didn't look worn and mentally changed these days (unless you counted the new German arrivals, who were a bit more looked-after, compared). Many of the Knights, such as Avery, Ransom, Dolohov, Gonson, and Macnair had all gained noticeable scars on their faces and bodies in general (Macnair, in fact, was now missing quite a few fingers), while many others were unshaven and unclean, many stank of alcohol and a number of other things, and of top of all this none of them had any reason to try and look any better. They were all ruffians now – Nott and Lestrange included.

"What has everyone been saying about Mulciber?" Lestrange asked Jonathan at one point, speaking for about the third time this evening. "Don't tell me he's murdered again? Many of the others seem very worried, but Nott and I didn't have time to learn why."

"He didn't murder anyone," Harry assured the Knight quickly, understanding his concern. "He got into a fight with Dolohov last night. They both injured each other pretty badly, but Mulciber won easily, which probably scared the others a little."

"Mulciber was pretty brutal, from what I heard," Nott mentioned.

"That's not surprising," Harry responded, looking as though he attempted to smirk. "Drunk, as well."

"Again, unsurprisingly," Nott added.

"I haven't been fortunate enough to see him at all sober these last few months," Lestrange voiced apathetically. "The more time that passes, the less I believe he'll ever stop drinking, what is more."

"I guess he just needs some sort of escape," Nott said. "Who can blame him really, after what he's done…"

Lestrange hummed in humourless laughter while Jonathan raised his eyebrows marginally in agreement, blinking slowly as if annoyed. After a moment, Nott could see Jonathan clenching his jaw while he stared into space. He was glad that Jonathan seemed to agree with his own dislike for having such a raging murderer in their headquarters…

"Though I can't say I think it'd be much better if Mulciber was deprived of alcohol," Lestrange drawled, not noticing Harry's annoyance. "He was never very pleasant sober either – especially when he couldn't get what he wanted."

"I imagine he'd probably take hostages if Voldemort didn't give him the drinks he wanted," Nott commented.

Jonathan looked up at him somewhat sharply at the use of the name 'Voldemort'. This confused Nott, but after only a second of staring Jonathan dropped his gaze, visibly realising his mistake. After this, his expression was unreadable, like it often was. Nott didn't know what to think of this…

"Mulciber already breaks _many_ rules to get his way," Lestrange carried on. Nott wondered why he was suddenly so keen upon talking. "It is somewhat annoying that he always gets given what he wants by Voldem–"

"Don't call him Voldemort," Jonathan interrupted.

His tone had been cold and his stare towards Lestrange was even more so. Nott had a sudden feeling that Harry had been close to interrupting him too a minute ago. He wondered what had stopped it… perhaps the fact that Lestrange was ruder to him, or something along those lines.

Lestrange's nostrils flared while his face somewhat reddening. "You didn't stop Nott from saying Vol–"

"I was about to," Harry interrupted again. He seemed to very much hate the name, Nott thought. His jaw was clenching again.

"Well, what else is there to call him?" Lestrange asked. He was struggling greatly to keep his voice controlled and polite. "We can't continue calling him Tom forever."

Harry seemed close to giving an irritable response, which surprised Nott, but his voice was calm when he spoke.

"Just… I don't know, call him 'Lord', or something," Harry said. He didn't seem to like this idea either, but it appeared better than 'Voldemort' to him. Nott was still greatly confused.

"If you wish," Lestrange said in a low voice. He was blatantly pissed off.

Harry looked away from the two of them after this, thinking about his inability to endure the name 'Voldemort', Nott supposed.

"As I was saying," Lestrange continued irritably, "I don't know how _our Lord_ can continue giving Mulciber everything he wants. He's only going to spoil Mulciber further."

"I suppose Tom has no reason to not give Mulciber what he wants," Harry said quietly. "It's easier to just keep him quiet."

"Oh, so _you_ can call him Tom, then?" Lestrange asked.

Harry looked up at him, his face unreadable once more.

"Yeah," he responded simply, indifferently. "I can."

Lestrange's face twitched, but he said nothing while Harry stared at him. Perhaps remembering that Jonathan could read his mind, Lestrange looked away, defeated and annoyed.

"I think you're wrong about Mulciber getting whatever he wants, though," Harry continued, his voice less cold now. "The reason he still does bad things is because he doesn't get what he wants – like when he and a group of others escaped when Tom was away so they could go to the nearest wizarding pub. Tom didn't give him what he wanted then, either."

"Well, that's only because he murdered so many people," Lestrange pointed out. Nott knew Lestrange didn't actually remember very much about that event, so he thought it was a bit rich for him to state this fact so boldly.

"You can't say he always gets what he wants, then," Harry stated.

"But that's not what I'm saying," Lestrange asserted. "All I'm addressing is the fact that Mulciber will keep doing bad things to make Tom to give him what he wants."

"What does that matter?" Harry asked.

"He can't be allowed to be so childish!" Lestrange exclaimed, loosing his tempter. "One of these days Tom won't be able to shut him up."

"Yeah, because Mulciber is _really_ stronger than Tom", Harry commented sarcastically.

Lestrange's face reddened again.

"If it wasn't for Mulciber, a lot of our people could be dead," Harry reminded Lestrange. "He's a horrible person who gets what he wants in a pretty childish way, but I don't see what your point is."

"My point is that he can't always get–!"

"But he _can_," Harry interrupted. "He can get what he wants, because Tom would rather spend two seconds conjuring Firewhiskey, compared to spending all his time fighting with a wizard who's obviously damaged and mentally unstable as it is."

This silenced Lestrange, but didn't seem to make him any less enraged and irritated. Nott was surprised that Harry had dared to say this.

"Are you saying we'll all get what we want if we fight each other and threaten to murder?" Nott asked casually, smirking slightly.

Harry seemed satisfied that he wasn't angry. "I wouldn't rule that out as an option," he joked, "but Tom would probably respect you two a lot less if you were like that. Tom never liked Mulciber much before, but the complaints he gets from him now only makes him think Mulciber is more worthless."

"Plus, I can't say murdering seven people is worth it for a few drinks a night," Nott commented, "no matter how much of an alcoholic he's become."

"But he gets _everything_ he wants," Lestrange complained, "I wouldn't even be surprised if our Lord started allowing _witches_ to visit Mulciber when he wanted it!"

"He wouldn't allow that," Nott said, "he's not stupid – any stranger who visits this place often could end up being a spy."

"Tom would make the whores stay, then," Lestrange responded. "Anything for _dear_ Mulciber!"

Harry didn't even respond to this remotely. He appeared indifferent.

"That still wouldn't happen," Nott said.

"I bet _you_ get witches here," Lestrange suddenly said to Harry, ignoring Nott's words. "You and Vol– _our Lord._"

"That's not true," Harry said. He watched Lestrange, thinking. "Tom doesn't approve of such things…"

"You've asked him, then?" Lestrange inquired.

"No." Harry didn't elaborate.

"Then how do you know he won't approve?" Lestrange asked, annoyed.

Harry didn't respond. Nott wasn't sure why for a moment, before he heard a noise in another part of the house. Someone had just closed the front door quietly. Knowing that none of the Knights had the ability to get into Harry's house without knocking, the three wizards listening understood that it must be Voldemort.

Nott felt a little tense as the talking ceased. He could hear Voldemort's slow, even footsteps heading towards this room and he could feel uncontrollable anxiety rising within him at the mere sound. He didn't know how he was supposed to act, while he worried about whether Voldemort would dislike the idea that they had stopped talking at the sound of him arriving.

Likely due to hearing the conversation only in murmurs when he entered the house, Voldemort indeed appeared somewhat surprised at the silence when he entered Harry's living room. The whole energy of this gathering had changed, as it often did when Tom showed up to previously informal and relaxed conversations. Lestrange shifted uneasily in his chair; perhaps uncomfortable at the idea that Tom could have heard the conversation before.

Voldemort's dark eyes seemed to shine red in the dim light while examined the two Knights before him. He stood besides Harry's chair, a false, empty smile curling upon his lips softly. Nott could feel a growing sense of fear at the mere sight of his Lord, and he knew that Voldemort would sense it…

"You shouldn't feel the need to end the conversation merely because I have arrived," Voldemort said softly, still watching Nott and Lestrange. "I can't imagine there would be anything you couldn't talk of before me… I know all of your minds well, after all."

Harry, who was perfectly calm, smiled lightly. "The conversation was ending anyway," he said.

Voldemort smiled a little more, looking down at Harry now. His face, like Harry's, was somewhat whitened and blurred due to lack of sunlight and excessive amounts of time spent near fire, but – again like Harry – he still managed to hold onto his handsome features, somehow. His eyes were softer when they focused upon his lover.

"When're you here, anyway?" Harry asked curiously, his tone light.

"We have more work to do," Tom said softly. Nott saw his hand resting upon Harry's shoulder now. "Don't you remember?"

"I've sort of lost track of when we're supposed to be working, to be honest," Harry responded, smirking.

Voldemort's hand slid away from Harry's shoulder while he stood up, preparing to leave.

"I'll be back late," Harry informed the two Knights. "Feel free to make any food you want to, and so on."

Harry saw Tom smiling at him carefully. He smiled back before Voldemort turned away, leaving the room. It looked as though Harry was about to follow, to disappear to Tom's house without another word, but something else caught his attention. Nott followed Harry's gaze and the both of them observed Lestrange, who was staring at the Knight's second Lord in what could only be described as horror.

Lestrange looked away from Harry hurriedly when he was caught staring. He appeared scared and sickened. Harry then looked at Nott, his eyes resting upon him for only a few seconds. This was enough time for Harry to convey the growing concern that gripped him when he realized, as Nott now did, that Lestrange had suddenly remembered the secret he chose so eagerly to forget, even at the cost of four months' memories lost…

Nott wanted to ask Harry to stay, but he knew the request would be futile. Tom would be furious to learn that Lestrange was blatantly already reacting badly and it appeared as though Harry didn't know what to do about this. Only a few seconds had passed since Tom left, but Harry couldn't stay to think about this. So, perhaps trusting that Nott could take care of it for a while, he began leaving the room.

"I'll be back later," he said in a low voice.

Before Nott could do anything to stop it, Harry left with Tom. The silence that dragged on after this was very, very uncomfortable. It was a minute before Nott could bring himself to look at Lestrange.

Lestrange was staring at him, apparently bewildered with his own realization. Nott attempted to look confused. He supposed that Lestrange was too shocked to notice it if his expression was off, for he appeared to believe Nott's questioning look.

"I think I just remembered why I used that Memory Charm," Lestrange said in little over a whisper.

"Why?" Nott asked. Some part of him hoped he was wrong, somehow, about Lestrange knowing Voldemort and Harry's secret, but he knew he wasn't…

"I – I…" Lestrange couldn't seem to find the words.

Nott waited.

"I think there's a reason for why Voldemort cares about Jonathan so much," Lestrange continued. "There's a reason for why he gets this house and why he… he works with Voldemort so much…"

Nott didn't know what to say. He continued watching Lestrange, feeling uneasy. Something in Nott's expression seemed to scare Lestrange even more, though Nott didn't know what it was before the other Knight spoke.

"You know, don't you?" Lestrange suddenly asked. His eyes were shining in disbelief. "You knew about this all along, about how they… how they're…"

"I don't see how this should change anything," Nott said quietly, knowing that by this point it didn't matter what he said. He couldn't deny the fact that he knew Harry and Tom were boyfriends; he knew that Lestrange would spot his lies.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lestrange demanded. "Why didn't you think that – that it was important to warn me?"

"Tom said I couldn't warn or remind you about it," Nott explained.

Lestrange looked outraged as well as disgusted now.

"You were fine with it before," Nott told him. "You accepted it."

These words didn't reassure Lestrange. He stared, appearing almost pained while he struggled to think about this. Breaking eye contact, he said, "I understand, now, why I modified my memory…"

"You never hated the idea this much when we joked about it in theory," Nott reminded him.

"But that was in theory!" Lestrange exclaimed. His expression seemed to plead for Nott to be as alarmed and frightened as he was, but Nott honestly didn't feel that way about this. He was only worried about what would happen to Lestrange if Voldemort didn't approve of this reaction.

"Voldemort threatened us to keep quiet about it," Nott added, trying to bring Lestrange's attention to the fact that Tom wasn't going to be at all happy about this. "We had no choice but to accept it."

Lestrange didn't seem to be listening to him. He was wrapped up in his own thoughts about the situation. "How can anyone be that desperate to be with someone else?" he wondered allowed.

Nott was silent. He was unable to believe Lestrange would be this homophobic, suddenly.

"Or maybe they both like that sort of thing," Lestrange carried on, wincing at the very idea. "Maybe Tom has always been a faggot…"

Nott was staring to feel sick due to Lestrange's brutality. He was unsure about how he should react, or what he should and shouldn't say. "They aren't desperate," he said. "They've been together since Hogwarts."

This, again, did not reassure Lestrange. "We shared the same Dormitory as them!" he exclaimed.

"So?" Nott asked, "It's not like they did anything there."

Lestrange was shaking his head, unable to comprehend all of this.

Nott couldn't understand why Lestrange would react differently this time. He knew that Lestrange was never exactly supportive of it before, but it confused him to see Lestrange so against the idea now. He supposed that it was possible that Lestrange was missing something this time – such as a bewildered remark from Nott about how he saw Tom holding Harry's hand when Harry was ill in bed – but it still made him wonder whether it was just luck that Lestrange had accepted it before.

"I wouldn't touch another man even if I knew I'd never see another woman ever again," Lestrange voiced. "The idea of choosing men above women for _no_ reason…" He shook his head again.

Nott shifted in his chair a little, examining the fine wooden floor in front of him for a few seconds. His mouth was suddenly very dry…

His movements, apparently, were enough to cause Lestrange to stare.

There was a long silence. While Nott looked at Lestrange, he could almost see the memories flicking past his mind trough his confused eyes. Nott felt sicker than ever; his heart was hammering. He didn't know what to do as a sense of foreboding gripped him and he wished more than ever that he wasn't alone with Lestrange.

"W-we – we," Lestrange stuttered. Nott had never seen him looked so shocked before. "Don't honestly t-tell me… that – that…"

"Lestrange," Nott said, his voice little over a whisper, "it was a mistake–"

Lestrange stood up, unable to stay seated any longer. He seemed close to running away from Nott, but he instead merely back away, holding his up his hands slightly as though he feared Nott coming any closer. Nott found that he was standing too, but he couldn't remember the act of getting up.

"It was an accident," Nott said again, this time managing a stronger voice. His hearts was pounding in his ears. "We weren't thinking straight–"

"When was this?" Lestrange demanded.

"I – er," Nott had to think for a moment. "The day before you left for Germany. No one knows about it – not even Jonathan or Voldemort."

The two Lords of the Knights of Walpurgis had been far too wrapped up in their own affairs at the time to truly look into Nott's mind, and fortunately for the young Knight, he had also worked hard to push the thought out of his mind when around other people, to avoid questions for why he looked so peculiar. Nott wished more than anything that Lestrange hadn't remembered this, since he was obviously so against the idea.

Lestrange was still unable to speak and unwilling to do anything while another silence dragged on.

"I'm not gay," Nott told Lestrange. "It wasn't planned it just… happened."

Lestrange was only shaking his head again. He was backing away.

Nott took a step forwards to try and stop him, but it was too late; Lestrange fled the room. As Nott listened, he heard that Lestrange attempted to open the front door, but it wouldn't budge. Nott guessed that Harry had locked it so Lestrange wouldn't start a panic with the other Knights. Nott heard Lestrange go upstairs. He had no desire to follow him.

Nott was left alone with his own thoughts. He stood amongst the books, couches, and chairs, trying to think. In full honestly, he didn't know whether he was gay. His breathing was hard with discomfort while his thoughts pained him. He had never really thought about homosexuality before Lestrange brought it up in jest, initially to explain why Harry was so dedicated and close to Tom. Nott had still dated witches in the past – and successfully – but there was just something equally as tempting when he thought about Lestrange…

Nott brought his hands up to his face, irritated. He rubbed his eyes for a moment, before allowing his hands to move upwards to grip his hair in stress. He didn't know why he couldn't get the idea of Lestrange out of his mind. He still thought about witches and he was still able to think about spending the rest of his life with a witch, but it was just the idea that he was _allowed_ to have Lestrange, since Harry had Tom…

That was the worst part, Nott thought: he had the opportunity to be homosexual safely if he wanted to, thanks to Voldemort, and this had allowed him to let himself fall for Lestrange properly. He had liked Lestrange for years, he recently realized. He didn't know how, but it was certainly true – yet surely someone couldn't like both men and women at once? It didn't make sense… it didn't make any sense at all!

Nott closed his eyes, hating the despondency that coursed through him at the idea of Lestrange suddenly being so homophobic. Lestrange had liked him before; Nott didn't understand why he would have changed this time. Nott couldn't grasp the idea that he had now lost the chance to be with the wizard he had longed for for so many years. He wished he had never allowed himself to try and be closer to Lestrange. He wished he didn't care about the other wizards emotionally or physically. It didn't make sense…

Nott understood, suddenly, that he was going to have to pretend he didn't care about Lestrange. He was going to have to go upstairs, hiding his sorrow, to tell Lestrange that it had been _his_ idea anyway, so Nott couldn't be thought of as weird for accepting homosexuality. He was going to tell Lestrange that it had been meaningless and that he hoped it wouldn't happen ever again. He was going to have to lie about everything…

Nott dropped his hands from his head, knowing this was the right thing to do. He used his sleeve to dry his face quickly, knowing it wouldn't luckily look like he'd been crying yet. He began walking from the room, trying not to think. He counted the steps as he ascended the staircase, thinking about what words he'd use. He didn't hesitate before heading into his and Lestrange's bedroom, to find Lestrange standing by his bed warily.

"I'm sorry," Nott said. His was voice determinedly strong. "I'm sorry you're so against the idea. It didn't mean anything. It was just… It just happened… It was _your_ idea anyway, it's not like I asked you… You said something about being close to Voldemort – I don't know, it was a mistake…"

Lestrange was surveying him. He appeared less appalled, to Nott's relief. This was, perhaps, the only thing that had helped Nott to lie successfully about how it was a mistake. Lestrange took a deep intake of breath, before sighing. He was still uneasy about it all.

"I guess I really _did_ accept the idea before," he joked.

"It would seem so…"

Nott couldn't bring himself to smile. He could barely even bring himself to look at Lestrange without feeling a great desire to look away – or to even leave the house entirely.

Lestrange looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but he refrained from doing so. He stood where he was, dubiously shifting his position every few seconds.

"I guess it wasn't your fault," he said after a time.

"It wasn't anyone's fault," Nott murmured.

Neither of them said a word for a moment.

"Why did I do it?" Lestrange asked in a rush, as though he couldn't stop himself.

"You said something about wanting to be closer to Voldemort," Nott explained, "you weren't really thinking straight. It was after spending time with the Knights all day, probably drinking – it wasn't like we thought about it for long."

"Right…" Lestrange's thoughts appeared troubled.

Nott wondered suddenly whether Lestrange might become less homophobic if he gained back his memories relating to the whole situation of finding out about Jonathan and Voldemort… yet then again, Nott thought, that probably shouldn't matter to him. He wanted to believe that he and Lestrange would be friends again, but at the same time he knew he would just get hurt if he allowed himself to hope that Lestrange would be close to him after this. Lestrange was never going to like Nott as much as Nott liked him…

"Are you alright?" Lestrange suddenly asked.

Nott was a little surprised by this question. It was rare that Lestrange asked anyone if they were alright, so Nott supposed that he must have appeared dejected without thinking about it. He tried to fix that. "I'm fine," he lied.

Lestrange didn't push the subject. They didn't speak much for the rest of the night.

"I bet fifty-seven Galleons!" Dolohov announced.

"You are sure about zis?" one of the German Knights asked, his voice tauntingly surprised. "Vy not stop now, and save ze little money you 'ave left?"

"Don't try that trick with me," Dolohov warned, grinning. "I know when to place a bet."

"The problem with you, Dolohov," Lestrange drawled from across the table, "is that you appear to be lying to even _yourself_ when you play these games."

Many of the Knights snickered at this, watching the game closely while Dolohov and the German wizard (Nott didn't know his name yet) began counting their money and placing tens or hundreds of galleons down.

"So, vat do you have?" the German Knight asked, his blue eyes staring determinedly.

Dolohov showed his hand and Nott heard the table erupt in laughter.

"You idiot, Dolohov!" someone exclaimed.

Nott didn't bother to look at what cards Dolohov had as he sat at the edge of the group, thinking. It had been a week since Lestrange had remembered Voldemort's greatest secret and so far Lestrange had succeeded in accepting it enough to satisfy Tom. Nott knew that Voldemort was still eager about the idea of modifying Lestrange's mind properly, but Harry wouldn't allow it. Lestrange was learning to deal with it, anyway…

Nott hadn't told his Lord about the apparent 'mistake' he and Lestrange had made the day before Lestrange left for Germany. He didn't know what Voldemort would think of it, or if he would even remotely care that it happened at all. Why, then, did Nott feel as though he wanted to mention it? It was difficult enough as it was trying to avoid the entire incident when talking to Lestrange, Nott didn't understand why he wanted to talk about it to someone else…

Whenever Nott had had problems in the past he had always turned to Lestrange for advice. He couldn't even talk to Lestrange now and he didn't feel as though he needed to clarify anything more… He watched the Knights of Walpurgis before him, examining an odd 'W'-shaped tattoo on the forearm of the main German wizard playing. He felt as though he had no one at all to talk to…

The only other option, really, was to talk to Harry. Nott didn't feel very close to Harry, but he might be the closest thing left to a friend now. The problem was that Nott didn't know how to approach the subject. He was scared by his worries being locked inside him, but he was also scared that Harry would ask 'why should I care?' if he ever attempted to confide in him. Because, in full honestly, why would he? It was Nott's problem, and Nott's own stupid mistakes…

The Knights of Walpurgis were all laughing and joking loudly by this point and Nott could barely think. He decided to get up, being noticed by no one in the process. He left the room they were all packed into, heading out into the hallway outside. He passed many distant German Wizards in the hall without making eye contact, heading outside at an even pace.

The air was cool and refreshing upon Nott's face. It was a lot nicer out here compared to that stuffy, smoke-filled room where the Knights played cards and betted upon mundane, mindless games. The stars were shining bright above the almost perfectly clear dome of magical protection that Voldemort had placed here, but Nott wasn't looking at the sky much.

He wanted to just forget Lestrange and never have to deal with him again. Perhaps this is why he wanted to talk to Voldemort about his vaguely recent 'mistake'. Voldemort would allow him to separate himself from Lestrange and he would perhaps appreciate that Nott had been open and honest with him. He might already know about everything through the Occlumency lessons anyway, Nott mused. He might be merciful about it…

Some part of Nott wanted Lestrange's memory to be cleared again. He didn't want to be Lestrange's friend anymore; he wanted Lestrange to treat him like a workmate and nothing more. He had no chance of dating Lestrange, since Lestrange was likely straight. He was only going to get hurt if he was to try and get Lestrange to understand how he felt. It wasn't right anyway; they weren't supposed to be together. Nott wasn't Harry or Tom. He was a Knight, with no chance of ever having the power of a Lord…

* * *

**Dear Readers: **I hope you just enjoyed reading TVoV's longest current chapter! Thank you all for the lovely reviews you have been leaving in my horrid absence - I assure you I haven't given up this story (and nor will I ever). My Writer's Block appears to have lessened a little (unless troubled writers often end up accidentally writing 13k? xP) I so really, really hope I'll get back into writing daily now!

(I also have to stop neglecting _'A Soulless Solace'_… that's just getting ridiculous now, haha).

Thanks again!


	57. Fate

Fate

Many of the Death Eaters were visibly on edge. They spoke only in whispers and murmurs to those closest to them, not daring to hold a conversation with any of their further friends. The Wizards Harry had known since Hogwarts were mixed happily with those who had joined Tom's land almost a whole year ago, but they didn't seem any more willing than Harry was to accept the group of people who had arrived here more recently.

Although the Knights of Walpurgis were just as involved in forbidden areas of magic as the Death Eaters were, they held themselves with a clear sense of pride. Wizards such as Rosier, Lestrange, and Black tried to imitate the Knights' posture when they noticed the formality, but their attempts to act dignified were tainted by a few other Death Eaters – such as Avery and Dolohov – who remained untroubled about their own informal body language; they slumped in their chairs and rested their heads upon their hands, just like they would if they weren't currently in a very important meeting.

There were around twenty Death Eaters and thirty or forty Knights of Walpurgis present, sitting around a long wooden table in the largest meeting room. A good percentage of the Knights here hadn't yet met any of the occupants of Tom's land, for today was one of the first main gatherings of the Knights and Death Eaters; there hadn't been time for a safe introduction before this. Tom didn't seem too keen about dwelling upon introductions when the meeting began, however. Harry reflected that this was probably because Tom didn't want to get too close to many of the Knights in general.

"I am pleased to see that you all arrived here safely," Tom said quietly, speaking mainly to the newest Wizards seated before him. "I am quite impressed that you managed to gather so many Knights in such a short stretch of time, what is more."

"It vas no trouble for us," one of the Knights responded strongly. "Upon hearing zhat you vere ready to receive us here, zere vere barely any of us who didn't vant to leave right avay, my Lord."

Harry recognised this Wizard as Faramund Weiß, one of the main leaders of the Knights. Elderly yet strong, with a probing gaze that suggested he rarely stopped questioning people's motives, almost all the Knights seemed to look up to Weiß in admiration – when Tom wasn't in the room, that is.

"I'm I to expect more Wizards to join me in the near future?" Tom inquired, directing his words to Weiß now, "or have you all arrived here already?"

"Zere are definitely more who vill join us in zuh future, I think," Weiß assured Tom calmly. "However, veather or not zhey vill arrive in zuh_ near_ future is another question entirely."

Rosier scoffed quietly. This action went unnoticed by almost everyone but the two Wizards sitting on either side of him: Harry and Nott. Tom might have heard it, Harry mused as he glanced to his left, yet he showed no signs of it if he had. Harry supposed Tom didn't care how much his old followers might dislike the new arrivals to this land. Tom believed that the Death Eaters would get used to the Knights eventually – and he was probably right.

"From what I have gathered," Tom continued smoothly, barely smiling at the joke Weiß had cracked, "many Witches and Wizards are eager to join me not due to knowing about me personally, but rather from believing that the date at which I approximately found the Knights is of personal interest to them…"

"Yes, zis ist probably vhat has drawn the attention of so many Sorcerers who are not a real part of _die Ritter von Walpurgis_," Weiß admitted, acting as though this were a unfortunate yet inevitable defect of people discovering who Tom was. "Finding you so close to _Walpurgisnacht_ – or 'Walpurgis Night' as you English people call it – definitely made more people zhan expected villing to join you."

Tom stared at Weiß for a long time, his dark eyes never wavering.

"Do you mean to suggest," he began softly, his eyes cold, "that information about me has travelled beyond the ears of Knights of Walpurgis themselves?"

The change in Weiß was instant when he saw Tom's threatening stare. He turned a few shades paler than he already was, glancing to his companions for support while he realised the mistake he had made. The Knights were all either confused or uncomfortable, looking at each other briefly and awkwardly. The less slow Death Eaters met eyes to share subtle looks of satisfaction.

"Vell, information about you has not reached _far_ beyond our ears, no," Weiß said in a rush, appearing deeply discomforted. He fidgeted with his hands above the table, tapping and twitching his fingers at a quick, uneven pace. "Understand zhat ve talk of you only in praise und honour, my Lord. Vitches and Vizards have heard of you only–"

"I don't care how highly you praise or honour me when elucidating my sudden prominence," Tom cut across Weiß sharply, his voice closer to a hiss than ever. He didn't have to raise his voice to show his irritation while he glared at the Knight. "I shouldn't have to clarify that privacy is something I value _very_ highly. I expect every follower of mine to know this, even as an unsaid rule."

"Of course, of course," Weiß agreed quickly, still appearing distressed. "It vas a mista–"

"I am immensely surprised to see that those who so proudly call themselves the Knights of Walpurgis could make such a mistake," Tom interrupted again. "I can't imagine how you could have kept this organization a secret for so many hundreds of years if you act in such a manner often. Or did you, perhaps, not think that information about me personally was confidential?"

Harry saw Black glance across the table to Rosier. The two of them smiled slightly upon meeting eyes, before Black proceeded to slyly hide his mouth with his hand, Rosier choosing to stare down at the table, taking a quiet, deep intake of breath to steady himself. Nott was unmoved by the conversation, even if he looked a bit concerned while he avoided meeting Lestrange's eyes. Gonson sat still in front of Harry, being far too close to Tom to risk being caught smirking or snickering. He had to set a good example, Harry knew.

"Ve vere careless," Weiß admitted after a moment, still trying to apologise properly, "ve von't make zis mistake again, my Lord."

"I should be surprised if it were possible to make this mistake a second time," Tom responded irritably. "I do believe the worst damage would be done if this information has already been leaked…"

Weiß didn't seem to know what to say to this. He looked a lot less powerful as his widened eyes darted away from Tom often in fear, causing the less respected Knights to seemingly recoil in response. Before too long of a time had passed, however, another Knight spoke.

"Zere is really no need to worry so much, my Lord," the Wizard said with a deep, cooling voice. "When Weiß says zhat ozer Sorcerers have heard about your greatness, he does not mean to suggest zhat many outsiders now know about _die Ritter von Walpurgis_ itself. He means only zhat people are now slowly hearing about zuh existence of zuh next greatest Dark Vizard the vorld vill know… Ve are not spilling secrets, my Lord, nor naming you directly."

Tom turned his attention away from Weiß upon hearing this new Wizard speak. Though the Wizard sat about halfway down the table while Weiß sat to Lestrange's left, his voice could be heard clearly while the other Wizards were silent. To many people's relief, Tom appeared reassured. He examined the Wizard who had spoken, appearing to muse the situation in a different light.

"If this is true," he said softly, "I suppose I am to believe that no information of true importance has been told to untrustworthy strangers?"

"Of course not, my Lord," the same Wizard said. "As you mentioned before, it ist unlikely zhat ve vould have kept zuh Knights of Walpurgis such a secret if ve had been so careless about zhese things in zuh past."

"Let us hope you aren't wrong then," Tom said, smiling. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"Adelmar Dorn, my Lord."

"Well, Dorn," Tom began fluidly, "I can't imagine why a Wizard such as yourself would be sitting so far along this table. If you would prefer, I could replace you with another – closer – Wizard… Rosier seems far too keen upon snickering to listen to what I have to say, anyway."

Rosier turned to Tom abruptly, his face flooded with shock and indignation. He had worked hard these last few years to get this close to Voldemort, so it appeared as though he suddenly deeply regretting laughing at the Knights' suffering. "I – I didn't mean to offend–"

"Go," Tom ordered.

Rosier didn't argue after this, but he appeared very reluctant while he stood up, staring at Adelmar Dorn who had approached to take his vacated chair. Black showed signs of guilt while Rosier walked away; he avoided eye contact while his expression was drained of all humor.

"Good," Tom commented when Dorn sat besides Harry.

Dorn was a dark-haired, dour looking Wizard who held himself as proudly as any Knight – if not more so due to his sudden promotion amongst this gathering of people. He didn't look at Harry, Nott, Black, Gonson, or Lestrange (who sat closest to him) when he was seated. His eyes rested on no one but Tom.

"Thank you, my Lord," Dorn commented politely when Rosier was audibly seated along the table.

Tom responded by smiling softly, saying, "It is no problem."

A few people were murmuring to each other in hushed English, German, and even French. Tom let the talking continue while he looked up to examine the high, complexly beamed ceiling. He didn't sit and think for long, however, as he remembered why he had called this meeting together.

"I do believe we have discussed the gathering of the Knights of Walpurgis enough for now," he informed the room at large, scanning the long row of Wizards (and the few distanced Witches) who waited before him. "Tonight we are here to talk of my plans for the near future."

The talking died down completely by this point. Taking a deep breath, Tom carried on.

"As many of you can imagine, we are currently surrounded by an almost continuous group of distant enemies who are trying with undying determination to break into this land. They wish to attack us when we are asleep or generally off guard and they wish to take down every one of us in the hope of making sure that this group does not attack them first… They are, in short, exceedingly angry with us all."

The room was silent. Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw a few people peering at each other in disquiet.

"This is not to say that you should worry too intensely about an ambush from Grindelwald's people, however," Tom added calmly, sensing their concern. "Know only that a surprise attack is possible… for either side to initiate."

These words brought on a bout of muttering this time, but to Harry's surprise the Knights and Death Eaters weren't concerned. They were intrigued.

"You don't mean to suggest that _you_ wish to initiate such an attack?" Lestrange asked in surprise. He sounded almost joyous to Harry's ears.

"That's exactly what I mean to suggest," Tom responded.

Half of the Sorcerers within the room were suddenly grinning at each other widely, many of the Germans and French Wizard translating Tom's words for each other in excited tones.

"When are we gonna do it?" Avery asked from far down the table, sitting up straight for the first time all evening due to pure interest.

"We will attack within two weeks, I believe," Tom answered. He appeared satisfied with his followers' reactions so far, while they were all deeply enthralled.

"What's the plan?" Gonson asked. "How will we ambush them?"

"Well, with the help of our newest additions to this group, I do believe it will be relatively easy," Tom replied contently. "As for what the plan is… I do believe that the Dragons we keep here will greatly enjoy a chance to stretch out their wings properly, for once."

More grinning, more eager talking… Harry couldn't understand why so many of Tom's followers were enthusiastic about all of this. Surely they knew that Tom was asking them all to risk their lives trying to kill other Wizards who were highly trained in the Dark Arts? Even if many of the Death Eaters and Knights would choose to harm rather than actually kill Grindelwald's people, Harry didn't understand what was so great about all this…

"But we tried to use Dragons to surprise attack them last time, to rescue Jonathan," Black reminded Tom. His confused, strained tone suggested that he was trying not to sound offensive in reminding everyone this. "What makes you think they won't kill the Dragons this time?"

"That's a good point," Dolohov commented distantly from beside Avery.

"There are more of us now," Tom explained, "we have had far more time to prepare calmly before the attack, and you are all far stronger than you were last time. We shall also use all of our Dragons this time."

Harry was surprised. He watched Tom closely, as if he thought this might help him to make sense of these plans while Tom smiled at his followers' delight. It seemed rather foolish that Tom would want to try and attack Grindelwald's fortress the same way he had last time. They had succeeded in rescuing Harry before, sure, but at the price of killing a Dragon and causing the Death Eaters to almost scatter and neglect them in fear, it didn't exactly seem like something Tom should try again. The fact that no one was being rescued, as well as the fact that all of the Dragons would apparently be used this time, confused Harry further…

Then a memory drifted through Harry's mind, seeping back slowly and in fragments due to it having been four years since he last heard these words. The voice of Albus Dumbledore was unmistakable as he thought back to the last time they had spoken… '_They have a shocking lack of remorse and guilt, which perhaps influences the pride they take in relation to any crimes they may have committed… They do not learn from __their mistakes, and they do not take any past failures into consideration when planning __their next actions… In short, they lack many of the main characteristics that make somebody a moral and sane human being…_'

Harry tried hard to push the thought out of his mind, hating the idea that Dumbledore's description of psychopaths would make complete sense in this situation… Did Tom really not realise that using the exact plan twice would likely end in the same result as the first time? Did he not understand that expecting a different outcome was futile? It confused Harry and worried him deeply. The Death Eaters and Knights, however, were reassured by Tom's words.

"Are you sure we'll be able to pull it off?" Macnair asked from close to Faramund Weiß. "There are still a lot of followers that we'd have to face."

"In a surprise attack, I do believe we will succeed greatly," Tom said smoothly, still visibly satisfied. "I'm confident that you are all strong enough to take on Grindelwald's people."

"You don't expect us to defeat zhem all so simply, I hope?" a further German asked from down the table. "Ve vould be facing a difficult battle…"

"No," Tom answered, "this will merely be one battle of many. I don't expect to destroy Grindelwald's people in one night, after all… as pleasant as the thought might be."

Laughter broke out along the table. Harry was relieved that Tom realised this much, at least…

"You expect us to defeat them in zuh near future, though?" the same Knight asked.

"Of course," Tom said seriously, "I expect Grindelwald's people to all be dead, separate, or powerless by next year."

A space was left here for more hushed talking to go. Harry wondered idly why Tom was so willing to divulge his plans, suddenly. The Death Eaters didn't seem to approve of it much; some of them were thinking back to Hogwarts, when Tom had barely shared a word of his schemes to any of them due to fearing that someone would tell a Professor, or even the Headmaster. Even if they weren't at Hogwarts now, most of the Death Eaters didn't see what had changed since then, since very few of them knew even now about Dumbledore's Legilimency skills.

Gonson, Black, and Lestrange all kept glancing at Adelmar Dorn and Faramund Weiß – the closest Knights to them – and Harry couldn't help but partially share their discomfort at this moment, due to a far different reason. He still felt edgy around the Knights because the idea of them still scared him deeply. He still wasn't completely sure whether they should be here at all, or whether it was his fault that Tom had gotten into a fight with the followers of Gellert Grindelwald…

"… Malfoy, my Lord."

Harry's head turned immediately at the sound of the name, a sense of surprise gripping him. He scanned the table, trying to see who might have spoken. Surely he hadn't heard that wrong? He suddenly regretted having not listened to what Tom had asked a moment or two ago. Why would anyone here know that name? It reminded Harry of how he had pretended his name was 'Draco Malfoy' when Grindelwald's people had tortured him…

"Abraxas Malfoy, I take it?" Tom inquired in response to the last comment.

"Indeed, my Lord," the Wizard confirmed. His light eyebrows creased slightly while his pale grey eyes fixed upon Voldemort. "How is it zhat you know of my name?"

"I recognised you," Tom responded, "from a photo that resides upon a shelf at Hogwarts Castle… a shelf that belongs to Horace Slughorn, of course."

"Ah," Malfoy commented, understanding. "Zhat vould makes sense."

"I take it he doesn't know you as a student? You weren't in Hogwarts robes in the photo."

"No, I did not attend Hogwarts," Malfoy answered, "Slughorn and I met only after I left zuh Durmstrang Institute."

"It's rare for Slughorn to praise a Wizard who wasn't a pupil of his," Tom observed. "He has spoken rather highly of you in passing, what is more."

"I suppose he and I are vhat you might consider _acquaintances_."

"I see…"

Another memory drifted through Harry's mind, bringing him back to the first Potions Class he had sat through in his sixth year at Hogwarts. _"Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?"_ Draco Malfoy had asked Slughorn in an attempt to discuss his well-known family connections. _"Yes," _Slughorn had said without even looked at Malfoy, _"I was sorry to hear he had died, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age…"_

Harry almost felt as though he could still smirk about Slughorn's lack of enthusiasm towards the subject of Abraxas Malfoy – especially since the Wizard speaking to Tom seemed confident that he had a good connection to the Potions Master – but he decided against showing his amusement in case Tom became curious about it. Harry's mind began wandering to thoughts of the Malfoy Family after this, as the conversations continued around him…

"Vhen is it zhat you vish to attack Grindelwald's fortress?" a Wizard with a smooth, slow voice asked to the left of Faramund Weiß. His eyes had dark circles around them that reminded Harry of Avery's older brother. "You mentioned attacking within two weeks… might zhere be a more solid date?"

Tom contemplated this question for a moment. Harry watched him closely, surprised he trusted this Knight enough to respond, "Around the Twenty-seventh of this month would be a more solid estimate, I believe."

The tired Wizard nodded a few times, saying no more. He dropped his gaze from Tom, but Harry saw that he knew Legilimency anyway.

"What might your name be?" Tom asked.

The Wizard had been thinking, thus didn't look up for a moment. When his dark eyes rested on Tom's he cracked a short, yellow-toothed grin. "Egon Zerrissen."

Tom stared at the Wizard for a second, impassive.

"My Lord," Zerrissen added hastily, seeing why Tom was quiet. "Excuse my mistake, my Lord…"

The meeting seemed to slip by quickly after this. Tom carried on talking about his plans for attacking Grindelwald's Fortress (after pointedly ignoring Egon Zerrissen for the rest of the evening) while the Knights and Death Eaters listened and asked questions regularly, becoming progressively more enthusiastic. It was around an hour later when Tom decided to stand up, calling the meeting to an end. He began engaging in conversation with a few of the Knights in German while most of the neglected Death Eaters began to leave.

Harry, having no desire to leave just yet, remained where he was seated, idly watching the people around him. He could see Tom talking across the room amusing a lot of the Knights in German while he spoke. A few other conversations began between people who were still present in the room, but mostly the Knights and Death Eaters were heading into the corridor outside. Harry was surprised to find that Adelmar Dorn remained next to him, also watching Tom and the Germans across the room.

Adelmar sat with decent posture like all of the other Knights had, except the sleeves of his robes – unlike on the other Knights' – were currently rolled up to above his elbows. He sad with his hands clasped together above the table, apparently waiting for some of his acquaintances to finish talking to Voldemort. Harry supposed that Dorn didn't see the point in joining the large crowd when he could later ask what Voldemort was saying anyway, yet this reflection did not occupy Harry for long when he noticed something more interesting. Adelmar Dorn had a tattoo on his forearm. His left forearm…

Dorn saw Harry looking at the tattoo after a minute and shifted his position, turning his attention more towards the other Wizard. He was smiling faintly. Harry took this as his chance to engage in conversation.

"That's an interesting tattoo," he began.

"Ah, yes," Dorn responded. "It is of Cassiopeia, of course."

Harry recognised the constellation, thinking back to the Astronomy lessons he had taken at Hogwarts. It wasn't so much the constellation forming the familiar 'W' that caught Harry's attention, however; he was distracted by the fact that the tattoo itself was placed precisely where the Dark Mark would be on the arms of the Death Eaters one day…

"I suppose this is a reference to The Knights of Walpurgis?" Harry asked. His mouth was suddenly a little more dry than usual.

"Of course, of course," Dorn responded. "It is a tattoo zhat many of zuh Knights of Walpurgis share."

"You all have them, then?"

"Most of us, yes," Dorn confirmed. "Zhere are some Knights of Walpurgis who think it is too obvious for us all to have zhis mark, but ozers take zuh risk in dedication."

"Right," Harry said distractedly. The sight of the stars upon Dorn's tattoo reminded him sickeningly of the Dark Mark in the sky that '_Morsmordre_' would cast…

"From vhat I understand," Dorn said, breaking the silence, "you are valued very highly by Voldemort, no?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Vell, it seems that he vants very much to protect you, since he vent to such lengths to take you back from Grindelwald's people."

"I suppose so…" Harry wasn't sure why Dorn was talking about this.

"Ah, but I must go," Dorn said before the conversation could continue. Tom was no longer talking to the Knights, so Dorn likely wanted to hear what he had been saying. Upon standing up, Dorn turned back Harry to say, "I'm glad I had zhis short chat with you. It vas nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you too," Harry said politely. He was still a bit unnerved about Dorn's tattoo, as well as the use of the name 'Voldemort', yet he still appreciated the fact that Dorn talked to him so casually.

Dorn left without another word. Harry decided to stand up to leave too, not wanting to have to reflect upon anything too worrying here. Tom had left the meeting hall and Harry was intent upon following him, yet before he could do much more than turn around, someone spoke to him.

"Jonathan," Nott said quietly, "I was wondering if I could maybe talk to you?"

Nott had evidently been waiting for Adelmar Dorn to go, for he stood up only a few seconds after Harry, previously sitting directly to Dorn's right. Harry thought he saw despondency in Nott's bright eyes, yet Nott did not meet his gaze for long. He had evidently learnt well from Tom as he hid his thoughts slyly.

"Of course," Harry said. "What is it?"

Nott glanced at the Wizards around him cautiously. He sounded nervous as he said, "I'd rather talk to you in private, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind," Harry said, trying to sound reassuring. "Do you want to take a walk outside?"

"Yes," Nott agreed, "that'd be great…"

Nott walked alongside Harry and they made their way out of the meeting hall. In the corridor Harry saw Tom speaking with some of the Death Eaters. He didn't sound happy and the Death Eaters were visibly annoyed with him, which was rare. Harry was tempted to see what they were all saying, but he decided against it, still curious about why Nott was so nervous.

The fresh air outside seemed to calm Nott a little. They walked past a few smoking Death Eaters and Knights, never breaking the silence. Harry understood that Nott wanted a very private conversation. He couldn't think what would be bothering Nott so much, yet this didn't faze him as they headed to a distant, deserted stretch of land. They stopped walking and faced each other in the near darkness.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Harry asked.

Nott shifted in his position uneasily while they stood. "Well, I don't really know how to begin…"

He took a minute to choose his words, staring down at his feet in the process. He missed sight of the bright stars that shone high above them, looking like a universal light source glowing though tiny holes of an otherwise perfectly whole sphere of vast, gaping shadow engulfing the earth. Nott saw only the dark, dry ground beneath them.

"I was wondering," Nott carried on without confidence, "if maybe you and… and our Lord could reconsider keeping me and Lestrange at your house?"

Harry didn't respond to this immediately. He didn't have the slightest idea why Nott would ask him to rethink letting the two Death Eaters stay in his house. His first thought was that Nott and Lestrange secretly hated it there, but they had spoken at length to him about what a relief it was to be away from all the other Death Eaters and Harry highly doubted they were just humouring him… To be sure, he decided to ask Nott about it directly.

"Why do you want us to reconsider it? Do you dislike it at my house?"

"No, it's not that," Nott answered quickly, "It's just that… Lestrange feels a bit…"

"Has Lestrange changed his mind about Tom and me?"

"No… no, he's still adjusting to that…"

Harry wasn't sure whether to believe this. A peculiar shadow fell across Nott's averted eyes.

"Are you okay with it?" Harry questioned slowly.

Nott met his eyes, blatantly surprised by the suggestion. Harry noticed then that Nott was not, in fact, reflecting upon dark thoughts about how he disliked thinking about Harry and Tom staying at Tom's house together; the darkness that had fallen across Nott's face was due to sorrow, not irritation.

"I'm fine with it…"

"Then, what's the problem?"

"It's just," Nott began uncomfortably, "Lestrange and I aren't really… getting along very well…"

A crease formed between Harry's eyebrows in confusion. "Why not?"

"Well, he's sort of been remembering things a lot lately, but some memories in particular haven't been exactly… well, pleasant for him…"

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" Nott seemed even more uncomfortable by this point. "I don't really know how to explain it…"

"It is something to do with the magic Tom taught him within the last four or five months?" Harry asked, personally thinking that what the Death Eaters had been practicing was unpleasant for anyone to learn about – or else remember.

"No, it isn't that. It has nothing to do with the work we've been doing here…"

"Then what's unpleasant for him?"

"It's more of a – a personal thing," Nott explained, his voice a little more strained.

Harry waited as Nott attempted to work out how he was going to explain himself.

"Lestrange has become sort of… uncomfortable about the idea of staying around me. I think he just doesn't like the idea that I, well, I'm not really that different from… from you…"

Nott trailed off into a silence, tense as he waited for Harry to understand what he was trying to imply. Their eyes met for a moment while Nott checked to see Harry's expression and this was long enough for Harry to understand. Nott was also reflecting upon how glad he was that he hadn't started this conversation with Voldemort first instead. Harry couldn't help but concur with this relief…

"I had no idea," was all Harry could think to say.

Nott looked almost pained. "I'm not gay," he said firmly, "I still like women, it's just…"

He didn't seem to know what to do with himself. He seemed to want to know how Harry was reacting to this, but he didn't want his mind to be read in the process. He was strained.

"It's okay if you are," Harry remarked honestly.

"I'm not," Nott stated. "I'm definitely not, I haven't liked any other males before… I've had girlfriends in the past – I've liked them. It's just…"

"Well, you obviously like men to some extent," Harry said what he hoped was kindly.

"I'm not gay," Nott said again. "I can't be."

"But you like Lestrange."

"That – that's different," Nott stammered. "I still like women."

"You could like both," Harry commented.

"Sorry?"

"You could like both men and women," Harry explained. "You could be bisexual. It would explain why not even Tom noticed that you were gay – you just never thought about it until now. Until you learnt that some people are gay."

Nott was dubious, yet he didn't contradict the suggestion. "That exists?"

"Of course."

"Well… maybe…" The thought still didn't sooth Nott much. If anything, he looked a little more confused.

"Why would Lestrange be against you liking men if he can accept Tom and I?" Harry suddenly asked, seeing the flaw in Nott's claim. "Is he lying about being comfortable with it?"

While Nott attempted to shield his mind, Harry saw in his eyes that he had hoped Harry wouldn't ask this. This could only be for two reasons, Harry thought; either Lestrange was secretly homophobic or Nott had other reasons to not want to stay at Harry's house.

"Unless you lied about Lestrange being uncomfortable with you?" Harry pressed.

"No, he's still uncomfortable with me," Nott admitted. He seemed a bit upset again. "I think he's also still a bit uncomfortable about you and Tom too, but since it doesn't directly involve him he isn't so opposed to it…"

"Then can't he accept you?"

Almost as soon as Harry had asked this, he understood without needing further explanation. The silence confirmed his new theory.

"But you don't want to be around him…"

It was almost as though Nott was realising this too as Harry voiced it. He stood for a moment, the affliction almost radiating off him.

"No," he agreed quietly. He took a moment to think about it. "No, I'd prefer to not see him…"

Being not quite as reluctant to meet Harry's gaze now, Nott was allowing Harry to see pieces of thoughts that crossed his tired mind. Nott secretly wished to never see Lestrange again; he wished his feelings had been forgotten like so many other memories within Lestrange's recently modified mind. He understood Lestrange would never feel the same way about him. He knew he shouldn't continue being Lestrange's friend.

"You've been friends almost your entire lives," Harry said suddenly, before he could stop himself. He surprised himself to realise that he felt slightly panicked after reading Nott's mind. "You grew up together – your families have been friends since before your birth."

Nott apparently didn't want to hear this. He looked away again, bringing his shoulders forwards uncomfortably and moving his feet as though he were in half a mind to walk away. Harry could see he had upset the other Wizard. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly.

"Yes it does," Harry said, again without thinking about his words. His own tone and feeling of indignation brought him back memories of being fifteen again – a time when he had still been surprised by the unfairness and unjustness of the world. "You can't just pretend you don't feel anything for him – you can't just ignore him forever and pretend he wasn't a part of your entire life!"

Nott was glaring at him now, his eyes shining. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Just, I don't know," Harry stammered, wondering why this was affecting him in a way he hadn't been affected in years, "just tell him how you feel."

"He knows," Nott said irritably. His voice was thick and shaking. "He doesn't care."

Harry knew this was probably true, but he didn't want to think about it. He tried to think of a better outcome. He didn't want to feel sorrow towards this. "You could still be friends."

"No," Nott denied, "We can't be friends."

"But you've been friends your entire lives."

"He'll never see me the same way again… Not now…"

"But he's your friend!"

Harry didn't really know why he was so against what Nott firmly believed must happen between Lestrange and himself. It just seemed like such a waste to Harry, such a completely needless misfortune that could affect the rest of Nott's life, when just remaining friends could help the both of them. Harry felt like an idiot for thinking this, but he couldn't help it. He had witnessed so much in Tom's land for the past few months and years, but somehow this was something he couldn't take.

Harry wanted to get annoyed at Nott, to tell him that he didn't have to take such a negative route when there was still a chance that the love between him and Lestrange (the love that they gained through years of friendship) didn't have to die because of this. However, Harry also understood that it could be too difficult for them to be friends by this point. Their life-long friendship could be ruined and could never be at all satisfying after this, as much as Harry hated to think about that… Then another thought struck him.

"You'll both be alone," he said in a low voice.

Nott stared at him. These words appeared to have paralyzed him.

"I know…"

Neither of them could think of what to say after this. The warm rushes of summer breeze that travelled across the vast fields of this land hissed in their ears and rusting their dark cloaks. It was only through seeing Nott's bright eyes shining in the dim light that Harry knew the moon was above them, illuminating everything in sight faintly. Nott's overflowing eyes transfixed Harry.

Harry didn't know what to do by this point. He wanted to comfort Nott, but having never known how to do such things, he stood where he was uselessly, memories of his past friends crying flicking past his mind and disconcerting him. Nott was embarrassed that he had become this sad; he avoided Harry's awkward gaze and wiped his face hastily, occupying himself by staring at a distant tree for a few moments.

"I'll get Tom to at least move one of you out of the room," Harry told Nott. He felt bad about being unable to comfort him, but he couldn't help it. As if to make his own internal debate known, he added quietly: "I'm sorry."

Nott only nodded. Nothing more was said.

–X–

"You want them moved from your house?" Tom repeated curiously. "Why, may I ask?"

"Nott brought up the idea," Harry explained. "Apparently he isn't getting along very well with Lestrange, so he thinks it'd be better if they were apart."

Tom frowned a little. "I didn't notice any signs of dispute between the two of them."

"They aren't arguing, exactly," Harry said. "I think they're just sort of… growing apart."

Tom was still surprised to hear this. "Yet you know it is too early for me to feel safe allowing Nott and Lestrange to mingle with the other Knights," he observed.

"They don't have to go back, I could just let one of them sleep in my room instead. It would make it easier for them."

"This is a generous offer," Tom voiced. His eyes bore into Harry's.

"It would just be easier…"

Harry didn't know if he was being very convincing. Tom began walking across the bedroom, intent upon gazing out of his window in thought while Harry remained standing where he was, feigning calmness while he leant against a cupboard, his eyes following Tom.

"Though I am yet to understand your exact reasons for such a generosity," Tom commented, his voice somewhat hollowly as he stood near the window.

"Well, like I said Nott brought it up."

Tom said nothing to this. Harry could see his face reflected in the glass before him. He was surprised to see a slight smile on Tom's lips.

"You know, don't you?" Harry asked suddenly, recognising that smile.

Tom turned away from window, not questioning Harry's inquiry as he continued smirking. "Of course I know, Harry."

Harry almost felt like smiling back, but worry stopped him marginally. He thought about the last time Tom had discovered someone close to Harry being gay; he had done everything in his power to make sure Emeric would never so much as speak to Harry again, which had of course ended in quite a bad way. Harry felt nauseous at the thought of what Tom could do to Nott…

"Nott isn't any sort of danger," Harry informed Tom quickly. "He's bisexual anyway, it isn't like he's just going to be interested in men, and anyway he's not stupid enough to dare try and get with me or you. He's never even shown any interest in either of us, anyway, and –"

"I know," Tom interrupted.

Harry stared, confused. "What?"

"I know he isn't any sort of danger."

There was a silence.

"I've read his mind," Tom carried on, "I know he isn't going to trouble our relationship. He cares only for Lestrange."

Harry didn't know how he was supposed to react to this. Some part of him was happy that Tom wasn't going to do anything to Nott, while another part of him felt annoyed that Tom had overreacted so much in the case of Emeric, which really wasn't very different to this. How could Tom possibly have this reaction now? Harry wondered whether it was a matter of control, or whether Tom trusted Nott more, or whether it was mere luck plus how Tom happened to be feeling at the moment…

"What's different this time?" Harry decided to ask.

"What do you mean?"

"The last time you found out that someone I knew was gay, you lead him away from me and onto the path of becoming a follower of Gellert Grindelwald," Harry pointed out. He had to stop himself from sounding too spiteful.

"Emeric liked you," Tom expressed. "Since Nott wouldn't dare do anything to you even if he did like you too, I don't see the problem."

Harry was still caught between relief and annoyance. He was mute.

"I might, however, like to reconsider continuing Occlumency lessons with Nott…"

"Why would you reconsider that?"

"I want to make sure I can see his mind," Tom said. "To be safe."

"You can see it anyway," Harry observed. Was this the catch, he wondered? Was Tom going to hurt Nott slowly by allowing the Knights and Lestrange to read his mind at all times?

"I want to make sure," Tom repeated.

"Tom," Harry began in a serious tone, "he's never going to be better at Occlumency as you are at Legilimency. You don't have to risk the other Knights finding out that he's bisexual – it would risk your own plans being known as well. It isn't worth it!"

"It would stop him from being too intent upon seeking men," Tom said quietly.

"How can you say that?" Harry asked, stunned. "How can you honestly think that it would be a good thing if Nott had to deny that he liked men – even to himself? That's completely hypocritical!"

Tom was annoyed that Harry was so outraged about this. He thought about Harry's words for a moment or two, trying to work it out, until the annoyance slipped away from him. He seemed to think it'd be easier to leave it, after all.

"It was merely a suggestion," he said.

"Nott doesn't deserve to be treated like that," Harry stated. "He has enough to worry about as it is, since Lestrange is already disgusted that he is who he is."

"I don't believe Nott should receive better treatment merely because he's partially homosexual, if that's what you're implying."

"Why not?" Harry asked, "He's just about the only person here who'd be okay with us being together."

"Of course," Tom agreed darkly, "and there had to be a reason for that…"

"You _never_ discourage the Knights from hating homosexuals," Harry commented quietly. "It doesn't exactly help anything when you yourself are homophobic."

These words knocked Tom out of his tepidness sharply. "How is it that I am, apparently, homophobic?" he demanded. "I don't use derogatory slurs as they do."

"You won't even admit who you are to them and you think Nott deserves to be treated badly for being the same way! It's completely hypocritical!"

"I don't tell them who I am because they'll completely disrespect me, Harry," Tom asserted in a genuinely angry tone. "I only wish for Nott to suffer because I want to ensure nothing will happen to our relationship because of him – it has nothing to the fact that he's not straight!"

"But it's not like you're even happy letting Nott and Lestrange know that we're dating – you still want to modify their minds, even though they're completely willingly accepted it!"

"Lestrange barely accepts it," Tom reminded him scathingly, "and Nott only accepts it because he can relate to us!"

"What, so your plan is to just keep me as another one of your secrets forever then, is it?"

"Harry, you must understand the pressure that surrounds the idea of homosexual–"

"But you're half the cause of this pressure – it's like I'm not even dating you half the time!" Harry exclaimed, thinking privately that Tom was wasting his opportunity to do one good thing for the Wizarding world after all. "They wouldn't even care that much, Tom. They think of you as their Lord, don't they?"

"You know they already have their suspicions about you and I," Tom said, "and I'm not going to confirm their beliefs, it would be foolish risk."

"A foolish risk?" Harry repeated. "Is that all you see this relationship as?"

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?" Harry demanded, "That this isn't important enough to tell the Knights? That we should be ashamed for being who we are, like Nott?"

"Listen to m–"

"I can't believe you can even stand there and deny–"

"I love you, Harry!" Tom cut across him forcibly. "Won't you listen to yourself? After all we've been trough and after all these years, how can you honestly list such accusations with so much apparent certainty?"

This stopped Harry from carrying on, somehow. He knew he was only bickering with Tom for the hell of it and it seemed as though Tom knew this too. In reality, it wouldn't be a wise idea to tell the Death Eaters that they were dating, no matter how much it made Harry wonder… Though Harry still wouldn't stand for the idea of Tom allowing Nott to be a victim of homophobia amongst the Knights.

Harry brought a hand up to his face to rub his forehead in stress. "I don't actually think you're homophobic," he said in a low voice, breathing slowly as he let his hand drop to his side, "and I love you too. I just hope you aren't going to do anything irrational to Nott."

"I won't do anything to him…"

"Do you promise?"

"I promise. It was a mere suggestion."

Harry hoped it wasn't a serious suggestion, at any rate.

"I know it's impossible that you'd cheat on me, anyway," Tom added.

Harry was a little taken aback. As glad as he was that Tom understood he wasn't going to cheat, Tom's confidence in the claim seemed unusual. "Why are you so sure about that, suddenly?"

Tom stood for a moment, dubious.

"Tom?"

Looking away from Harry, Tom began to walk to the other side of the room, his face unreadable as he held his silence. When his back was turned, he brought a hand to his face, rubbing his mouth in what Harry first read as concern. When Tom turned back to Harry, however, his cloak sweeping behind him in the elegant gesture, he was beaming widely, his eyes alight with rapture.

"I realised the most wonderful thing recently," he said in a whisper, his voice audibly quivering.

Harry was distracted by the inhuman and familiar smile upon Tom's face. His mouth was suddenly dry. "What did you realise?"

"We're not a normal couple, Harry," Tom expressed. His teeth were sharp as the rest of his grin while his wide eyes were unmoving. "They aren't like us, they don't feel what we feel. They could never understand the connection we share with each other…"

Harry had no idea where this was going, but a deep sense of foreboding was gripping him. "What do you mean?"

Tom looked away from him then, pacing the room. His hands made his hair untidy as he ran them through it, unable to stop grinning. "We are beyond normal love, Harry. We are beyond the limitations of general, meaningless, false relationships that average people resort to. They could never love each other to the extent we do…"

"You aren't making any sense," Harry voiced. His hands gripped tightly to the side of the cupboard behind him.

"It makes perfect sense! I… I just…"

Tom appeared both extremely happy yet frustrated that he couldn't quite explain himself properly.

"I love you so much, Harry… I can barely comprehend it more often than not, yet the more I think about it – the more the idea haunts me and enthrals me – the more I am convinced that no one else could possibly feel this way! This isn't like what we were forced to do at Hogwarts – forced to care for when our friends were ill, or when the teachers were annoyed, or when other students were sad and hurt on Prefect Duty…"

"What do you mean by were 'forced' to act that way?" Harry asked, feeling rather concerned by this point.

"Surely you understand?" Tom asked, facing Harry. "_Surely_ you remember what it was like to watch hundreds of people pretending to care for each other so sickeningly at Hogwarts? They never had such obligations at the orphanage I grew up in… It is only to be assumed that it was merely a polite and courteous thing to do at the great castle. It was an unsaid rule, it was expected. No one felt the desire to help people as such unless the teachers were watching. It was all to keep a healthy reputation…

"But now," Tom said assuredly, "now I realise that it was all insincere to them. There is something else that forces me to stay by your side, Harry… Perhaps people try to imitate this unavoidable need for those who they apparently 'love'. No one could care about their friends, family, or teachers as much as I find himself obsessing over you in love…"

Tom was standing close to Harry now, his voice in a whisper as his eyes continued to stare in wild happiness.

"One couldn't truly pass all of this off as 'love', Harry. If this is what people had meant by the word, it has been thrown around far too carelessly… You and I were meant to be. We are beyond what normal humans felt for one another – I knew we must be! All of those forced acts of 'love' that I witnessed at Hogwarts – all of those forced gestures of kindness – they were all lies… We are soul mates, Harry."

Harry was holding his breath, leaning back slightly without thinking about it as his hands continued to clench the wood behind him. These words send such a terrible shock through him that he could neither move nor think properly. He waited for something, anything, to change his state of fear, yet this vague hope appeared futile.

"I would do anything for you," Tom whispered, "my soul mate…"

Only one thought ran through Harry's mind at these words, a thought that informed his numbed brain that Tom knew about their souls. That insane smile showed that he had worked it all out, he knew about Harry's lies. The terror of his realisation was stronger than any fear Harry could remember feeling before. He could only hope that Tom was blind to his obviously staggered expression and reaction. Somehow, against all odds, Tom knew about their souls…

"No one is ever going to get between us, Harry," Tom assured him softly, his face sharply defined in exultation, "Not Emeric, nor Nott, nor fate, nor death…"

These words bemused Harry, not because he didn't understand what Tom was saying, but because he didn't know why Tom had moved on from the subject of souls. Harry could see in his eyes that Tom knew about their souls – he could _feel_ it just like Harry could – so why would Tom not carry on with the subject? Why wasn't he shouting at Harry for his lies, saying he didn't care about their relationship any longer?

Then, quite suddenly, Harry realised his mistake. Tom had not, in fact, just discovered that he and Harry literally share a piece of the shattered soul that had been placed within Harry at infancy. Tom was using 'soul mates' as loose term, no matter how much Harry knew that deep down Tom recognised the aura of importance of the claim. Harry experienced such a strong sense of relief at the thought, he felt as though he was close to fainting. He looked away from Tom and relaxed somewhat as his own expression lost its obvious signs of panic…

"Do you remember when we discussed the importance of love and trust?" Tom inquired softly.

Harry was shaking, but he tried not to show it as he said weakly, "Yeah, I remember…"

"I stick by the same claim I had the last time we spoke of this: I would happily lose the rest of the Knights a thousand times over just to keep you safe, my love. My soul mate…"

"Tom, I…" Harry began, but he couldn't bring himself to say he didn't want Tom to use that term…

"Do you remember when we spoke about how Dumbledore thinks love is the strongest type of magic?"

"Yes," Harry said honestly. What Tom said confused him, however. "Do you think it's true now?"

"No," Tom admitted, "I still do believe the Dark Arts are stronger…"

Harry found he was unaffected by this conversation. He was still trying to get over his previous terror without Tom noticing. He wished he could move away, but instead he just kept on talking. "Why did you bring it up then?"

"I was thinking about Dumbledore." Tom grinned more. "Dumbledore contradicted his own claim."

"How?" Harry asked. This was a little more interesting, so he allowed himself to be distracted from his instability.

"By the whole Grindelwald fiasco," Tom said almost gleefully, "He has to believe love is stronger than all other magic to cover up the fact that he, despite all of his characteristics, dabbled in the Dark Arts at a young age."

Harry wasn't sure why, but he found himself feeling nauseated at the idea that this claim made sense. This didn't help him to get over his other shock. He battled with his thoughts, trying to get his head straight while Tom's marginally less maddened eyes examined his face.

"But," Harry said as soon as a thought truck him, "but that doesn't make sense."

"How not?"

Harry bit his dry lips, wondering what was wrong with him as his mind refused to believe Tom's words. "How would Dumbledore taking up the Dark Arts at seventeen mean that he's contradicting his claims of Love being the most powerful magic?"

"The words of love excuse his 'mistake'," Tom answered.

"But he actually loved Grindelwald."

Tom only had to mull this over for a few seconds. His expression was blank by this point. "He ended up resenting Grindelwald, thus resenting the Dark Arts."

"That was because of love," Harry stated.

"No," Tom smiled softly, "It was because of hate."

Harry didn't understand. "Are you saying Hate is now stronger than both Love and the Dark Arts?"

"The Dark Arts defeat all," Tom said, "while Hate most certainly defeats Love. Dumbledore proved this by duelling Grindelwald three years ago."

Their souls must really make love more powerful then, Harry thought dryly. He surprised himself by thinking this and froze, wondering why that had popped into his mind at all.

"Dumbledore is far from a White Wizard, Harry," Tom voiced, as if it were obvious and as if he thought Harry was currently bemused because of this. "He is Grey at most, yet even then…"

"I still don't get why you're saying any of this," Harry said, hearing slight bitterness in his own words.

"Don't you get it? The Dark Arts are stronger than Love, Harry, stronger than Hate and stronger than Death."

Harry's jaw clenched for a moment.

The maddened smile returned. "With the Dark Arts," Tom said, "our love will be immortal…"

Harry felt fear – sickening fear – returning to him. "Tom…"

"Horcruxes will preserve our love forever, Harry," Tom whispered, reaching up his hands to touch Harry's face gently when he saw that he wanted to look away. "We will be immortal, we will never be alone – don't you see? Our souls will–"

Harry broke away, not wanting to hear this, not wanting to deal with listening to Tom say that he had to create a Horcrux too. Harry didn't know what to do with himself. All he knew was that he wanted to move across the room, away from Tom.

"Don't you want to be with me?" Tom asked. He sounded almost strained.

"It's not that…"

"Then what's wrong?"

In truth, Harry was thinking about Dumbledore again after he reflected upon how much he didn't want to make a Horcrux. He didn't want to believe that the Dark Arts were stronger than Love – and he _didn't_ believe it, but the thought haunted him somehow. He felt as though he was comparing himself to Dumbledore, whilst comparing Tom to Grindelwald… He didn't know whether he was making the right choice, since he knew Dumbledore had been serious about his love for Grindelwald, despite the fact that he chose the Light Arts over the Dark…

"This is our fate, Harry," Tom whispered.

Harry tried hard not to listen; the thoughts in his head felt charred and damaged and slow… Dumbledore lost his sister to Grindelwald – that's what had torn them apart. Tom would one day go on to kill a lot of people Harry had known and loved… Did this make Dumbledore a better person? Because he, unlike Harry, had a better, clearer understanding of what he would and wouldn't stand for?

"Aren't you even listening to me?"

But the Dark Arts, Harry remembered, the Dark Arts proved that he wasn't all that bad… He felt as though both he and Dumbledore had been equally as reluctant to really take part in Dark Magic, even if they ended up learning quite a bit about it. Despite what Tom seemed to believe, Dumbledore wasn't a Dark Wizard no matter how much evil magic he knew. Harry felt the same way about himself…

"…which is why your were taught _Parseltongue_ –"

"What?" Harry interrupted.

"It makes sense!" Tom exclaimed, as though Harry should understand what 'it' was. "It's your fate Harry! It's all connected, and we were meant to be together!"

Harry was bewildered and alarmed by Tom's enthusiasm for whatever it was that he was talking about. He mentally insulted himself for not listening previously. "I don't understand."

"The group you were a part of until you were fifteen were connected to the Knights of Walpurgis!" Tom elucidated, as though this all made perfect sense. "They were working against Grindelwald – along with many of the Knights, perhaps!"

"I – I don't," Harry stammered, feeling worried about this bizarre claim. He didn't have to say more than this for Tom to continue.

"Why else would they teach you Parseltongue, if not in dedication to Salazar Slytherin, and by extent the Knights of Walpurgis?" Tom inquired with a manic stare in his eyes again.

Harry froze.

"The – the Dark Arts," he then blurted out, saying the first thing that came to his mind to contradict what Tom was saying.

"What?"

"They would have done it for the Dark Arts," Harry repeated. He was only saying this to stop Tom from thinking the wrong thing. He waited for a response afterwards, feeling deeply anxious. If Tom started believing that the fictional group Harry was a part of was involved with the Knights of Walpurgis, there could be a lot of problems…

"Even so, you are still evidently connected to Salazar Slytherin," Tom reminded him, unfazed. His smile was wide and wild. "You're still connected to me, Harry. Your group would still have worshipped me, like the Knights currently do…"

"I don't know why you're saying this."

"Because were meant to be, Harry!"

"How does any of this mean we were meant to be?"

"If your group had survived," Tom began, "and if they were – or were going to end up as – a part of the Knights of Walpurgis for killing off Grindelwald's people, we always would have met!"

Harry honestly didn't know what to say to this. He didn't think he would believe Tom's claim even if he hadn't lied about being a part of a Dark Arts group at a young age. He would always have been a follower of Tom, had his group ever actually existed.

"Don't you see how this is your fate, Harry?"

Harry was transfixed to Tom, paranoid of those now seemingly unblinking grey eyes. He shook his head to respond "no" nonverbally.

"You would always have ended up here. Eventually, you would have found me… we would have found each other."

Harry didn't think he really believed this… but he wondered whether he would have always ended up here, in this era. If he had, he still might not have been a Death Eater if he had made different choices at Hogwarts. He could have ended up as someone who helped Dumbledore, or he could have been an Auror working for Abner Moody, helping the Order of the Phoenix eventually in a less obvious way. These thoughts saddened Harry, somehow…

"I would always have found you, through the Knights of Walpurgis," Tom told him. "This unites us, Harry…"

Except, Harry thought slowly, the Knights of Walpurgis wouldn't have known about Tom if it weren't for Harry. They might have eventually found out about him via one of the Death Eaters boasting about him being an Heir of Slytherin, yet that seemed a little bit far-fetched to Harry. Without the Knights, however, the Malfoy Family might not have moved it to England. Thorfinn Rowle and his son would never have ended up as Death Eaters…

This meant one of two things, Harry realised. Either it was his fate that he was here, like Tom suggested, probably meaning that he was caught in some sort vicious circle of time, which would mean that whatever he did would end up being what he was _supposed_ to have done (perhaps even changing his memories, Harry thought wildly), or else…

He froze as the second possibility struck him. If Tom was still speaking, Harry couldn't hear him now. He stared at the ground unseeingly, the realization rendering him completely immobile…

Either this was Harry's fate, as he now dearly hoped, or this was a fragile part of history that Harry had already unknowingly messed with to an astronomical extent. If the Knights of Walpurgis were here because of Harry, and for no other reason, Lord Voldemort was going to rise to power faster than ever before, with more followers and more support than he was ever supposed to have at such a young age…

Harry felt as though he was going to be sick.

"… No one could ever stop us from becoming the great historians that we already…"

Numbly, Harry turned away from the still-speaking Tom. The blood was draining away from his face and a high-pitched ringing sound was shocking his ears beyond the beat of his quick pulse. He was losing his sense of direction and balance, so all he could do was rest his hands on the cupboard before him, trying to steady himself. If this was all his fault, or if he was making Voldemort worse…

"Harry?"

But Abraxas Malfoy and Thorfinn Rowle – they had to have been here! Harry felt dizzy; he felt like all of his blood was quickly leaving his body, leaving him empty. If they weren't here, the Malfoy family might never have found reason to move to Britain – Thorfinn Rowle's son wouldn't become a Death Eater like his father… It wouldn't make sense if Harry had messed up the future, surely his memories would have changed… Harry was overwhelmed by his own thoughts and he couldn't calm himself down. His past would never exist and the future would be worse than ever before…

"They tortured you, Harry," Tom reminded him.

Harry was surprised that he could hear these words. The ringing in his ears had stopped, but his heart could still be heard beating loudly in his ears. He was shaking badly…

"You can't just let Grindelwald's people get away with what they did to you," Tom said. "You can still seek revenge. You can fight with me, as we were evidently destined to do."

Harry opened his eyes slowly, staring down at the polished wooden surface before him. Tom was right about that, even if it was unrelated to everything Harry was truly worrying about. He still had nightmares about that fortress…

"You've changed Harry," Tom told him softly, "You've changed so much since you were fifteen, working with other Witches and Wizards to revolt against Grindelwald and his people. You've change since I met you, since we fell in love. You've changed since being captured in Grindelwald's fortress…"

Yes, Harry thought bitterly, but change had been inevitable… With all that he had gone through, with all that he had seen, he was not the same person he one was. He was no longer the young and naïve Harry James Potter – he didn't even have a real name anymore. He didn't care for things like he used to. He didn't care about saving the world from injustice… except…

Except Harry had cared that Nott was leaving Lestrange without a fight. Despite the fact that he had only just found out that Nott liked Lestrange and despite the fact that it made perfect sense for Nott to distance himself, Harry couldn't stand the idea that two lifelong friends would be broken up like that. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that this was probably because Nott was the closest thing he had to a real friend now. Nott reminded him of how he himself used to be…

This told Harry that something had always remained the same inside him over the years, in spite of everything that had happened and almost every choice he had made. Being in this part of time as a Death Eater with Tom still couldn't change the fact that Harry was still the same person. The fact that Harry didn't truly take part in the Dark Arts, just like Dumbledore, proved this. The fact that he was standing here, shuddering in fear at the idea of Lord Voldemort being too strong, proved this…

Then Harry remembered something else – something so relieving that very the thought shot through him with such intensity, he felt as though he had been shocked by elation. The Knights of Walpurgis had tattoos stunningly similar to Dark Marks that the Death Eaters would later wear on their left forearms. The star constellation was exactly like Morsmordre spell, yet Tom had shown no signs of having thought of this idea himself already – this proved the Knights had to be here!

Harry turned to face Tom. He was still shaking badly in anxiety, but he tried to hide it. Despite the fact that he still couldn't know for sure what he was even doing in this era, or whether he was making a mistake with everything he had done so far, Harry chose to believe that it was his fate. He didn't even fully know what that meant, but he believed it. He was meant to be here… Harry had no control over it when he began beaming widely, still feeling incredibly lightheaded.

"Fate," he managed weakly.

Tom's reddish eyes stared with the familiar concern that was reserved only for Harry. Except this time there was neither happiness nor assurance in Tom's eyes, he was only deeply alarmed by the fact that Harry was shaking so badly, unable to stand up properly.

"Are you alright?" he asked, already walking towards Harry.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

Tom didn't seem to believe it. He stood close by, ready to help Harry if he fell due to his badly trembling body. "You're rather pale."

"Aren't I always?" Harry asked shakily.

Tom smiled faintly at the joke, yet not for long. His expression darkened back to unease. "You shouldn't worry so much about Grindelwald's people," he said quietly.

"I'm not," Harry assured him honestly.

Harry couldn't tell what Tom was thinking. He looked confused. "Why were you smiling?"

Harry didn't know what he should say to this. He tried to think of a rational answer. "I'm just happy you care so much."

"Of course I care," Tom said, sounding almost offended. "What they did to you was unforgivable."

Harry realised that by 'they' Tom meant Grindelwald's people. "They'll be gone one day," Harry commented.

Tom was quiet at this, stroking his thumb softly across the side of Harry's face. "I don't want you to fight them in our ambush," he voiced. "I'd rather you stayed here."

Harry didn't mind this suggestion for once. He didn't want to have to kill any of Grindelwald's people for Tom. "Alright…"

They stood in silence for a moment, until Harry remembered something.

"Tom, you said you think that that group I was a part of might be connected to Knights of Walpurgis…"

"Yes," Tom agreed. "It would certainly make sense."

"Well, even so…" Harry began slowly, "please don't ask them about it."

Tom seemed to find this request unusual. "Why not?"

"I don't want to know if they were a part of the Knights… I'd rather not know."

To Harry's relief, Tom seemed to believe that this made sense. Harry wasn't sure whether he was just being polite, whether he was lying, or whether he really believed that it made sense for Harry to want to leave it in the past, but nevertheless he was satisfied when Tom said calmly, "I understand."

Harry leant forwards, after nodding. He pulled Tom into a hug lightly, wanting to be closer to him. They didn't really hug that often, so Tom was a bit slow in responding, but he responded nevertheless. Harry sighed a little, his eyes closed as he held Tom close to him. He told Tom he loved him, and Tom said the same for him. They continued standing there for a while, not saying another word.

* * *

**Dear Readers,** I'm not dead yet! I am sorry for not updating in over a month again, my life has been rather tiresome as of late. I could go into details, but I'd rather not bore you all with more drama, since I'm sure this story is full of enough of it. At any rate, I am trying to remain strong and am trying to write as often as possible.

I will never abandon this story (and moreover, I wouldn't abandon it without telling you all), so you needn't worry so much when I disappear for a month and a half. Hopefully I won't leave this story for as long again, but I honestly can't make many solid guarantees rn. I'm not dying here or anything, but life is just pretty dramatic and I'm slow with inspiration.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thanks for your reviews!


	58. Flee

It was a sickly, humid evening and difficult to breath from the thickness of the air, but Harry didn't think much about it all in all. He was standing in a courtyard with three Death Eaters and one Knight, waiting. Harry watched the four wizards staring up at the sky as if they expected to see Tom arrive home precisely when they happened to be searching for him. Tom and the others weren't actually expected to be back for another hour or so, however.

All four of the Knights of Walpurgis were leaning against the rough walls of the Death Eaters' building next to Harry, glancing up at the sky nervously in turn every now and then. Two of them were engaged in conversation while the other two stood around, waiting for some other unseen Knights to swap shifts with them, to end their break. So far, it had been a long night.

The Knights were in a state of growing apprehension, though not one of them gave voice to this; instead it was written on their faces and shown in their light comments about the time or about their concerns for themselves, Tom, and the rest of Tom's followers. Despite understanding, sensing, and seeing their fear, however, Harry was for once feeling far from nervous about the wellbeing of Tom…

While he remained here, accompanied by only a few other wizards who were looking after the place, Harry was, above all else, stressed by his inability to know how the ambush of Grindelwald's Fortress was going. He knew that Tom wasn't going to get badly injured in the fight because he knew Tom was simply too strong. What worried him was what would happen if Tom ended up a little _too_ victorious due to his strength…

Harry wanted Tom to defeat Grindelwald's People – he truly did – but there was something very alarming to him about the idea of Tom fighting with the power of six Dragons and over forty Knights at his command, attacking the Fortress without so much as a warning. Tom had the complete ability to bring down Grindelwald's peoples' defences due to the help of the newest Knights, what was more, which in itself was another massive advantage. If Tom managed to succeed completely tonight, it would mean he was indeed stronger than he was meant to be, and Harry would have even bigger issues to worry about…

Harry hoped none of the Death Eaters would die, on another note. He didn't wish for any of the Knights of Walpurgis to die either, but he understood that most of them were a little less important at this time. If one of the Death Eaters died earlier than they were supposed to, it could mean that time would change forever for Harry. If Avery, Dolohov, Macnair, Nott, Lestrange, Black, and so many others were dead before they had children, a lot would be different, and it terrified Harry…

Witches and wizards that Harry had heard about in his past – such as Bellatrix and Narcissa Black, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, the son of Avery, the son of Dolohov, Walden Macnair, Even Rosier, and even Lucius and Draco Malfoy – could never exist if a Killing Curse hit the wrong wizard tonight. Harry regretted having agreed to stay here for the ambush. He wanted nothing more than to know what was happening in that battle…

Rosier, Black, and Lestrange were all waiting beside Harry now. This was somewhat calming to him, when he thought about their descendants existing, but he still worried about the other Death Eaters, as well as the other battles they would all have to fight in the near future… He decided, eventually, to listen to a conversation that was going on between Black and Rosier, for a few words caught his attention.

"I'm just reminding you," Rosier told Black in response to a discussion they were having, "I'd prefer it if you didn't use my sister as your _personal relief_ after being stuck here for so long."

"You don't have to worry," Black assured Rosier, smirking slightly, "I wouldn't treat her badly; she's my fiancée, after all. It would be a dishonour to both of our families if I used her – I'm not a fool."

"You don't need to be a fool to act ravenously, Cygnus."

"And you don't need to be so worried," Black responded, ignoring Rosier's condescending use of his first name. "I won't do anything bad to Druella."

"Good." Rosier stood quietly for a minute, scanning the sky with little enthusiasm. "You can get prostitutes for that sort of thing."

"And I will," Black added, grinning.

Rosier smiled too, in amused disbelief rather than in lewd agreement. "Do what you like, just don't disgrace our relatives."

"I won't. You can't judge me for seeking other women though," Black said, still smiling, but blatantly not quite satisfied with Rosier's vaguely disapproving reaction. "You're the one who doesn't want me chasing after Druella too much. We've been stuck here for a year now – I can't help that."

"I'm not judging you," Rosier perhaps lied. "That's merely something I find below me."

"What, sex?" Black joked.

"Prostitution. I don't see why you're so fond of it."

"I don't mean it literally," Black said.

"I should hope not."

"We all know I'm handsome enough to seek honest witches, anyway," Black smirked.

"It's a matter of repute, Cygnus, not a matter of whether or not you have sex with honest or dishonest witches."

"I've had enough practice with keeping up a good appearance thanks to Voldemort," Black reasoned. "I'm sure a few flings won't ruin my reputation as a Pureblood."

"But it's not as though any of us will be leaving this place soon," Lestrange's drawling voice added to the conversation. "This isn't the end of Grindelwald's people."

"That's true," Black agreed. He didn't sound happy to be reminded of this.

"I often wonder," Lestrange carried on in a sigh, "whether Voldemort specifically knows that we'll work harder at the prospect of being able to leave soon, to carry on real lives somewhat."

"He probably knows," Rosier commented. His voice was a bit lower than Lestrange's, which suggested he was being cautious. He probably thought that Harry wouldn't like to hear them talk about Tom like this. Harry wasn't looking at them, but Rosier still added, "He's definitely smart enough to have that worked out."

"That and a thousand other ploys," Black muttered.

"Though it's not as though anyone actually wants to leave the Dark Arts," Rosier noted. "Most of the Knights just want a break."

"For witches, mostly," Black added.

"It's cunning of Tom, at any rate, if he has such things worked out," said Lestrange. "Lust is a powerful force, after all. I don't even know how we've all survived so far."

Harry turned his head at this, before he could stop himself, which caused the three Death Eaters to glance back at him furtively. Lestrange perhaps realised or remembered in that moment that Nott had confided in Harry about some of the events that had happened in the last few months. Events, more specially, that Lestrange doubtlessly wished he hadn't remembered. Lestrange stared back at Harry, seeming very uncomfortable. Harry waited for him to look away first.

They heard the Knight laugh lightly, despite having not said a word before this. He was on the other side of the group of three Death Eaters, apparently amused by the comment Lestrange made a few seconds ago. The laugh snatched Rosier and Black's attention.

"Iz it true zhat a vizard here vonce tried to run avay for vitches und alcohol?"

"About five of them, actually," Rosier informed him. "It was when Voldemort was away for a few days. They didn't run away so much as try to sneak in and out of this land, though."

"Which is impossible to do now," Black voiced. "With all the magic protecting us…"

"I heard zhat zuh vizard who led zhe ozers out is fond of murder?"

"Yes, that would be Mulciber," Lestrange said, perhaps distracting himself from Harry now. "He's a bit deranged now, if I must be honest."

"Not surprising by this point though," Rosier murmured, "he was mental to begin with."

"Not to mention stupid."

"Voldemort iz not against zhis?"

"No," Black answered. "Not really."

"Vol–" Lestrange began, but he stopped himself and glanced at Harry again. "_Our Lord_, rather, sees nothing against it."

"I see, I see…"

"In spite of this, however, you shouldn't be too alarmed," said Rosier. "He won't kill anyone who isn't an enemy, even if he might fight a lot of people when he's drunk."

"When isn't he drunk, though?" Black asked, as a statement more than a question.

"When isn't he fighting?"

The Death Eaters and Knight snickered a little, despite the underlying unease attached to their discussion. Harry stopped listening soon after this. His mind began to wander to thoughts of Nott. Tom had agreed that it was a good idea to separate the two Death Eaters in Harry's house for a while, but Harry knew this was probably little consolation to Nott, who would still have to see and work with Lestrange every single day until either or both of them could perform Occlumency adequately.

Eventually Rosier, Black, Lestrange, and the Knight Harry didn't know the name of stopped talking about Mulciber and his murders, as well as the attack from Grindelwald's people that he had triggered that night five months ago. Even as the conversation ended, however, it made Harry think about how they hadn't been properly prepared for any amount of Grindelwald's people to break in back then. Being here now, without Tom again, reminded Harry of that night very clearly…

Two more Knights had joined their group, which left the three Death Eaters to talk about which two of them would join the other unseen wizards who were keeping watch. Rosier and Black decided they would go, yet before they could do so much as walk twenty meters into the darkness of Tom's land, a sound made them stop. They all heard it – the dull, distant roar that was recognisable to them all. The Dragons were near; Tom had arrived home early.

Harry's heart began beating rapidly as he stood up straighter, stepping away from the wall. He couldn't see the sky due to the light of the torch mounted high on the building above them, so he stepped forwards with the others, walking along the dark cobblestone that defined the courtyard. He scanned the sky for any sign of movement, yet could see nothing. It was pitch black.

Then, quite suddenly, the whole sky was ignited with flames. The Dragons were above them now, flying low and causing the ground to shake with the power of their roars even before the creatures flew further on and landed upon the ground. Tom was managing the first Dragon that Harry saw, to no surprise. Around him flew about fifteen Death Eaters, joined by another Dragon and another twenty wizards, before a third Dragon landed.

Since six Dragons had left Tom's land earlier, Harry was unsure whether to expect another three now. There were a lot of Death Eaters flying around from what he could see, though it was hard to tell from this distance, in the lack of light. If Tom was home early, with half as many Dragons as he was supposed to have yet all the Death Eaters present, it meant that the battle hadn't gone well. Harry felt apprehension mix with a sense of deep happiness that he chose to ignore.

Rosier, Black, Lestrange, Harry, and the Knights began heading towards the others. Even before they properly saw Tom and the Death Eaters, who were dismounting their brooms, Harry could tell that arguments were breaking out. When he met the edge of the group he saw some wizards glaring at each other, making snide comments or else glancing away in defeat. The general frustration and stress amongst the group was irrepressible, yet none were quite as agitated as Tom.

"I cannot believe you could fail me yet again!" Harry dimly heard Tom shouting at them all. "Despite all my efforts – despite the _months_ I spent training you all – you are _still_ evidently unable to live up to even the lowest fucking standards!"

Harry strode hastily through the crowd. He scanned all the visible faces around him, trying in vain to see who was and wasn't here…

"You've managed to make the same elementary mistakes on an even more astronomical level then before! You've cost the lives of several others in your complete incompetence – You've failed yet again! You've proven your worthlessness and your…"

Harry's pulse beat nauseatingly. Tom had just mentioned deaths, had he not? He can't have meant the deaths of any of Grindelwald's people… Harry saw Gonson and Ransom; Gibbon, Mulciber and Dolohov; Zerrissen, Macnair, and Weiß… It was impossible to distinguish who any of the hooded figures were, however. Where was Avery, Nott, Rowle, or Malfoy? Harry kept staring around at the people before him in unease…

To his relief, Nott emerged from the crowd after a minute. Harry wasn't sure whether it was coincidence or whether Nott had spotting him first, yet he didn't suppose it mattered by this point. With his mask in one hand, his other arm held up in protection, Harry could tell that Nott was hurt. He wasn't badly injured, yet he would need medical attention as soon as Tom stopped yelling at everyone.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked quietly as Nott approached him.

Nott only nodded, his eyes dropping away from Harry as soon as the gesture started. When his eyes moved up again, they glanced to the left. At this, Harry realised that Lestrange was standing next to him. The two Death Eaters stared at each other for a moment, Nott's apprehension clear.

Lestrange was unreadable, likely thanks to his lessons with Tom, yet his thoughts were clear when he turned away silently, acting as if he had seen nothing. The look upon Nott's face subtly displayed a new sort of pain. He might have forgotten about his arm entirely in that moment.

"Jonathan," Gonson greeted.

The sound of the name caught Harry's attention immediately, forcing him to turn away from Nott. Gonson was standing before him readily.

"Hello Gonson," Harry responded. "How did it go?"

"We lost two Dragons during the fight," Gonson told him. "Grindelwald's people were more than prepared for an ambush from us."

"Only two Dragons died?" Harry repeated.

"A third escaped," Gonson explained, seeing his confusion. "I think this is what angered our Lord the most."

"How did that happen?"

"They followed the slowest Dragon, attacking the Knights who were looking after it. Our Lord is furious with each of those Knights, thinking that it was their fault…"

"And you don't agree?" Harry asked, noticing something off in the way he spoke.

Gonson hesitated. "I don't think he's wrong… but I don't think anyone would have left that Dragon without a fight. It wasn't neglected."

"What about everyone who fought? Is everyone alright?"

"I think I saw one new arrival dead," Gonson began slowly, "but no one can be sure yet. Some Knights haven't returned at all – mostly those who got lost with that Dragon… Though a few did make it back."

This made sense to Harry as he glanced at the many Knights who were still refusing to take off their masks; it was an attempt to hide from a direct conflict from Tom. Harry supposed that many of them would have chosen to help control the three living Dragons as well, to avoid Tom entirely and to redeem themselves somewhat. The Dragons were being fought with in the distance, their roars still audible as they were caged and controlled.

Whilst examining the masked wizards around him as well as the glow of the Dragons' fiery breath in the distance, Harry realised that Tom had been quiet for several minutes. He appeared to be concentrating upon strengthening the protection around them all. He only stopped between his enchantments to shout scathingly at his followers. He was protecting them all. He was shutting out Grindelwald's people, who might be circling the area, following the lost Knights and Dragon…

Harry's stomach leapt in horror. Tom was closing off this land. Malfoy, Avery, Rowle and many other Knights were still flying around outside, lost with or without that Dragon. This meant that – if they weren't already dead – Grindelwald's people would be chasing them, watching them try in vain to find shelter… Harry felt numb. He was in half a mind to discuss this with Gonson, but he found that he couldn't find the words. Before he knew what he was doing, he was heading towards Tom.

"You can't lock them out!"

Harry said this by the time he was on the outskirts of a vague ring of Knights that surrounded Tom. He didn't see any of the others as he waited frantically, watching Tom open his eyes and turn slowly to look at him. Tom stared blankly for a few seconds, working out what Harry was talking about.

"I'm not about to jeopardise the safety of this entire group to save a few inept wizards, Jonathan," Tom informed him. His general irritation about the whole night could still be heard in the way he spoke, despite his quietness.

Harry took further steps towards him.

"You can't just leave them there," he said urgently, "they're not going to survive if Grindelwald's people find them."

"If they had followed my orders–"

"You can't just let your own people be killed when it's blatant you could still save them!"

"You're being irrational, Jonathan," Tom stated.

Harry didn't care even if this was partially true. If Malfoy, Avery, Rowle, or any of the others were killed, it could mean that all of history was going to change… Even at the risk of sounding too eager to save people, Harry wasn't going to allow Tom to keep the others out. He had to find a way…

"You don't have to do this…"

"It is clear to me that Grindelwald's people were following that group. It would surely lead us all to our deaths if I let them in."

"You can't know that!"

"They wouldn't have been stopped – the Dragon wouldn't likely be dead – if Grindelwald's people weren't intent upon killing us, Jonathan."

"But – but you can't do that!" Harry stammered, unable to think how he could change Tom's mind. They could already be dead… He stood, staring despairingly at Tom as waves of terror and fear washed over him. This couldn't be the end… this couldn't be how it all turned out…

Tom dropped his gaze at this, his expression impassive. He turned slightly, as if to walk away, but decided to say something more.

"It is a sacrifice well worth its reward, Jonathan. You should appreciate that I have the strength to let them go, for so many people seem to struggle to make such a decision…"

He was turning away, leaving Harry defeated.

"You don't have to do this…"

Tom still refused to look at him for some reason, choosing to gaze up at the sky now. Some of the Knights were glancing at Harry furtively and talking quietly about Tom's choice. Very few of them seemed to feel any honest remorse for the missing Knights. Harry didn't know how to argue against Tom about this. He tried to will himself into it, knowing he had no other option, but the words still did not come to him.

A deep sound seemed to pass by Harry's ears through the humid, still summer air. He looked over at the Dragons, who were all caged, but who put up a good fight despite this. They were breathing fire in any direction that had a chance of hitting a Knight or two. He couldn't really see them from this far away. He thought about the masked Death Eaters, clenching his jaw, and wondered what the chances were of Avery, Malfoy, and Rowle all still being here.

Even if they were here, what about the other lost wizards outside? Harry heard the Dragons make that odd, deep sound again, the noise seemingly ringing in his ears. Should he be putting up a bigger fight for them too, or would Tom never give in while several Death Eaters watched their conversation with interest? It wouldn't be the first time that Tom didn't listen to Harry to prove to the others that he was their leader – to lie that Harry's judgement meant nothing to him…

"What was that?" the muffled voice of a Death Eater asked behind Harry.

Harry's eyebrows creased somewhat. That deep sound wasn't coming from the Dragons he was watching. When he averted his eyes from the great beasts in the distance his deep thinking was stopped directly. The Knights were all communicating in fearful tones, aware of the peculiar sounds around them now that it had been pointed out and confirmed by others. Tom remained staring up at the sky. His was bewildered by what he saw.

Everything in view lit up with the aid of flames once more. Before Harry was truly aware of what was going on there was a ground-shaking crash, accompanied by the cry of several Dragons and the shouts of the wizards nearby, deafening him. Somehow, inexplicably, around fifteen new arrivals were landing their brooms besides a very agitated, lively Dragon. Amongst the crowd stepped forth Avery, who had removed his mask and who was opening his arms wide as if to greet the other Knights, his grin wild.

The Death Eaters were running over to greet the new arrivals, many of them blatantly relieved that they hadn't failed Tom after all, while others were just happy that Avery, Malfoy, Rowle, and so many Knights were safe. Harry watched Dolohov, Macnair, Black, and Gonson all beaming whilst they praised those who had returned. An overwhelming sense of relief was making Harry feel lightheaded, so he couldn't help but smile too.

He was walking towards the triumphant group, driven by the new sense of elation that struck him, when a glance from Tom made him stop. Through the wide grin that Harry couldn't get rid of, he saw Tom observing him blankly. They weren't far apart now. Despite all the people rushing past them, satisfied with the first real success of the evening, Tom remained staring at no one but Harry. His dark eyes burned with a mixture of what could be nothing else but anger and confusion.

Harry couldn't think why Tom was looking at him like this. The smile was fading from his face while he looked briefly at the Dragon and the Death Eaters, everything seeming slower and confusing to him. Tom's Knights had returned, victorious, with the forth Dragon alive and well. Surely this achievement should please Tom greatly, not anger or worry him? They had returned, they had evidently defeated any wizards who might have been –

Harry froze. If what Gonson said earlier was true, more wizards would be close behind Avery and the others… With the Dragon's return, it meant irrefutably that the magic protecting Tom's land had fallen. It was impossible that Avery and the others could have defeated Grindelwald's people. They were no longer safe…

Tom saw the fear in Harry's face when their eyes met again. This was perhaps what caused him to finally look towards his friends once more, as if his duties only just became apparent. A thousand different thoughts seemed to run through Tom's mind as a contemplative, tense expression crossed his face, yet he didn't show a flicker of fear. He took in a deep breath, a plan already visibly calming him.

"It would be best if you went back to my house," Tom said to Harry softly. "Start packing up the essentials the best you can. I shall meet up with you within a few minutes…"

This was a solid confirmation to Harry that they had no chance of warding off Grindelwald's people. They could neither keep this land protected by magic nor fight the many wizards who were doubtlessly so close to finding them now. Their only chance was to run away.

"How much time do we have?" Harry asked, trying very hard to keep his voice even.

"Not much," Tom responded. He was already turning to the others, seemingly trying hard to overcome a sense of anger that was being evoked by stress. "You must hurry."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He headed off in the direction of Tom's house, hearing the change in the Knights' voices behind him as Tom stopped their celebration, telling them all to get into order again, to pack their bags, to leave this land. Harry wasn't sure whether he even had the ability to think about anything as he headed into the darkness alone, fear gripping him tightly. He couldn't see much beyond the light of his wand, which made him feel tense and disoriented by such a quick change.

In Tom's house, everything was ghostly quiet. Harry tried to ignore this as he forced himself upstairs without pausing, worrying about the Death Eaters outside. Within Tom's room, Harry tried to think what he would need. He summoned a trunk with a flick of his wand. They wouldn't be able to take much.

Robes were the first items to go into the large trunk. Then Harry began emptying out a large cabinet that Tom kept in here specifically to hold the most important plans and documents and diaries that they had to keep close. Harry was just starting to sift through some of the papers, trying to work out what was and wasn't important to keep, when he heard someone moving behind him.

It was only Tom, of course, but the shock of not hearing him enter the house caused Harry to jump up, spilling piles of parchment in all directions. He had almost reached for his wand but he tried lamely to hide this action, bringing his hand up to his head to touch his hair. He knew Tom noticed the gesture anyway.

"Did I startle you?" Tom inquired softly.

"You're too quiet," Harry mumbled as he attempted to pick up some of the papers that had fallen.

Tom smiled shortly. He then marched across the room, opening a large wardrobe where they kept a number of instruments hidden, including Tom's Horcruxes, beneath a few enchantments. "We should take as many papers as possible. It would be risky to leave much of our plans behind."

Harry took this to mean that it would be futile to try and look through the parchment now. He began levitating every book and page in sight into the trunk instead. "It's good we're living together, so we have everything here," he said distractedly. "It certainly saves a lot of… time…"

Harry stopped. He had just fallen across some writing and a few sketches at the bottom of one of the piles, which he couldn't remember having ever seen before. Most of the parchment here was relatively new, yet there were drawings near it that appeared much older, depicting the same ideas over and over again in different forms and styles. Tom had designed the Dark Mark.

The _Morsmordre_ spellin the sky had been sketched as an ominous, gaseous form initially, but evidently thanks to the Knights' Cassiopeia tattoos Tom had decided to use a constellation-like style instead. The new sketches showed the Dark Mark amongst real stars, and if Harry looked closely enough he could see the Cassiopeia's distinctive 'W' hidden in the great Skull leering down upon the world…

"Put those in the trunk amongst the others," Tom instructed him. He had obviously noticed that Harry paused to stare down at these plans. His tone gave away no sign of any particular emotion.

Harry wanted to ask Tom why he had these sketches and why he had hidden them amongst all of the other papers, but he felt as though he already knew the answer to these inquiries. He already knew what the Dark Mark was for. All that he could do to settle his nerves, while he stood up and levitated the last of the parchment into place, was to remind himself that the older sketches suggested Tom had been thinking about the Dark Mark for quite a while now. He had been influenced by the Knights to design the mark how Harry had always seen it in the future…

He couldn't think, especially while a sense of apprehension seemed to stick sickly to him, making him feel as though he wasn't able to move fast enough in any way to hide from Grindelwald's people… They left the house after little conversation.

Tom had piled more items into the trunk, such as strange ornaments that resembled compasses, clocks, and globes, as well as items that Harry recognised such as a Sneakoscope and a Lunascope, and many books on magic (mainly the Dark Arts) that Tom wasn't willing to lose. They managed to finish packing in a matter of minutes. They arrived back to the Knights with two trunks by their sides, Harry's invisibility cloak safe in his pocket.

"You should all be ready now," Tom called to the large group gathering around him. "Anyone who cannot adequately keep up with this group shall be sacrificed… we have no time to spare. As soon as the last protection of this land falls, we have no option but to flee for our lives, together…"

–X–

They set up camp in a distant, vast forest to the east of Albania. It was a forest that Harry couldn't remember exploring before, so he assumed it was a place that Tom would have gone to had he not already found the Diadem a year ago. The trees here were all very tall, casting dark shadows at every hour while mist and fog blocked out the sun further during the day. It was eerie to say the least.

Tom had set up a tent that greatly resembled the one Harry had stayed in with Ron and Hermione five years ago (if years could truly be counted that way anymore). Seeing the similarity unsettled Harry quite a bit, but the tent took up very little space on the outside thus was easier to shield with magic, even if the four Dragons nearby did take up considerable space too. Tom would have a greater chance of keeping Grindelwald's people away with this.

On the inside there were four main rooms: a long dormitory for all the Knights to sleep in, a square room at one end that was used for meetings, and two bedrooms at the other end for Harry and Tom. It was comfortable for a temporary headquarters, but not a day went by before the Death Eaters began complaining about the lack of space. Their fearfulness stopped them from repeating these thoughts to Tom for the most part, but Harry heard them murmuring quietly about it during the day.

It was three days since arriving here when Harry was in Tom's bedroom, seated in a chair idly, having little else to do. He was as distressed as everyone else here when he thought about what might happen to them if or when Grindelwald's people found them, but instead of cherishing every moment of peace, Harry couldn't deny that he felt extremely restless. Tom was talking to Gonson and Ransom, their words meeting Harry's ears every now and then.

"We don't have enough time to train them all," Gonson was saying.

"You are aware of the fact that I have much work to do, are you not?" Tom asked the Knight irritably. "If you cannot find the time and energy to do your standard duties, I'm reluctant to ponder how you would cope with any other field of work beyond my order. By complaining so frequently about this you're merely disrupting more progress."

"But we don't have enough time to–"

"A lack of time is irrelevant!" Tom interrupted impatiently. "You must remember that a drunkard has as many hours in a day as a mastermind of any kind. It is how you spend your efforts that matters; time is a mere unit of measurement… I expect far greater work from you."

This caused the two Knights to fall silent. They didn't seem to know what to make of this claim.

"Go," Tom ordered, "and rest while you can for this evening…"

They were gone without another word. Tom began carrying on with some writing that rested in front of him, his side turned to Harry. While he concentrated on the parchment he dipped his quill in ink at a slow pace. It was distantly rhythmic.

The only thing that made watching Tom in silence interesting, beyond the fact that Harry found Tom's tranquil expression calming, was that every now and then – not often, but noticeably – the Sneakoscope on Tom's desk would begin spinning. This action disrupted all the calmness Harry found by being near Tom, yet for the last few days the movements of the Sneakoscope had been haunting Harry. Any time he was away from this room, talking to the Death Eaters, enduring meetings, or attempting to sleep, the movements of the Sneakoscope were at the back of his mind, reminding him of his past, reminding him that at any moment they could be attacked…

It had been spinning a lot today. Tom noticed it each time, glancing at it in a curious way – without fear, but with surprising anger, especially if there were a lot of Knights around at the time. Harry hadn't said a word about it yet, but he wondered nevertheless what Tom was thinking in relation to it. When it began spinning now, not stopping for what felt like a solid minute or two, Harry decided to break the silence beyond the wild hiss, nerves more than anything prompting him to do so.

"Are they closer?" he asked in a low voice, despite the fact that they wouldn't be overheard in this room.

Tom had been frozen, but now he was moving his quill carefully, mechanically, towards his inkpot again. It was as if Harry's words had given him the ability to move for the first time since the Sneakoscope started moving. "Grindelwald's people, you mean?"

"Of course, yeah."

Tom frowned a little, but Harry couldn't work out why. "It is unlikely to be related."

Harry didn't know what to make of this. He couldn't see why Tom would keep a Sneakoscope in here if it didn't help him in any way to work out if Grindelwald's people were near. "Surely the Sneakoscope would know if they were around?" Harry asked. "You can't have put up enchantments that would have stopped it's magic, that would have to be pretty deliberate."

Tom dropped his quill. Harry wasn't sure whether the action was involuntary or not, but Tom turned to face him soon after this, his eyes narrowed. "What makes you say that?" he demanded.

Harry was bemused by Tom's blatant suspicion. He stared into Tom's burning eyes, wondering what he could have said wrong. "You've been distracted by that Sneakoscope since we got here," Harry pointed out indignantly. "You haven't even said a word about it, you can't be surprised that I'm curious."

Tom remained staring at him, his cynical air still apparent. The expression began to fade, however, until eventually he looked blank again, if a bit irked with himself. He continued to watch Harry as though seeing him in a completely different light.

"Of course… Please do excuse my rudeness," Tom said in a quiet voice. He was toneless. "It is, of course, natural for you to wonder about if Grindelwald's people are close…"

"Er… right…" Harry trailed off. He didn't know what else to say.

Tom rose from his chair, acting as if nothing unusual had just happened. Harry was going to continue asking about the Sneakoscope, but he thought better of it. Tom's peculiar suspicion was enough to occupy his thoughts. He stood up too.

"What are you writing?" he asked, trying to start a new conversation.

He was edging towards Tom's desk where there appeared to be a list of some sort. Before he could get close enough to read it, Tom made a movement to cut across him. Harry stared at him, perplexed.

"It's not important," Tom assured him, cracking a weak smile.

This was perhaps the most flimsy lie Harry had ever heard from Tom. "Right…"

He waited, but it took a minute for Tom to do anything more. When he raised his wand, packing up his writing without so much as a glance towards it, Harry continued to wonder why on earth Tom would be keeping a secret from him.

"It's getting rather late… you must be tired," Tom observed.

"Not really," Harry responded.

"But you must rest," Tom persisted, as if Harry had protested.

This was the first time in three days that Tom had stopped working. Despite the fact that Harry didn't know why Tom was being secretive about his writing, and despite the fact that Tom was probably right when he said that he needed rest, Harry couldn't help but want some time alone with Tom now that he had the chance…

"I'm really not tired," Harry carried on.

Tom watched him for a second, before tuning to his desk. He picked up the parchment and slid it into a drawer, ignoring the Sneakoscope, which had begun to spin again. Distractedly, he said, "Tomorrow will be another busy day."

Harry began walking towards him, letting out a breath of laughter. "I haven't had much to do these last few days."

"Tomorrow could be different," Tom reasoned. "With so many enemies attempting continuously to find us, we must be prepared for work at all times."

"Is that supposed to help me sleep?"

Tom smiled a little. He looked at Harry now. "I cannot say anything that will ease the difficulty of sleeping under the circumstances, unless I am to tell a lie… but you must sleep nevertheless."

"I don't want to," Harry told him.

"If you don't have proper rest you'll be at risk o–"

"Tom," Harry cut across quietly. He was gazing into those dark grey eyes once more. "I know you won't get to sleep either…"

He could see desire in Tom's eyes. It was rare that Harry had to initiate sex when it came to being with Tom, but this didn't stop him from trying now.

"I won't get to sleep," he said, lessening the distance left between them slowly, "and I know you won't either…"

Tom took a step back. "I have work to do."

Harry stared at him. "You've been working all day," he observed, confused. "For the last three solid days you haven't rested."

"Don't you understand how seriously we're being chased?" Tom demanded. Harry didn't understand why he was annoyed now.

"Of course I do!" Harry answered indignantly.

"Then I don't see how you can be thinking about sex," Tom remarked.

"Well… we're dating, aren't we?"

"There isn't any time for that sort of thing," Tom said, "Grindelwald's people are a threat to us at all times."

"We could stop if something bad happens," Harry commented. He personally felt as though the threat of Grindelwald's people gave them more reason to have sex now, since they were safe. He stepped towards Tom again, thinking he just needed reassurance. "They're not exactly going to show up right now–"

But Tom stepped away again. Harry wasn't used to Tom rejecting him, so he was left feeling confused as well as discouraged by this point. He wasn't sure why, but he felt a sharp pain in his chest as he watched Tom basically recoil. He didn't understand why he was acting this way.

"Another time," Tom said.

What had he done wrong, Harry wondered? Tom evidently felt as though they shouldn't have sex for some reason. Harry couldn't help but think suddenly that maybe Tom was only working endlessly to make sure he had an easy excuse to stay away. But why would he be acting this way? Harry feared for his secrets then, but he knew Tom couldn't have worked anything out. He had done nothing to make Tom suspicious… unless Tom had asked some Knights about the nonexistent organization that Harry said he had worked for…

But even then, Tom knew the two groups were likely not connected, despite their shared dislike of Grindelwald. It was natural for such organizations to form when there was a powerful Dark Wizard around and Tom knew this well. A more reasonable theory for why Tom was rejecting Harry was that Tom suspected him of helping Grindelwald's people, somehow. With the Sneakoscope, the fear of questions, and the unwillingness to let Harry know what he was writing, Tom doubtlessly felt as though there was a rat amongst his followers…

Realising this didn't help Harry much with the pain he felt at Tom's rejection, however. He wanted to ask Tom if he suspected him of being a spy, but he no longer cared, in honesty. Tom would likely lie about it. He wished his chest would stop hurting.

"Well… I guess I'll be going, then."

"Goodnight," Tom responded bluntly.

Harry left without either of them saying another word.

The next few days weren't any different for Harry except he felt more restless than ever, whilst having no desire to be near Tom much. He decided to leave the tent at least once a day, for fresh air as well as to just get away from the many wizards who were crammed into such a small space. Tom was busying himself with work, appearing more and more stressed with each passing hour. It seemed, however, that Tom wasn't ignoring Harry completely. On the seventh night in hiding, he voiced concern.

"I don't see why you wish to go outside now," Tom said, looking up from an ancient volume for the first time when Harry mentioned leaving.

"I just need some fresh air," Harry told him honestly.

"At midnight?"

"Why not?"

There was a muffled sound as Tom closed the dusty book in his hands. "You shouldn't wander far."

"I won't."

"You need a guard."

"What?"

"A guard," Tom repeated seriously. "Grindelwald's people could attack at any moment, I can't risk having you wandering off without a trace at the wrong time."

"I don't need a _chaperone_, Tom."

"I won't have you risking your life for a breath of fresh air, Harry."

"That's funny," Harry responded, "considering freedom is just about the only thing we're fighting for by this point."

Tom didn't pay much attention to this comment. "Take someone with you, Harry."

It occurred to Harry slowly that he could just take Nott, and that would make the both of them happy. The three of them, even… "Alright, I'll take someone with me."

"Good…"

Not much else was said.

Nott was perfectly willing to go with him when Harry asked a few minutes later. They spent the next few days talking on their walks, normally once in the morning, once in the evening. They didn't talk endlessly, yet they were able to share the silence comfortably when conversations ended. Harry never mentioned to Tom that he always took Nott along with him on these promenades, but he couldn't really think why this would be an important detail, anyway.

He talked with Nott mostly about the events going on under Tom's order, discussing everything from the Dark Arts to the sort of magic that was used to hide them all. The subject of Harry dating Tom came up every now and then, and Harry was glad of the chance to talk a little bit about some of the things that bothered him. He didn't always explain himself fully, but Nott didn't seem to mind. Nott spoke once or twice about Lestrange, yet nothing had changed concerning their steadily dying friendship.

These walks (and moreover, the talking done in them) helped Harry feel less stressed over the next few days, yet it appeared as though Tom couldn't say the same thing. He was more irritated than ever. He sat each day, analyzing his friends closely, distrustfully, and with very little patience. Harry was sure by this point that he was seeking out a traitor amongst his followers.

It was almost two weeks into setting up this place when Tom sat with Harry and a handful of Death Eaters in the meeting room. Harry didn't think much of the conversation going on, but he listened to it anyway from lack of anything else to do. There was one thing that concerned him.

"Terry is missing?" Tom repeated.

"'Seems so," Dolohov answered. "He's been gone for hours now."

"Who was on guard with him?"

"Gonson, Zerrissen, and I," said Black bravely.

"Why is it that Terry was able to go missing?"

"Well… we sort of split up."

"All of you?"

"Yes," Black admitted. "We thought it would help us cover more ground."

"You insolent fools," Tom muttered through gritted teeth. "Whose idea was this?"

The group stood around tensely. No one answered.

"Well?" Tom pressed irritably.

"It vas a group decision," said Zerrissen.

"I can't imagine why you would decide upon such an idea without my consent," Tom remarked in a hiss.

Gonson and Black glanced at each other. Tom watched them closely.

"But this is besides the point," he continued after a slight hesitation. "I haven't called you all here merely to shout at you… we must decide upon who is to replace Terry's shifts."

Dolohov sighed in disbelief, being one of three Knights here who didn't have anything to do with the missing Death Eater. The others waited for Tom to say something, appearing uncomfortable.

"No volunteers?"

"If it iz a matter of volunteering… I vould be happy to be of service, my Lord," said Zerrissen carefully.

Tom stared at him now. "That is a generous offer…" he said softly.

"I vish to help, my Lord."

"You will be working twice as much as the others," Tom informed him. "Why are you so willing to do so?"

"My Lord, I vant to help–"

"I can't imagine why someone would be so eager to help in this way," Tom said in a slightly louder voice. His eyes narrowed. "I also can't imagine why you would suggest it was a group decision to split up, especially while I know you have no reason to protect either Black or Gonson from taking the blame, had they suggested it."

"My Lord –"

"Why did you split up your group?" Tom demanded.

"I did not spit up our group, my Lord," Zerrissen said hastily, his voice an octave higher. "It vas not me–"

"Don't lie to me!" Tom shouted, glaring furiously now. Zerrissen flinched. "There is no logical reason as to why you would pretend that the four of you decided to break up for virtually no reason – there is no explanation for why Gonson and Black are silent and why a wizard would go missing on my land when there is no possible way to leave without me knowing! Tell the truth!"

"M-my Lord!" Zerrissen stammered, taking steps back now in fear. "Zhere is no reason for me to – to lie, I'm telling the t-truth, I – I'm not ly–"

"Shut up!" Harry bellowed, terrified, "I hear something."

This stopped Zerrissen's panicked words in an instant. Harry was listening hard, trying to work out where a high-pitched whistling was coming from, but before he could look around to see what it was there was a loud '_BANG!_' and a terrifying scream met his ears.

Zerrissen was staggering, clutching his right arm with his left while he fell back towards the Death Eaters. The others were all drawing away from him fleetingly, confused and horrified by what they were seeing. Blood was gushing from Zerrissen's right wrist, dropping steadily down to the ground by his feet where there lay a messy, streaking pool of red liquid from where he had stepped back. Further ahead of him lay his withdrawn wand, which was still being clutched feebly by his bleeding, severed right hand.

Zerrissen was breathing heavily. His eyes were popping while he looked up at Tom, who had risen from his seat. Tom wasted no time watching Zerrissen struggle on the floor now. He used a spell to force Zerressen to stand, grabbing his right forearm tightly and causing the wizard to yell and protest in terror. The Sneakoscope was what had made the hissing noise; it seemed to shriek as it spun faster than ever before, warning the room at large of untrustworthiness.

"Dolohov, hold him back!" Tom ordered.

Dolohov did what he was told after a moment of stalling, stepping way from the stunned group of Knights to help. He grabbed Zerrissen's left arm but was reluctant to go near the right, yet Tom didn't seem to expect him to touch the wounded limb. He was holding it tightly, staring down at Zerrissen with a look of contempt.

"Why did you slit up that group?" Tom questioned, shouting to make himself heard over Zerrissen's panic.

"I – I didn't split up zhat grou –_AAAAGH!_"

Tom brought the tip of his wand to the edge of Zerrissen's badly bleeding arm. A faint light started and grew progressively, causing Zerrissen to howl in pain more and more. Tom was cutting up his arm now.

"Why did you kill Terry?" Tom spat.

"N-no, I d-did-didn't k-kill – _AAAAAAAAGGH!_"

Tom had cut about three inches up his arm by this point, causing two flaps of skin to form where the cut was being made. Harry couldn't bear to look at it while Zerrissen's robes began to get soaked with blood. Tom's left hand and wand-tip turned a dark, wet crimson.

"Tell me why you killed him!"

"I – my – my L-l-lord, I–"

"_Tell me the truth!"_ Tom hissed, pulling the cut higher up Zerrissen's wrist, splitting the flesh and skinning him alive. Zerrissen was shaking uncontrollably, staying up only because Dolohov was holding him. "Why did you kill him? Are you working for Grindelwald's people?"

Zerrissen was shaking his head back and forth tears falling from his eyes now as he looked up at Tom.

"Answer me!" Tom ordered sharply. "Are you working for Grindelwald's people?"

Zerrissen was panting heavily now, letting out whimpers every time he exhaled. He closed his eyes. "It – it vas n-not me-e who murdered Te–"

"TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

Tom cut further than ever, perhaps by accident, and Zerrissen withered in Dolohov's grip, twisting and screaming like mad. What scared Harry more than anything else that evening was not the blood dripping from Zerrissen's arm, nor the fact that Tom was torturing him so readily, but rather that as Tom sliced open his flesh in this moment, Zerrissen was grinning madly, his cries carrying definite signs of laughter.

When Harry thought about this event at a later date he supposed it could have been the endorphins of the pain that helped Zerrissen to smile, but knowing this didn't make it any easier to think about. Tom had drawn a gash all the way up Zerrissen's forearm now.

"Z-zhey – zhey are al-almost h-he-here," Zerrissen told Tom in a crazed, pained whisper, smiling more broadly than ever. "I ch-cha-changed m-my m-mind…"

Tom was frozen, staring with wide eyes. He was breathing heavily, apparently unsure about what he should do. He let go of Zerrissen's arm finally, taking a step back. His movements were slow. The whole room was silent beyond Zerrissen and Tom's panting. Harry watched the scene numbly, time feeling as though it was standing still…

"Don't just stand there!" Tom barked to the Knights. "Gonson, Rosier, go gather and warn the others of an ambush! Dolohov, Mulciber, kill Zerrissen; he is no more use to us now. The rest of you, go outside and stay together. _Now!_"

All of the Knights besides Dolohov and Mulciber began heading out of the room, leaving the murder of Zerrissen to be committed without a needless crowd.

"Mulciber will enjoy this," Black comment quietly whilst leaving.

"Won't be the last death tonight, either," someone else added shakily.

They were gone in a matter of seconds. Harry could hear Gonson calling people into order in the dormitories next to this meeting room. Harry registered numbly that Tom was refusing to kill Zerrissen himself. He saw Dolohov and Mulciber slowly lowering him to the ground, preparing to kill him, while Tom left the tent. Harry followed him.

"We must put up even more defences," Tom muttered when he noticed Harry's presence. He withdrew his wand. "We won't be able to keep them at for long…"

"How – how did you know it was him?" Harry asked in concern, anxiety ripping at him more strongly than ever. "Zerrissen, I mean?"

"The Sneakoscope," Tom answered shortly. "As well as his calmness and general attitude… He was an Occlumens, to no surprise. Perhaps a Legilimens too, if he killed Terry for suspecting something…"

"How are we going to pull this off?" Harry asked, knowing this was more important now. "If Grindelwald's people had spies here, we really don't have any time."

Tom's expression was unreadable. A silence dragged on.

"Tom?"

"I must ask you to pair up with someone, Harry," Tom said quietly, not looking at him. He had lowered his wand. "I won't be able to protect you myself if something is to happen… Just know that I love you…"

"Tom," Harry said again, even more panicked now, "you – you don't have to say that yet. If we just – together – put the defences back up…"

"I'm sorry," Tom carried on, in little over a murmur now.

The forest seemed suddenly very cold to Harry. Every moment wasted seemed to haunt Harry more than the last. He didn't know what he could do. His heart was beating so fast, it hurt. The Knights were heading towards them now.

"I'll take Nott with me," Harry said.

"No."

"What?"

Tom turned to face Harry, seeming to fight with a sense of annoyance. He didn't bother repeating himself; instead he turned to the Knights who approached him.

"Macnair, accompany Jonathan tonight."

Macnair turned when called. "Of course, my Lord. I would be honoured…"

"Shouldn't you send more people to look after Jonathan?" Rosier asked. "They've been after him specifically for a while…"

"I do believe that Grindelwald's people will despise us all equally by this point," Tom responded lightly, still glancing around to count his followers. "Macnair will be enough… The rest of your should divide into pairs too."

Harry watched as the Knights follow his orders. He couldn't understand why Tom had stopped him from pairing with Nott, especially while Nott struggled for a few seconds before finally teaming up with Adelmar Dorn. Macnair seemed to be more apprehensive than any other Knight, perhaps because of Rosier's words, for he shook slightly whilst pulling a pair of black robes over a red shirt he had no time to change out of.

"My… my Lord?" Weiß said from close behind Harry. "Vhy are you not –?"

But his sentence was never finished…

* * *

**Dear Readers,** I'm still breathing! I hope you enjoyed this chapter (and I hope it wasn't a little dull…) and I hope I'll start updating more quickly! This is the best I can do for now, sadly. Again though, thank you all for your lovely reviews!


	59. The Master of Wands

59 – The Master of Wands

The first spell being fired caught the attention of every wizard surrounding Harry. As Weiß directed his words at Tom, all of the Knights had looked towards him in unison, curious as to what inquiries could be making him sound so anxious. When his words were cut off, the concern on his face deepened into pure horror. He began choking, his hands grasping for his neck desperately as he dropped his wand, clawing at some invisible force. Grindelwald's people had arrived.

The strength of the panic that arose at this paralysed Harry in an instant. He searched for his wand while he ducked away from a shower of spells, his fingers grasping the weapon as if on their own accord. He didn't have time to think as he deflected attacks after attacks; Grindelwald's people were advancing from every direction.

"Jonathan, wait–"

Harry didn't listen to Macnair, who was following him closely. He wasn't going to just stay in one place now. His ears were shocked by the shouts and explosions, by the roars of anger and cries of panic. He couldn't make out who anyone rushing past him was. All he could see was blurred faces and dark brushes of black cloaks.

Harry shot spells at the wizards hiding amongst the tall, gnarled trees surrounding their hideout, as well as at those who were brave enough to come closer. It was almost impossible for him to distinguish his friends from his foes, however. The faces of Grindelwald's people mixed in easily with the faces of the new Knights of Walpurgis to his eyes.

"_Expulso!_"

Then again, Harry reflected angrily as a wizard before him yelled in agony, it seemed as though many of the Knights _were_ Grindelwald's people, after all. Wizards before him were falling one by one, nothing about their outward appearance telling him if they were on his side. He could barely see anything as flashes of spell-light blinded him in places, causing him further delirium.

"Jonathan, we have to get somewhere safe," Macnair said forcibly over the sound of fighting. It took him a few failed attempts to talk. "We have to get out of here!"

"Leave then," Harry suggested, annoyed. "I want to stay and fight."

"They'll be after you specifically," Macnair said. "You'll be as good as dead –"

A spell landed close to Macnair, ending his words sharply. He was distracted now with helping Harry ward off more followers, appearing determined in the process. It seemed as though protecting Harry was his only goal now, perhaps in the fear that – as he suggested – Harry would be as good as dead fighting…

He could be dead now, Harry thought distractedly. This could be a mere mad illusion caused by the process of death; his spells felt futile and wrong as he shot them at anyone he suspected to be an enemy. It was as if Harry shouldn't be here at all, as if he were an observer upon a scene that affected his entire mind and heart, yet not at all his physicality. He ran on, trying to recognise anyone he could, before –

"_Reducto!_"

A dark figure crashed into Harry, hard. The weight wasn't enough to knock him over, but it did distract him – long enough for numerous spells to miss him by inches. It appeared as though Harry was right in the middle of Dorn, Nott, Avery, and Dolohov fighting some of Grindelwald's followers.

"I don't need your help!" Lestrange's voice was shouting angrily from somewhere close – to whom, Harry had no idea. "_Incarcerous!_"

Harry never saw if Lestrange succeeded with the spell. He didn't have time to watch if any of the Death Eaters were alright – as much as this thought worried him. The others were scattering in all directions, being split up without warning by the scare of their intruders. Harry threw spells almost continuously, hitting wizard after wizard...

They were outnumbered. Harry could see this clearly as he rushed past the crowds of innumerable shadows and he was sure the Knights would notice it too. Through the darkness, the chaos, and the confusion, Harry could catch glimpses of his comrades' scarred faces, flooded by fear at the sight of so many strangers.

"_Secareileum!_"

"Oi, watch it Mulciber!"

"Get out my fucking way then!" Mulciber spat at Gonson.

"Don't talk to me like–"

They were crammed together by their own choice, fearful of the watchful enemies who hid amongst the shadows, throwing spells and sending them into an utter confusion.

"I can't see a thing–"

"Don't light your wand!"

"How else am I supposed to see?"

Harry didn't know if they were going to pull through this. The Knights were already tired from attacking these wizards at Grindelwald's Fortress – it was no surprise that, after their earlier irritation, they were completely unwilling to even inquire where Tom was now, or what his orders might be. Harry was sure he even heard the distant '_crack!_' of Apparition beyond the spell-fire.

Even if many of the Knights did not share the same inclination, Harry wanted to find Tom. Tom would know how to fight these people; he would know what to do, why, and when. By being near him Harry knew it would give him a new sense of determination – which is what they needed most of all to get rid of Grindelwald's people. He was getting closer to the main area of fighting, where surely Tom must be. In a few seconds, now, he would see –

For the second time, Harry was knocked off balance. A spell, now, hit his shoulder and caused him to shift direction as if he had been punched very hard. It wasn't enough to knock him over, it was more as though someone was trying to get his attention…

"Are you alright?" Macnair asked frantically.

Harry didn't answer. He was scanning the forest to his left, trying to work out where the attack had come from. "Who threw that spell?"

"I – I don't know," Macnair answered nervously, following Harry's gaze. "We should really just go."

Harry wished there was more light to help them see. He had a sickening hunch to explain who might have recognised him specifically from the others in this crowd, who might have tried to catch his attention… but he couldn't be sure. Macnair was pulling at his arm, trying to urge him away from the battle, into the forest. Harry tried to resist.

"Someone just attacked me from here!"

"We can't stay here," Macnair persisted.

"But..."

Harry didn't know what to do. He wanted to stay and fight, but that simple spell had thrown him into a state of fear and curiosity. Macnair wanted him to go into the forest to run away from the fighting, which would give Harry the chance to find out who was after him now. Yet Tom needed every fighter he could get to defeat Grindelwald's people... Both options were dangerous...

Then, in a change so swift that Harry was surprised he hadn't flinched, the forest was alight with flames.

The fire hadn't started quietly; in contradiction, it felt more as though it had erupted in an instant, more swiftly and powerfully than all of Tom's dragons could have managed. The noise of it carried over all other sounds, striking up new cries of alarm and awe in its wake. To Harry, it was obvious who had created this light; no one else but Tom could produce and control Fiendfyre of this magnitude.

At sight of the fire, a powerful encouragement was brought to the Knights and Death Eaters – especially since Grindelwald's people were recoiling at the sight, unsure that Tom could even control the fire, initially, then even more fearful when they realised that he could. It was easy for him to pick off any followers he saw. In that moment Harry was sure he must have left Fiendfyre burning at Grindelwald's fortress too.

The fire was so impressive, Harry had almost completely forgotten about who had hit him from the forest. When he looked back, he couldn't see anyone. As the fire grew there were less and less shadows in the gaps between the trees, but still he had missed whoever had tried to catch his attention so efficiently.

"Some help would be nice!" Macnair was shouting, his voice higher than usual with panic as he warded off Grindelwald's advancing followers.

Harry didn't hesitate once these words pulled him out of his distraction. Grindelwald's people were panicking, thus they were fighting harder than ever before. The enemies were falling somewhat quickly in this fight, which caused others to turn to Harry and Macnair. Some of them even recognised Harry, he feared.

"_Impedimenta!_" Macnair shouted, apparently unable to stop himself from using verbal spells. "_Mortifisensum! Imperio!_"

The faces illuminated by the light of the Fiendfyre terrified and angered Harry. He didn't recognise many of the people from what he dared see, but the emotions that Grindelwald's followers provoked within him by merely being there was enough to draw him deeper into the fighting.

Amongst many, a wizard with bared teeth was disarmed by Harry, his wrist cracking loudly, another one with a drawn hood was thrown back into the crowd, and a third with glaring eyes simply Disapparated before Harry could get him. After this, more Death Eaters joined them.

"We can't stick around with that fire going!" Dolohov was shouting. "Let's just go."

"Go where?" Rosier inquired snidely. Conversing didn't stop him from fighting, somehow. "Voldemort knows what he's doing."

Harry didn't doubt that. The Fiendfyre was spreading, yet it was obvious that Tom had complete control over it. Shapes of great lions, serpents, dragons, sphinxes, and phoenixes amongst a hundred other creatures were leaping from the flames, diving down to engulf any enemy in reach.

A spell exploded to Harry's right, making him stop. He could have sworn it had flown from behind him... Sure enough, when he turned around he could see a figure moving amongst the shadows of the trees.

He took a step forwards, trying to see who it was. At the light of the next spell being fired, Harry recognised the face, twisted in an odd mixture of emotions ranging from excitement to satisfaction to rage. Emeric appeared more threatening than Harry had ever seen him before.

The sight of Emeric terrified Harry somehow. In his hesitance more spells were fired without relent, very nearly hitting him several times. Harry wasn't sure why he went through with his next actions, but at a later date he reflected that the assurance from the light of the Fiendfyre likely led to his bravery and ignorance. Without looking back, he found himself racing into the forest as fast as he could.

"Jonath–!"

He barely heard Macnair shouting after him. It wasn't hate, curiosity, sorrow, or fear that led Harry onwards; it was a sense of unreality that gripped him swiftly and wholly. Had he looked back at the Death Eaters calling his name he might have thought twice about how dangerous it was following an enemy of his – alone – into a dark forest, but he carried on with reassurance that Tom's followers no longer needed his help now. They were safe.

As the light faded around Harry his sense of disorientation thickened. He could see the light of Emeric's wand up ahead, which pulled his mind to thoughts of the Doe Patronus he had seen camping with Hermione on the run. After having Emeric haunt his mind for the last seven months or so, Harry knew it was important for him to see the wizard again at last.

"_Lumos_."

"Jon–"

Harry kept on running, despite the fact that he could hear Macnair clearly behind him. His voice was hushed in fear. He sounded tempted to stop Harry himself, but he refrained from doing so, least he should face Grindelwald's people on his own. He followed Harry as closely as he could, having to run at full speed too.

All Harry could see was the dark ground and the blur of tall tress surrounding him, illuminated by nothing now except the light of his wand. Up ahead of him, Emeric was a faint glow, dashing between trees to distance himself from Harry, the latter thought. Harry's breathing was deep and his heart was pounding in nerves more than anything. The ground was hard and dry beneath his feet, his determination to catch Emeric never-wavering.

It was after what felt like an immeasurable stretch of time when something changed. The light up ahead of Harry, which had been his only sign for where to go, disappeared. He had kept running for a minute, but eventually he realised that Emeric had likely extinguished his wand to backtrack, to find Harry. This made Harry stop abruptly.

He had been listening to the rhythmic sound of his own body so closely, he hadn't realised how quiet the forest had become. Even Macnair, who sped to a halt besides him, had ceased attempting to call his name. It was no longer safe to. Every small noise would doubtlessly echo far into the surrounding forest. No matter which way Harry looked he could see nothing beyond the closest trees.

"_Nox_," he panted.

Macnair followed his lead without question. They stood for a moment, trying to catch their breath as their eyes attempted to get used to the dark. It felt futile. The silence of the forest contrasted against the sound of Harry's heart, which pounding in his ears, felt heavy and sickly.

"Why did you run off?" Macnair asked him seriously when he caught his breath.

Harry thought about this for a minute, but he was unable to find a way to describe what he had felt upon seeing Emeric. He said nothing.

"Who was that wizard?" Macnair then pressed. "You were obviously after him."

"Yeah," Harry admitted slowly, "I was after him."

"Do you know him?"

He didn't really, Harry reflected honestly. "I've met him a few times."

The silence of the forest was so complete, yet Harry felt as though there could be figures moving anywhere around them, waiting to attack…

"We should go."

"No," Harry muttered.

"If that wizard decides to come back for us–"

"– Then he'd already be here," Harry interrupted. They spoke in little over whispers.

"Tom would want you to go back."

"No, he wouldn't. He'd want me to fix my own mistake without getting killed first..."

"If we Apparate out of here–"

A sound from nearby cut his words short. Harry turned towards it, but he could barely make out the shapes of the trees in the darkness, let alone any dark figures looming in the shadows. He raised his wand, waiting perfectly still for the sound to be made again. He tried hard to keep his breath quiet, feeling and hearing Macnair standing just to his left.

Nothing happened. Still they stood in silence, listening hard. Harry was in half a mind to leave, like Macnair suggested. They could easily Apparate, or use a silencing charm, or make themselves completely invisible, but Harry couldn't bring himself to share these ideas with Macnair when he knew Emeric was so close. It was this, more than anything, which was to blame when suddenly a voice yelled out from another direction.

There was a flash of bright light and a heavy thudding sound. Harry spun around, ready to face however was out there. He saw a dark figure amongst the trees and shot a spell towards it. Whoever was there Disapparated with a loud '_crack_', causing the forest to endure the second loudest sound since the initial spell. When all was silent, Harry headed towards Macnair.

It had looked as though Macnair had seized when the spell first hit, but he was better now, trying his best to stand up. Harry helped him, feeling that he was trembling somewhat from the strength of the spell. He tried his best to look prepared again, stepping away from Harry after an almost silent, "thanks".

Harry walked forwards quietly to change where they were standing. Nothing could be seen through the darkness, still.

"Where'd they go?" Macnair asked in a hushed voice.

"They Disapparated..."

Nothing moved through the thick, humid air, which seemed to press upon them. With a wave of his wand Harry cast a Silencing Charm on their shoes and cloaks, intent upon not making it obvious where they were.

"Come o-"

The moment they started walking, a spell was shot at them and hit a nearby tree, burning a deep hole in the side of it. Harry grabbed Macnair's arm, pulling him onwards as he glanced back hurriedly to try and see where the spell had come from. He stopped walking as soon as he saw a faint glow in the distance.

It was evidently wand-light from whoever has brought them here.

Harry reacted without thinking, throwing a spell at the light. He began sprinting. The light was moving but he followed it, moving as fast as he could and never once taking his eyes off of it. It didn't occur to him how foolish it was for their enemy to keep such obvious wand-light in this dark forest. He'd have the perfect shot, he'd be able to stop them...

"_Stupe-_"

Harry stopped. He was close to the light now – far closer than he expected he was. It wasn't wand-light. In fact, Harry wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed this before; it was a singular ball of light floating in mid-air that he had chased. He didn't have time to process what this meant before the light extinguished.

Someone shouted behind Harry. The sound echoed through the wide gaps between the trees. Harry stood frozen, staring into the darkness that had fallen. Every muscle in his body was tensed as he registered one thing: Macnair was gone, and that had sounded very much like his voice.

Stepping away from where he was, Harry raised his wand numbly. He tried not to let his feet kick the twigs, rocks and dirt around him, least they should make any noise past his Silencing Charm. He could feel his pulse quickening, but he strained his ears hard for the sound of Macnair's voice.

He could hear faint, muffled voices. It wasn't due to any duelling, he knew, for no spell-fire could be seen. Harry wasn't sure whether any spells had even been used whilst he was distracted. All he knew was that Macnair must have been captured by Emeric and it wouldn't be long before he tried to kill him.

Harry knew that this, too, was likely a trap. He made his way towards the source of the noise, his mind racing quickly in an attempt to work out what he should do.

The voices were still going on, but it was impossible to pinpoint exactly where from. It was still too dark for Harry to walk quickly and they were still too far away. By running towards that light he had distanced himself a lot from Macnair without even realising it. He heard a louder shout. He began walking faster.

He had no idea why Emeric would be luring him in further by hurting Macnair enough to make him shout. It seemed a weak plan compared to creating fake light for him to follow, to attack when he didn't expect it. If Emeric had wanted to attack Harry, before would have been the perfect timing.

"N-n-no!" Harry could hear Macnair shouting.

He began running, knowing he was closer now.

"W-what are you d-do-?"

He could hear the voices perfectly now. Another wizard (Emeric, Harry supposed) was speaking in German to Macnair, his voice low and threatening. Harry could feel the anger building in him and he gripped his wand more securely, ready to fire a spell any moment...

Then he heard someone behind him. He stopped dead, terror rising in him more strongly than ever before. The footsteps were surely close if he had heard them over the sound of his own running. He didn't dare risk turning around, even if he couldn't see a thing anyway. He waited for any sign of sudden movements...

No sudden movements happened, however. The footsteps carried on calmly and evenly, missing Harry by perhaps ten feet and carrying on towards the noise. This told Harry that Emeric blatantly wasn't alone. He heard the new wizard laugh; this was Emeric.

"Busy, are we?" he asked, his tone teasing.

"I vould ask - you if you vould like - to join me," the second wizard responded, laughing and panting between his words, "but I am sure you vould - rather vait - for zhe ozer von."

"You know me too well."

The wizard laughed.

"D-d-don't d-do-that-" Macnair was stuttering.

Harry wanted to go and attack the two wizards, but he wasn't sure now if the two of them were even alone. If there were more of them they'd go after him as soon as he used a spell...

"_AGGGGGGGGH!_"

"Shhh, shhh..."

"S-ST-STOP! W-WHAT ARE YOU D-D- _AGGGGGH!_"

Harry couldn't help it, he began heading towards the voices again. He wasn't just going to stand and listen while they tortured Macnair to death.

"J-JONATH_-AGGGGH!"_

Emeric sounded amused. "You've done this before?"

The second wizard laughed. "Zhat - he has not..."

"S-_STOP! G-GET OFF OF-M-M-ME!_"

They had to be close now. Harry could hear them in front of him but it felt as though it was taking forever to get close enough. He felt as though he'd never reach Macnair in time to save him.

"_STOP! N-NO, N... n-no..._"

Should Harry risk throwing a spell at the voices, even if it meant attracting the attention of a third wizard in hiding? But what if he wasn't able to hit Emeric or the German wizard, or if they ended up killing Macnair in a fight?

"_Agggggh... s... s-stop! N-n... no..._"

For one horrible second Harry thought they were moving further away – or worse, that Macnair had given up. But the shouts weren't moving, they were merely going on less and less.

"_Agh_... P-pl-please..."

"Yes..." the German wizard soothed in a sickening voice, "you like zhis now, no?"

Harry froze. It suddenly occurred to him what the German wizard must be doing...

"N-n-no..."

He didn't want to believe his own suspicion. The thought struck him too hard, making him feel dizzy as he stared off into nothingness, going unnoticed by even himself as he lost his sense of reality. He could barely think; he was trapped in a state of registering what was happening whilst being unable react. All he knew was that wanted the noise the stop.

Then Harry did something rather foolish. Forgetting the consequences and forgetting all that had stopped him before, he ran onwards, igniting his wand. Within seconds he was close enough to see the three dark figures. His eyes sought out Emeric first.

"_EXPLUSO!_"

But Emeric had fled just in time. He disappeared into the forest, doing his best to try and fire spells back at Harry as he did so. The second wizard stood up in this time. He Disapparated with a loud '_crack!_' before Harry could so much as throw a spell. Harry knew they would be back in a matter of seconds, but this didn't stop him from looking towards Macnair.

Macnair was shaking badly, trying to get up from the ground quickly but failing to do so. Harry could see rips in his cloak and wounds dug deep into his flesh between it. He was sure that Macnair hadn't shouted because of the pain so much as the shock, however. Tom has taught his Knights well to tolerate torture, yet he had never prepared them for something like this.

_BANG!_

Emeric had returned. Harry spun around to face him, deflecting the spells that were shot at him determinedly, which crackled and erupted through the air around him like lightning. Emeric's face was illuminated in the sharp bursts of light, deep shadows cast over his crumpled expression, which told Harry of his anger, his resoluteness, and his elation at the idea that they finally had the chance to meet one another again.

"IMPERIO!"

Harry deflected the Imperius Curse. He stopped spells after spells from hitting him and spent more time doing this than firing anything back. He knew he was surely better at magic than Emeric was, but the sheer relentlessness that Emeric displayed was surprising. If it weren't for the fact that he had greater plans for Harry, it would be of no surprise if he used much more deadly spells without hesitation.

"_Impedimenta!_" Harry shouted.

"_Imperio!_"

"Stupef-!"

A spell flew past Harry's chest from the side, telling him that the German wizard had emerged from the darkness.

"_REDUCTO!_"

The spell was a direct hit, which caused Harry a moment of confusion. It didn't make sense that the German wizard could have taken down Macnair if he couldn't avoid one simple spell. The wizard was thrown back when the spell hit his chest. He crashed into a large tree, which stood a few meters behind him, and smashed the back of his head harshly.

When Harry turned back to Emeric, prepared to continue fighting him without further pause, he found that the other wizard had stopped trying to attack. His wand was held lazily by his side, suggesting that he was sure Harry wouldn't fight him now that there was less of a threat. He knew Harry would listen.

The forest was quiet. The two wizards were watching each other apprehensively, until Harry slowly, carefully, began to lower his wand. Both of their wands were lit, casting enough light for them to see the whole area. Tension still ran through Harry, causing him to clench his fists, but he doubted Emeric noticed: he never took his eyes off of Harry's. Then he spoke.

"I knew I would find you... No matter how sought after you were, and are, I found you myself..."

He appeared to be in awe at his own achievement. He was staring as though he was sure Harry might disappear any second now, for any reason. Harry was in half a mind to leave, in honesty.

"I don't understand what happened with us," Emeric carried on. He hadn't seemed to blink once yet. "I don't understand what went wrong."

Harry wondered if he was perhaps slightly deranged. "I didn't want to go with you, remember?"

"You would have," Emeric said. Not a flicker of emotion could be seen changing upon his drab features. "You would have if it weren't for... him."

By 'him' Emeric doubtlessly meant Tom. The way Harry remembered it, however, he had refused to go with Emeric even before Tom had showed up... but something told him that he shouldn't bring this up now.

"It would have been great," Emeric said in a hushed voice.

Harry doubted that greatly. Again, however, something in the look in Emeric's eyes stopped Harry from commenting on this. He wished he wouldn't stare so eerily. Harry felt compelled to not look away.

Movement could be heard to the side of Emeric. Macnair, who Harry had almost forgotten about, was yet again trying to get up. He was no more successful than before. Harry wanted to go and help him, to stop some of the bleeding and to heal him, but he knew that he couldn't. Emeric was too dangerous.

Suddenly Harry raised his wand; Emeric had taken hurried steps towards him.

"Don't!" Harry warned.

"It's alright," Emeric said. He had an empty hand raised in innocence, a smile creeping upon his face. "I just want to look at you."

Harry clenched his teeth together. Emeric had changed a lot, which was perhaps the worst thing in general about seeing him now. All those times Harry had frightened himself with thoughts of Emeric, nothing could be worse than seeing the real him, changed and more alarming than ever before. Macnair's current state proved as much.

"You have my wand," Emeric mentioned. He looked down for only a second before saying this. "You never chose a new wand."

Harry was a little taken aback – both by the suddenness of this observation and by the truth behind it. He had indeed never found a new wand to replace Emeric's, and the more he thought about it now the more he wondered why. He didn't like having the wand and he was sure that if he had asked, Tom would have found a suitable replacement for him... He didn't see how this mattered, however.

"I only kept it because it worked," he said honestly.

"But it must have reminded you of me," Emeric suggested. "You kept it."

"I wanted my own wand back," Harry explained. This wasn't a lie, even if in truth he had never liked Draco's hawthorn wand as much as the holly and phoenix feather wand that had broken years ago. Draco's wand was still better than Emeric's; it felt far more like his own.

"I'm not going to trade wands, if that's what you planned," Emeric told him. There was a glint of some wild emotion in his eyes now. "I like this wand better."

"It can't be better than your actual wand," Harry pointed out.

"It's perfect."

"It can't be."

Emeric smiled. "It looks like you're just right for me in this way, too."

Harry glared at him.

Then, without warning, Emeric was annoyed. Harry couldn't be sure whether it was because of him; all he knew was that this is what he disliked about Emeric as a person. His emotions changed too quickly to be normal. He looked prepared for a fight.

"Why do you like him?" Emeric demanded, his face contorted in frustration.

"What's it to you?" Harry asked. He was vaguely aware that Macnair could be listening to this, yet he hardly cared.

"Eleven days!" Emeric exclaimed suddenly. "He left you there for eleven days, Richard!"

"In which time you didn't try to help me soon either," Harry observed. He felt annoyed too now, yet not as much as he was uneasy.

"I had a plan," Emeric said irritably, "I had to wait for the right time, had to steal your wand back, had to risk everything!"

"I would rather have waited. Tom would have come for me even-"

"You would have died for nothing!"

"I would have died for him."

Emeric was laughing angrily now, letting out a loud, dry wheeze of disbelief. "Ha! What is love then, you suppose, that lead your dear _Tom_ to seek other men, do you th-?"

Harry shot a spell at Emeric, anger rising in him before he could help it. Emeric deflected the spell, shooting it right back at Harry, who dodged it. As he moved to the left so did Emeric. They were slowly circling each other now.

"He isn't worth it," Emeric snarled. "You'll be better off with me."

"I'll never go with you," Harry spat, "not for any reason."

"You won't have a choice. _Imperio!_"

"_Protego!_"

Harry was shocked when he heard the spell crash behind him. He had just risked getting hit while his shield charm was broken by Emeric's curse. He retaliated in pure shock.

"_STUPEFY!_"

Emeric's shield charm worked. He was quick to attack again.

"IMPERIO!"

How Emeric expected the Imperius Curse to work, Harry wasn't sure. It would take a lot to put Harry under the curse... so Emeric was either being foolish or confident. The only advantage that Emeric had over Harry was that, apparently, he lacked a conscience. He was unfazed by how simply the German wizard had been defeated, and unfazed by what he had done to Macnair.

"_Impedimenta!_" Harry shouted. The spell was deflected again, along with all the others. "_Obscuro! Confringo!_"

"Tell me," Emeric began over the explosion of Harry's last spell, "why are you using such basic spells, Richard?"

"I'm not here to capture you," Harry reminded him bitterly. "I'm not a fan of the Imperius Curse."

"You aren't attacking to kill me," Emeric pointed out. "You aren't even attacking to hurt me with these spells, are you?"

"_Secareileum!_"

The spell didn't hit it's target any more successfully than the previous ones had. Emeric somehow managed to throw back a spell exactly on target – a achievement that Harry had seen so few wizards succeed at before, least of all purposefully. Harry's curse exploded in midair when it came in contact with Emeric's.

There had to be an explanation for why this kept happening. Harry worried for a moment if perhaps Emeric's wand was failing for him because it was being used against it's initial master. Emeric had Draco's wand after all, rather than any wand that was truly Harry's. It appeared to be working exceedingly well.

Emeric laughed, even if he knew that Harry's spell would have been powerful if it had hit it's target. He was proud at his own success. "You can't hurt me!"

"Watch me," Harry retorted through gritted teeth.

Yet again Emeric deflected his spells with apparent ease. He hadn't yet put Harry under the Imperius Curse, but it was clear that he felt no stress to yet. Upon seeing the shower of spells that Harry threw at him, which became more frequent, powerful, and determined with every frustrating moment that passed, Emeric remained calm.

"Stop doing that!" Harry found himself shouting. Fury rose within him while he felt as though everything he did was futile. This was worse than he could have imagined; anger and confusion mixed sickeningly with the worry that built up more and more with every failed spell.

"This isn't how it works..."

"What?"

Emeric was glowering at him, his brow twitching as though he couldn't decide how to react. "This isn't how it's supposed to work!"

Harry was bemused by this point. The emotions he felt were irritating him further with every moment that passed. "How is this supposed to work, then?"

"You – you can't... stop fighting me off!"

"What, I'm supposed to just let you curse me?"

"I wouldn't hurt you. I'd never hurt you."

Harry knew this was a lie. "Right..."

"Surely you can't want to keep me alive?" Emeric asked.

"What?"

"Your spells," Emeric began, a smile spreading on his face, "they aren't enough to truly hurt me fatally, even if they did hit. You don't want to kill me."

"I don't want you alive," Harry told him.

In truth, the only reason Harry wasn't using worse spells was because he couldn't find the courage to utter that final spell that could end this all...

"Your wand doesn't work well for me," he then added.

"Yours works better than mine for me," Emeric boasted.

"That's impossible," Harry scoffed. "Just because you won my wand doesn't mean you've suddenly become the master of-"

Harry stopped. He could feel the blood draining out of his face. Suddenly, he understood why Emeric couldn't be defeated easily now...

There was a reason for why Emeric had survived for so long despite all the battles that Grindelwald's people had so far faced. There was a reason for why he had managed to trick Harry, and why he had likely been a large part in helping Grindelwald's people break into Tom's land. There was a reason for why the German wizard had fallen so simply compared, and why Macnair had been easily taken down..

Emeric was, without doubt, Master of the Elder Wand...

"Don't go!" Emeric pleaded.

Harry was backing away. He couldn't believe his own theory but he knew it had to be true, despite how difficult it was to accept. Harry didn't know how he hadn't thought about it before; he didn't know how he hadn't even realised that most of his power had come from the Elder Wand itself. He thought that Emeric's wand plus his own weakened health after Grindelwald's Fortress had weakened his magical ability, but now he understood...

He had to get his wand back. He stood still now, watching Emeric as his mind raced. He was dully conscious of the fact that he should also be helping Macnair, yet he couldn't bring himself to concentrate on that now. Emeric was waiting to see what he would do, watching him as if he were a delicate creature who ought to be treated with great care.

"Rich-"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

"Protego."

The ease is what annoyed and scared Harry the most. "Expell-!"

Emeric had shot a hex to stop him to stop his spell. "This isn't how it's supposed to work, Richard!"

"Exp- _Stupefy!_"

Emeric was walking towards him now.

"_Impedimenta!_"

Each step he took was without struggle, without haste. He rejected Harry's spells as though they had never been cast. "Richard, don't -"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

It felt like a nightmare. Emeric was close to him now, smiling at him softly. It was as though he couldn't comprehend Harry's dislike for him. He saw none of Harry's attacks; his hands seemed to act on their own accord to protect him. He was transfixed. He didn't even care that Harry took many steps back, his wand still held up in defence.

"I won't hurt you," Emeric was whispering. "I'll never hurt you."

"Get away from me!"

"It's alright. Richard, it's alright."

"Get off!" Harry pushed Emeric back; his hand had reached for Harry's shoulder.

"You don't have to make this diffic-"

"Just stay away from me!"

There was a change in Emeric's face. He was irked now.

"I'm not going to hurt you -"

"Yeah, because you've never done that before!"

At his own words Harry felt more aggravated than ever. There was no way Emeric wasn't going to hurt him. He was probably going to do the same thing the German wizard had done to Macnair, except he would take Harry far away first. The idea disgusted Harry deeply. Frustration at not being able to obtain Emeric's wand drove his indignation deeper upon hearing these lies. He knew Emeric likely didn't know what he was doing wrong.

"Richard – stop –"

But Harry kept pushed him away and kept backing up. "Stay away from-"

"Cruci_-_"

"SECTUMSEMPRA!"

The Cruciatus Curse was thrown completely off track as Harry's spell struck. Emeric seemed to explode with the force of the attack, blood spurting in every direction after a flash of blinding light. He was stumbling backwards, his brown eyes widened in shock and fear whilst fixed upon Harry. Blood was dropping to the ground even before Emeric fell, his feet dragging and scraping blood into dirt.

"Emer-!"

The gashes across Emeric's chest were deeper than Harry could have anticipated. He regretted using the spell as soon as he had; he hadn't even expected it to work at all. All of his anger – all of his desire to truly hurt Emeric for what he had done – had gone into that one spell. Emeric couldn't seem to breathe very much anymore.

Harry followed the short trail of blood and fell to his knees besides Emeric. He watched him in pure horror, his mind frozen. Something about hearing an Unforgivable Curse must have made him think that spell, Harry thought numbly. Except these gashes were deeper than they had been on Draco and there was no Professor here to help Harry cure him...

"_V-vulnera Sanentur..._" Harry began weakly.

He didn't care that he wasn't supposed to be doing this. He didn't care that Emeric was an enemy of his, or that Emeric had done him wrong. All that mattered now was that the other wizard was struggling breathe, blatantly in a lot of pain. His limbs were trembling in shock and blood could be seen dripping from his mouth now.

"_Vul-nera Sanent-Sanent-..." _

Emeric was looking up at him now. His dark eyes were were wide with horror at first, but something in the way Harry looked at Emeric changed this. His gaze became softer, ridden of all indignation and fear. His eyes became shinier when he heard Harry's voice falter. He knew that it was over. He began to speak, unable to achieve more than a whisper.

"I knew... I would find you..."

"Don't – d-don't-"

But Harry knew it was too late. The thought was gone in those dark brown eyes and even the tears within them were leaking away from Emeric's body...

"Vul-Vulnera Sanentur!" Harry shouted. "_Vulnera Sanentur!" _

Nothing was happening. Blood continued to leak from Emeric's corpse.

"Vul-vul – _Rennervate!_" Harry tried in desperation. "_Finite Incantatem..._"

He was gone. Harry didn't want to accept it, but it was nothing but the truth. Emeric's lungs were no longer fighting for air, his limbs were still at last, and his eyes no longer saw Harry kneeling above him as his last ever sight. What terrified Harry the most was that in his last moments Emeric had stared at him in soft reassurance, as if he had forgiven Harry, in his sorrow, for murder...

Harry was shaking badly. He couldn't comprehend what he had done; he couldn't convince himself of what had truly just happened. He felt as though his lungs were being constricted. He had to force himself to pull in more air to breath. He couldn't stop himself from crying, the tears blurring the sight of Emeric and confusing him beyond belief.

Harry stood up. He literally couldn't think. He felt unable to look at Emeric any longer yet his eyes were stuck fixated upon the corpse before him. Blood had soaked into his robes; he could feel it on his knees, his hands, his face... His mind ran in short circles of thought and non-thought to distract him. He couldn't believe what had happened.

He had to get away from here. He couldn't take waiting in the silence with Emeric's carcass, even if his own heavy breath and troubled thoughts felt deafening beyond it. He stood up, tearing his eyes away from the stream of blood that was making it's way down Emeric's cold neck, pouring from his slightly parted lips.

When Harry looked around he found he was the only conscious wizard here. The German wizard was still knocked out, and as for Macnair, not a movement could be seen from him. Harry felt a shiver run through him. He began running towards Macnair. Surely two wizards can't have died; surely this would be far too much...

"_Rennervate!_"

Harry waited. Macnair didn't move, until his eyes began to flicker open.

The site alarmed Harry, somehow. He related it to Emeric with the use of the spell and somehow this made it almost as bad as if Macnair hadn't awoken at all... He stood up before the Knight could look at him properly.

"What happened?" Macnair asked wearily.

Harry swallowed a few times to try and sooth his throat. He could find no reply.

He walked over to the German wizard, finding Macnair's wand resting in his pocket as soon as he began searching for it. He took it, soon levitating it to the other wizard.

"Thanks," Macnair said weakly.

Upon hearing his voice, Harry remembered how much pain Macnair must have been in at this moment. Quite a few deep wounds still remained gashed into his skin. Macnair wouldn't be able to heal these on his own. Harry walked back towards him.

"Hold still," Harry muttered.

Holding his wand up, ready to begin the magic, Harry was confused. He couldn't bring himself to do it. It wasn't hard to heal someone this hurt, all he had to do was say the spells... this wasn't Emeric... Emeric was gone...

He began trying to use non-verbal spells, least his voice should give away the sea of emotions crashing inside of him. He forced his hands to stop trembling the best he could.

"I..." Macnair began.

Harry paused – gladly. "What is it?"

"I don't understand what happened," Macnair said shortly.

He seemed deeply concerned, unwilling to elaborate. Harry understood why.

He looked back down at Macnair's wounds just to look away. He wanted to say it was alright, to comfort the other wizard, but he couldn't bring himself to.

"It's over now..."

"Yeah..."

They fell into a silence. A few minutes passed.

When Harry looked at Macnair again, he found him staring over at the German wizard.

"He's unconscious," Harry told him.

"What?" Macnair asked sharply, looking at him. "Why didn't you kill him?"

Harry shifted back a little. He had healed Macnair well enough now. "I didn't get the chance to."

"Now is a chance," Macnair stated.

Harry stood up. "I'm not going to kill him."

Macnair began to stand too. It wasn't easy for him to, since he was still in some pain, but he tried nevertheless. He didn't question Harry's choice, yet he didn't seem at all happy about it. He looked away.

Harry wanted to keep looking at Macnair, but when eye contact was lost with him he found himself thinking about Emeric. He couldn't help it when he looked back at the body again, which rested so peacefully that Emeric might have been sleeping... had it not been for all the blood. Then, Harry caught sight of his wand in Emeric's hand.

The wand had broken. It was unmistakably due to the spell Harry had used to kill Emeric; a clean cut could be seen running diagonally across it, breaking it cleanly in two. A thought jumped into Harry head, informing him that this was the second time he had used that spell against the holder of Draco's wand. Harry had broken the only weapon in this era that he felt close to being his. He was left holding the wand that belonged to the man he had murdered.

Suddenly everything was illuminated in vibrant red light and a wild hissing noise filled the forest. When Harry spun around to see what was happening, he saw Macnair standing tall now, his wand pointed at the sky.

"What are you -?"

The sparks of red remained in the sky, looming high above them.

"Why did you do that?" Harry shouted.

"For the others," Macnair responded, confused. "If Tom wants to know where you are, he needs a sign."

"And what about Grindelwald's people?" Harry asked.

"Oh..." Macnair stared at him, his eyes large with fear. "I-"

'_Crack!_'

People were Apparating close to where they were. Harry and Macnair stood frozen, staring at each other's shadowed faces.

"Oi!" I voice called from the darkness.

Macnair gave a sigh of relief. They recognised that as Avery's voice.

"We're here!" Macnair called to him. "Jonathan and I are safe."

"Did you hear that?" another voice was asking, his satisfaction audible. "We've found them, my Lord!"

The next thing Harry knew, a number of Knights were edging into the small circle of trees he stood within. Leading the group was Tom, who's eyes searched first for Harry. He seemed annoyed, but more relieved than ever to see they were safe.

"What happened in the battle?" Macnair was asking.

"We beat them," Avery answered happily. "Most of them just ran off, but a lot of them didn't make it to tell the tale."

"We've got a few captives as well," Mulciber added. A sickening grin spread across his large face. "They don't seem happy about that."

"I see you ran into trouble, somewhat, in your absence," Tom commented quietly. His eyes were scanning the two unconscious and dead wizards before him. "I was under the impression that you called me here to help, Macnair?"

"Oh, er," Macnair began sheepishly. "Well, no, I just though you'd want to know where Jonathan was, and in case any more of them chased after -"

"So you decided to send up sparks?" Tom inquired sceptically.

"I knew you won the battle," Macnair explained. "Jonathan killed that other wizard and I thought that it was best not –"

"What?" Tom demanded.

"– not to risk getting in more fights," Macnair finished.

Tom ignored his words. His eyes were on Harry now, widened in pure surprise at what he had heard. He then dropped his gaze to the corpse that lay within a large puddle of blood. Walking towards this, he examined Emeric's cold, dead body. His face was shadowed, especially as the sparks above them faded to dark crimson, before vanishing.

The Knights waited quietly, curious as to what Tom was doing. Then, quietly to begin with, Tom began laughing. The sound shocked Harry further for a moment and he wondered if he might have imagined it. But Tom was laughing more and more, turning back to the light of his Knights' wands now with the mad, inhumane smile etched deep into his face. The Death Eaters were almost as confused as Harry was.

Harry wished Tom would stop staring at him like that. This was the happiest Harry could remember ever seeing Tom and it tore at his chest in a way he couldn't describe. He was horrified that his own actions could strike within Voldemort such vibrant triumph, sickening enthralment, and purely morbid elation.

Not a word could be said by Tom to elucidate what he felt, except the name of a spell. Withdrawing his wand in an elegant motion, Tom pointed it up towards the heavens.

"_MORSMORDRE!" _


	60. Inferior

60 – Inferior

Much of the forest had been burnt to the ground. Tall trees that had grown decades old were now scorched where they stood, leafless and bare, allowing the starry sky to be displayed far above them. This place was completely unrecognisable to Harry's eyes; it was as though Tom had ordered the Knights to change the location of their hideout earlier, and this was the second time they'd be moving tonight. Harry felt as though he had completely lost his sense of time.

Charred shapes could be seen strewn across the blackened area, illuminated first by the small fires that the Death Eaters cast to see their work more clearly, and second by the emerald light that descended from high above the forest. The fluorescent constellation of Dark Mark dimmed the closest stars to it, causing the entire forest to be visible faintly in it's light, giving definition to all the ashy shapes that lay upon the ground. There was no mistaking that many of the shapes seen in the dim green hue were the remains of burnt bodies.

Tom had ordered the Knights to pack up the tent and to clear the area of all signs that might indicate who had stayed here. A Ministry was bound to know about the level of magic that had been used during their battling, and they wouldn't be pleased about it. It wouldn't be wise to get caught magically burning down a large part of this forest, especially as the effects of Fiendfyre were irreversible, there was still the remains of bodies lying all around, and they still had a number of illegal Dragons under their control.

Most of the Knights were teaming up to tame the Dragons. Not everyone was here; many of Tom's followers had died or had simply gone missing without explanation. It was evident that a few of the Knights of Walpurgis had been captured, or had gone to join Grindelwald's people again, yet there was no real knowing. The loyal and strong Knights who remained were very tired by this point, yet their victory of fighting off Grindelwald's people had given them the strength to follow Tom's orders well.

Harry only watched the others work, he didn't join in. He saw Gonson, Nott, and Ransom amongst quite a few others attempting to heal their wounded companions the best they could, in preparation for fleeing this area. Other Knights were carrying trunks out of the tent, passing them to those who waited with brooms at the ready. There was one broom for every follower, a lot of which were used to carry the luggage. It wasn't long before the Knights would be ready to leave, led by a very triumphant Tom.

Harry felt listless. Without truly seeing it, he stood watching the world go by. He had lost his sense of the present and had lost the ability to think, or to feel, properly. He was suspended in a state of such deep change. His outer self had withdrawn and had frozen, being pulled back sharply like the tides of a sea to the horizon before a tsunami. All he could do was wait, an awed sense of anticipation gripping him. Any time, but not now, the weight of his crimes would crash upon him. It was unavoidable.

They were getting ready to leave now; Harry followed to join them. He didn't speak to anyone as they mounted their brooms. It was as though he wasn't there at all, he was lost in his own mind. Even Tom, who was more enthralled by his actions this evening than Harry could ever fear, didn't speak to Harry now – he had to lead the others out of here. They began their flight, heading in some new direction. Despite the joy of flying, Harry felt gone...

It was an hour or two later when they landed. The Knights were exhausted now, but they set up the tent as Tom ordered them to, rushing most of it now in their desire to sleep. The sun was rising slowly, setting a completely different tone as the sunlight shone upon the greener forest they stood within. Harry didn't look at much of it. He headed inside with the others. He made his way to his room without stopping along the way.

He wasn't alone in his room for very long. Tom followed him there about twenty minutes later, after making sure the Death Eaters didn't need him any longer. As soon as he saw Harry, a wide smile broke across his face, maddening his handsome features. He spread his arms wide as if to greet Harry warmly for his accomplishment, striding across the room to meet him. Harry shifted nervously at the sight, sitting on the edge of his bed. Tom was too happy to notice his unease.

"I cannot believe it," Tom began, his voice low and astonished. "I cannot believe you did it at last..."

Harry didn't respond. He didn't want to have this conversation, nor to see Tom reacting so joyously to the terrible crime that had been committed. He tried to hide his disgust, worry, and sorrow, even if he was sure that beyond Tom's wide, wild eyes nothing as subtle as expression could be registered.

Tom was walking towards him. His face still remained the same, as if he were wearing a mask of permanent madness.

"Everything is going to change now," Tom whispered. "Now, Harry, we can move on with what we planned to do – with what we were _meant_ to do – with the Dark Arts... We will be great."

Harry dropped his gaze. These words horrified him.

Tom moved closer still. Harry felt the mattress beneath him move as Tom sat besides him, his closeness suggested he wanted all of Harry's attention.

"Tell me how it happened," Tom urged. "Tell me how you did it."

Harry shifted where he sat, trying to make up for his unwillingness to answer this question by distracting Tom. "I don't know, it's just... it just happened..."

"I can't believe you found Emeric," Tom said in a quiet voice. "Out of all the wizards out there, fighting..."

Harry hated the sound of this accusation. "I didn't find Emeric," he said. "He found me first, so I... I just wanted to follow him, to find out why..."

"What did you find out?" Tom asked. "Did he say anything before you fought?"

"Not really," Harry mumbled, "only that he thought I should go be with him, instead of staying with you. I didn't, of course... He was completely delusional about everything – it was mad. It was like he was obsessed..."

A flicker of irritation made itself clear on Tom's face, but it was gone almost as soon as it had arisen. Harry was sure he was hiding it. "How obsessed?"

"He didn't even want to hurt me," Harry explained. "Well... that's what he kept saying anyway. He did get annoyed, after a while... and did try to use the Cruciatus Curse."

"What?" Tom asked quickly. He couldn't hide his anger now. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," Harry said, "he never got the chance to."

"But he spoke to you," Tom noted, "either you were listening to him or he managed to attack you enough to make himself heard?"

That wasn't quite it, Harry thought. Emeric had been able to talk to him whilst not attacking him by deflecting all of his attacks... or all but one. "I wanted to hear what he was saying," Harry lied.

"I can't imagine why," Tom said, unable to hide his bitterness. He then added, as if it occurred to him that this was more important, "Are you sure he didn't hurt you?"

Harry nodded after a moment of hesitation. He twisted his hands in his lap, trying to push away thoughts of what had happened in that forest. He felt as though some unseen force was compressing his ribcage, making it harder to breath normally. It was as if the guilt for what he had done to Emeric was coming back to haunt him... He struggled to hide this from Tom.

"Macnair seems affected by the fight that went on," Tom observed.

"Yeah," Harry responded vaguely. "You could say that..."

"I should have chosen a stronger Knight to protect you," Tom muttered. He didn't truly seem bothered by this idea for long, however. Harry heard a breath of laugher. "Yet I doubt it truly mattered, in the end. You were strong enough on your own."

Even Tom must have realised that Harry should have been able to defeat the two wizards more easily, Harry thought. This seemed like a rather big omission on Tom's part, yet Harry said nothing about it. Tom hadn't seen the fight after all, so he likely saw no problem in Macnair falling, or in Harry struggling to fight the two wizards on his own.

Harry turned to face Tom as a thought struck him. "Is Macnair alright?"

"He's being healed amongst the others," Tom informed him.

"But is he okay?"

Tom's eyes narrowed a little. "Why?"

"It was just a bad fight," Harry said. His eyes wandered to Tom's shoulder as the thoughts crashed over him again.

"What happened to Macnair?" Tom asked curiously.

"That other wizard got to him," Harry explained, his tone low. His eyebrows were creased in concern.

"What was it that he did to Macnair?"

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Closing it again he bit his lips. He didn't know how to even begin with talking about what had happened to Macnair...

Tom didn't seem to care about Harry's lack of responses. Another thought seemed to occur to him suddenly. "Did he hear you talking? Did Macnair catch your conversation with Emeric?"

There was a silence. Harry looked up at Tom. He tried to think back to when he had fought with Emeric; trying to work out when it was that Macnair could have fallen unconscious...

"Well?" Tom pressed.

"He wasn't conscious," Harry pointed out quickly, trying to calm Tom as soon as he could. "There was no way he could have heard – he was delirious from how much he was beaten up, anyway. He couldn't have heard."

Tom wasn't convinced. His expressions were fading slowly, his mind blatantly racing.

"You can't do anything to him," Harry said seriously. In his own worry he had momentarily forgotten about his sorrow and despair. "There's no point – he... he didn't hear anything, Tom."

Harry watched Tom take a deep intake of breath before sitting up straighter, averting his eyes for a moment to think. After around a minute he appeared somewhat less keen to go after Macnair, yet it was hard to be sure. Quietly, he said, "I don't suppose he would have heard..."

"He didn't," Harry assured him. Secretly, he wished he could know this for sure.

Tom was unfazed now. He didn't seem to honestly care what had happened to his Knight anyway, especially as something more interesting occurred to him. "Tell me what he was like."

"Who?"

"Emeric," Tom said. "Tell me what he said to you?"

Harry wished he wouldn't stare like that. "I – I don't really..."

"What did he do?" Tom asked. "How did you kill him?"

Harry wanted to get up, to get away from Tom. He didn't want to think about Emeric's death, never mind talk about it. It was surprising that Tom couldn't see this in his pained expression.

In the hesitance, Tom reached a hand up to touch Harry's face, urging him to not look away any longer. Harry appreciated it at first, until he looked up and saw that Tom's dark eyes still burned with a deep happiness that he couldn't seem to hide. He leant in until Harry' face was inches from his own, tipping Harry's chin up to look at him more closely.

"He will never be a threat to us again," Tom said in nothing over a whisper. A smile had broken across his dark red lips, which Harry was examining now to avoid his eyes. It was evident that Tom thought Emeric had scared Harry, rather than his murder scaring him. Yet Harry couldn't help but like it when Tom's breath brushed against him. He closed his eyes. "We will be together forevermore, inseparable by anything... even by the greatest forces known to this universe..."

Harry felt Tom move after these words, so he opened his eyes. Tom had backed away marginally to retrieve the wand from his pocket. Harry wasn't sure what he was doing at first, until Tom pointed it towards him. Harry was still covered in Emeric's blood. Tom wanted to fix this.

The thought alarmed Harry when he realised it. He tried to move away – from what he wasn't truly sure – but Tom reached out his free hand to clasp Harry's, encouraging him to stay. Tom washed away the blood from his hands and wrists, clearing the dirt from his clothes. He then moved to Harry's head, cleaning away all that remained of Emeric. Harry hated to think about the blood spurted upon him... When he was clean, Tom's smile widened once more. He was watching Harry.

Before Harry knew it, Tom moved forwards as if he could resist the urge no longer to begin kissing Harry's neck. He planted his lips upon Harry over and over again, laughing into his neck in pure ecstasy. His hands were moving along Harry's body, rubbing against him in the desire to get closer still.

"You will be mine forever," Tom breathed against Harry. He was laughing more between his words, breathing out and in heavily as if what had happened was dawning upon him strongly, causing his desire to deepen. "Now that Emeric is gone, now that you have killed him, everything will change..."

Harry opened his eyes. He stared blankly ahead of him, feeling Tom kissing him vibrantly, but not quite enjoying it. Not even Tom, nor the knowledge that they could stay together forever if he wanted, could distract Harry from the fact that he had killed Emeric. He was a murderer..

Before Harry knew it he was backing away from Tom. He suddenly wished more than anything that he was alone now. He stood up, feeling as though he was about to burst at any moment with remorse for what he had done. He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind, trying to find a way to make Tom leave.

"I'm really tired," he said distractedly, not meeting Tom's stare.

He didn't know what else to say. Tom was mute.

"We can just, I dunno... do this tomorrow."

Tom stood up. "If that is what you would prefer, I cannot object."

Harry knew Tom was probably annoyed but he couldn't find room to honestly care. "Right..."

He then heard Tom laugh softly. He found amusement in the way Harry acted, perhaps. "After your accomplishment tonight, I do suppose you need rest... I'll be available to you whenever, however."

Harry only nodded after a second, unsure what to say to this.

Tom walked over to him, to kiss him once on the lips. It was evident that he wanted to stay for longer, but Harry didn't respond much to the kiss. Before long he was turning away, just as Harry had hoped. "Goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight..."

Harry heard the door close behind Tom. The silence that surrounded him beyond this was numbing. He stared into space for a while – for how long, he couldn't be sure. He stood very still, trying not to feel. He concentrated hard on his slow, even breathing. The pressure around his lungs worsened with every passing moment. It reminded him of what he had done. It reminded him of the actions he could never take back. He held his breath...

When Harry breathed in heavily after a minute, unable to resist any longer, he felt a sharp pain coarse through his body. He couldn't stop the tears from blocking his vision when he breathed in a second time, fighting against his persistently compressed lungs. He was crying uncontrollably before he even knew it, bringing his hands up to his head in stress and despair.

He could feel irritation rising in him slowly. It was spreading throughout his body, binding him closely and pressing against his skin, making him crave destruction. He didn't know what to do with himself. He couldn't think of any way to release himself from this crushing guilt, sorrow, pain, and hate. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Emeric's cold, bloodstained corpse lying before him.

Anger suddenly rose within Harry. The next thing he knew, he had picked up the nearest object – a clock embedded with a moving representation of the solar system and stars – and had thrown it across the room. With a deafening '_CRASH_' the clock hit a mirror across the room. The glass shattered into thousands of pieces, falling to the floor in a shower of glittering shards. Harry swore loudly, knowing that no one would hear him in here anyway. He began pacing the room, unable to stay still.

Tom had ordered the Knights earlier to collect any identifiable bodies from the forest, to leave no trace of who had been fighting. They hadn't been able to sort through the bodies to find their own dead quickly, so Tom had ordered them to take any corpse in sight, to sort through them all later, to give their Knights a real funeral. Emeric's body would be there, piled amongst the rest of them, haunting Harry from a continuously close proximity.

'BANG!'

Liquid from the second object Harry threw steamed down the wall, leaving long drops of blue in it's wake. Fury amongst tens of other emotions still raged within Harry and this was barely helping it at all. No matter what he did now, he couldn't run away or distract himself from the fact that he had made a terrible, irreversible mistake; one that could change all of history before his very eyes. He couldn't know yet what affect defeating and killing Emeric could have.

The wand – the Elder Wand – worried Harry most at this moment, for the sake of the future. He understood that he had only broken Draco's wand earlier (as much as he deeply regretted this, considering he hated the use of Emeric's wand), but two things beyond this worried him: were there two Masters of the Elder Wand currently, and would the Wand itself die out because of Harry?

If Harry had become Master of the Elder Wand in his past (the future), by disarming Draco at the Malfoy Manor, there would now be no one in the future who would become the next Master. Either Harry himself would become the true owner of the wand by living all the way to the future, or the wand would cease to exist later. At this time there was doubtlessly now two people who could take full power of the Elder Wand without even fighting, for two people were it's true Masters: Harry and Dumbledore.

This still didn't even begin to explain why Emeric had been stronger with Draco's wand. It can't have been a mere placebo affect, since Emeric had no idea that the Elder Wand even existed, never mind that Harry had been the rightful Master of it. Nor could Harry really believe that Emeric might have just _wanted_ his wand to work better. Either Harry had been mistaken by Emeric's power and he had been too stressed by the sight of him to fight properly, or this was another thing about time-travelling he had never learnt before.

The first option seemed the most likely... but if the second option was true, and if Draco's wand had begun acting like a sort of second Elder Wand, did that now mean that the only wand left was Dumbledore's? And if Harry were to go to the future, would he have to get the real Elder Wand back from Voldemort in the Battle of Hogwarts, or later? It seemed an impossibility. Voldemort would never give up the wand, with or without the true power of it...

Harry didn't want to think about it. The other emotions at the other things happening to him were drawing him away from these painful thoughts of the Elder Wand. He felt so very far away from the Battle of Hogwarts now. He felt like an entirely different person – especially now, especially as the weight of his crimes piled upon him. He was no longer the boy he used to be. He was a man now, twisted and different than ever before. He felt himself sinking to the ground, resting with his head on his knees, tearing at his hair with his hands.

He was shaking uncontrollably. If there was one thing he wished, it would be that the pain within him would stop, so his crying would cease. He felt he was falling apart, crashing piece by piece to his inevitable and ultimate destruction. His soul had cracked. It had broken in two by the act of murder and Harry was sure this is what he was feeling now, past his aching heart, which pulsed with a number of terrible emotions. He was shattering.

This is what Dumbledore had saved Draco from enduring by ordering Snape to kill him. This is what Tom could never feel in relation to the crimes he had committed. This is what literally all of the Death Eaters would go through, causing them a sense of emptiness and delirium rather than sorrow. This is what would cause Harry nightmares from this day on, stopping him from sleeping due to fear of it, and fear of himself.

-X-

It was only a few days later when Harry found himself back in Tom's house again. Tom had regained enough strength to put shields up around this land already, and because Grindelwald's people had become a lot weaker in the recent battle, it was far less likely that they could possibly break in once more. Tom used a lot of different ancient magic than before, confident that this would put Grindelwald's people off track, beyond the fact that they wouldn't have such a prime opportunity to attack again.

Harry stood by the living room window, looking out at a view of the distant forest. He was thinking about the Knights that Tom had sent out to go track down more of Grindelwald's people. There were less and less followers of Grindelwald's who dared to venture anywhere on their own these days, so they travelled in groups mostly, enduring their inability to work any other way in fear. The ambushes stopped Grindelwald's people from doing a great deal of things.

Occasionally Tom's followers would not succeed in bringing down groups of Grindelwald's people, and occasionally they themselves got hurt from it instead, but more often than not they won via surprise and brutality. Harry hated to think about the ways that they murdered those people – and worse, the torturing that went on with those who were captured alive. Tom planned the attacks extremely carefully; it was rare that any of Grindelwald's people made it back able to accurately explain what had happened.

After a long while, Harry heard someone open the front door. At first he thought it might be Lestrange or Macnair, who were staying at Tom's house, or Nott who sometimes visited from Harry's house, but instead it was just Tom. They hadn't seen each other today; Tom had been busy making plans, telling Harry that he should continue to rest after his accomplishment. Harry had only taken the offer to rest because he couldn't find it in him to concentrate on anything. He could barely take his mind off of Emeric's death...

"Good evening," Tom greeted as he entered the library Harry was in.

"Hey," Harry responded. He was in half a mind to turn back to the window. "How are you?"

"I'm well," Tom told him, smiling softly. "And yourself?"

"I'm alright."

"I've just sent off a group of seven to chase down our latest wanderers," Tom mentioned contently. "They should be back by dawn with results."

"That's good."

"It's great," Tom grinned. "Grindelwald's league are getting weaker by the day. I shouldn't be too long now before they're done and gone entirely."

"That's insane," Harry said, in what he hoped was a better attempt to sound interested.

"I was thinking of perhaps planting a spy or two," Tom carried on. "After what happened with Zerrissen, it is evident that Grindelwald's people have already thought of this, but I have far more subtle ways of achieving such a plan."

"Are you sure they won't expect that?" Harry asked.

"No, I don't believe so. I have greater ideas than they had."

"I'm sure you do," Harry responded.

"I shan't do it just yet, however," Tom explained, "we still have quite a few more rounds of attacks on stray followers to pay attention to."

"Did you send Macnair out on one of those missions?" Harry suddenly asked. "I haven't seen him since yesterday morning."

"I believe I did, yes..."

"But why?" Harry asked. "I mean, I thought you were keeping him here to put him into Occlumency training with Nott and Lestrange?"

"I was," Tom said, "but Macnair was around at the right moment for me to put him on a mission, I didn't think much of it."

Harry was confused. They had discovered quickly that Macnair had indeed overheard much of the conversation that had gone on between Harry and Emeric, and he was suspicious. Tom had taken Macnair away from the rest of his followers the moment he saw the thoughts within his mind. Harry was sure that Macnair hadn't told anyone about what he heard, yet this appeared to be little consolation to Tom, who didn't believe it. He was irked by the whole event.

Macnair couldn't have known what Emeric and Harry were talking about; past never suspecting that Harry and Tom could be dating, Macnair had been distracted quite a bit by the pain he was going through at the time. Although Tom had treated the matter as though it were even worse than it had been with Nott and Lestrange, Harry knew it wasn't a real problem. They could do something as simple as make up a story to smooth Macnair's confusion and they wouldn't have to worry any longer – he didn't even need Occlumency, in Harry's opinion. He wished Tom's opinion was the same.

"Nothing happened to him, right?" Harry asked slowly.

"I don't believe so," Tom said casually, "yet it is unknown who will and won't return from attacking Grindelwald's people."

This annoyed Harry, somehow. "You sent him there on purpose, didn't you?"

Tom stared, a little taken aback. "All of our Knights must be of help to this group one time or another, Harry," he pointed out. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. "All of our Knights must risk their lives."

"But you did this on purpose," Harry said indignantly, sure of it now. "You're trying to put him in danger!"

"Why would I do that?" Tom asked, a little too monotonically.

"To get rid of him," Harry elaborated, "but you shouldn't have done that – he doesn't even know anything, he doesn't care."

"Why do _you_ care?" Tom inquired, appearing only mildly affected by this conversation. "It is not a an attack upon the Knights when I send them off to fight, they should think it an honour. They are inferior to us, Harry."

"I care because it's obvious what you're planning."

Tom said nothing.

Harry didn't like the sound of any of this. He watched Tom carefully, trying to look for any signs that might indicate if he was lying or not. Harry found himself oddly irritated at this whole conversation. He didn't want anything to happen to Macnair, yet he was sure that Tom looked upon the Knight as nothing more than a problem. After all, Tom evidently wasn't scared of people's deaths, considering he still kept the bodies of those who had died in the forest battle.

Harry winced. "Why do you still keep all of them here?"

"All of what?"

"The bodies," Harry managed, grimacing in disgust. "You've already buried all the the Knights of Walpurgis who lost their lives, why not do the same to the rest of them?"

"I will not hold a funeral for our enemies," Tom stated.

"Then why are they here?"

"We can't have left them in that forest for someone to find."

"There's no reason to keep them here rotting!"

"You needn't shout, Harry."

"You won't seem to listen to me any other way, Tom!"

"I've made it clear why I chose to keep those bodies here," Tom said. "It was for convenience."

"Well, you should get rid of them."

"I will."

"Soon," Harry added.

"Why does it bother you so much?" Tom inquired.

"Because it's wrong! You can't just keep a bunch of dead people lying around after your followers murdered them all!"

"You were as much help as many," Tom mentioned quietly.

Harry glared at him. He was caught between anger and sorrow and he wasn't sure which way to go. He was leaning towards anger, without even really choosing to. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Many of the Knights only succeeded in killing one or two enemies," Tom explained. "Even if, admittedly, quite a few of them killed a larger number..."

"Right..."

Tom watched him curiously. "You're rather irked about all this."

"Yeah?" Harry asked sarcastically. "I didn't notice."

"I don't see why you are," Tom carried on. He paused, thinking deeply about the matter as curiosity took over his expression more. "What's bothering you?"

"I just don't like what you're doing."

"I've done you no harm," Tom reminded him.

"I never said you did," Harry said, "I just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. He could feel the vexation leaving him slowly. He dropped his eyes to look down. "I'm just concerned."

For some reason Tom walked towards him. He stood a few steps onwards, standing between Harry and the couch that stood behind him. "About what?"

Harry wasn't sure why he had done that. "About everything... Everything that's changed."

"Change is inevitable, my love."

"I know," Harry agreed, dropping his gaze again. "But I only –"

Harry's words were cut off in shock.

His eyes had looked away from Tom to stare idly at the couch behind him, yet something had caught his attention. Engulfed almost entirely in the shadows that were cast down by the torches bracketed to the walls, Harry saw something that caused him to stare in shock, unable to believe his eyes. The blood trained from his face almost instantly and he felt himself take a step back in horror. There was a body stuffed beneath the couch.

Surrounded by what could only be dark, drying blood, a hand wasn't fully hidden. It's fingers were curled and likely hard due to how long the corpse must have remained there for; it appeared as though Tom hadn't expected it to be noticeable, yet he had doubtlessly been in a rush after the murder if he didn't even have time to dispose of the body better. Harry knew that this was Macnair; Tom had never sent him away on any mission. Despite his pleads, Tom had killed the Knight anyway.

Harry crashed into a table that stood behind him in his determination to back away. He met Tom's eyes again and knew in an instant that he understood what he had seen. Tom was not at all pleased about it; he monitored Harry's every move with his dark eyes, waiting for the inevitable series of reactions Harry was bound to go through. Harry tried to think if Tom could have really murdered Macnair since yesterday morning. He withdrew his wand.

"_Mobilicorpus!_"

The corpse slid out from under the couch. It was not a pretty sight; the face of the wizard appeared to have been smashed in by some turn of events. It left a long, thick trail of blood where the body moved, despite the fact that most of the blood upon Macnair's face had dried already. There was no mistaking that this was Macnair even if he was almost entirely unrecognisable. Harry could see it in his wide, open eyes.

"Harry, wait-"

It was too late, Harry was already walking away from the room. He was heading for the front door, not able to process anything beyond his desire to get away from that corpse, away from Tom. Thoughts of his own crime and of Emeric haunted the corners of his mind, dawning upon him ominously no matter how hard he tried to block it out. It was going to storm heavily because of the recent humidity. Harry could see this when he stepped out of Tom's house, he could hear it and could could feel it upon the air. Tom was still calling after him. He began to run.

Heading vaguely for his own house, Harry never stopped. He didn't know what he was supposed to do now but he knew what he wanted – to leave as soon as possible. He couldn't take that Tom had dismissed his pleads to leave Macnair and he couldn't stand to think about the brutal way that Macnair had evidently been murdered. The faces of those who had been murdered most recently were plastered to Harry's pained mind, staring at him still. Very sharply Harry stopped running – he had reached a point accidentally.

Harry withdrew his wand. There was nowhere left for him to run to, so he knew he had to find another way. He began saying the counter-curses to all the magic he could think that might be used upon this land. His voice was shaking but it never interrupted his concentration, nor the words that he spoke. Before he could even really begin to break down the forcefields that were trapping him in here, however, Tom had caught up to him. He knew what he was doing the moment he heard the low, familiar sound of his curses breaking.

Tom didn't shout at him to stop. Nor did he use any form of attack to stop him, he merely walked towards Harry steadily, his expression blank. Without a word, without so much as a panicked movement, he reached an hand out to softly place upon Harry's. This was enough to stop Harry from continuing with his curses. Harry's expression was contorted, he didn't know how to react this. It was starting to rain.

"Even if you did know how to break my magic, to flee from this land so quickly," Tom said, speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the falling of rain, "you know as well as I do what consequences could occur if Grindelwald's people are close. You would only have to endure further sight of death."

Harry didn't understand how he could be so calm. Not only had Macnair's body been discovered now, but it was blatant that Harry couldn't deal with this any more. He couldn't watch these deaths happen without question and he couldn't find it within him to accept it. Macnair was dead. His son would never be born into this world, which finally proved solidly to Harry that despite it all, time was going to change. He had badly lost in his attempts to change nothing. It was over...

"Why did you do it?" Harry asked in a whisper, feeling the sorrow dawn upon him. "Why did you kill him?"

Tom held his hand a little more firmly, perhaps without noticing. Harry's expression confused him. "I couldn't let him run the risk of thinking the wrong thing. He isn't Nott or Lestrange."

Harry tried to pull his hands away from Tom's. "Let me go."

"Harry –"

"Let me _go_, Tom!"

Tom refused to. "Listen to me."

Rain was beginning to pour down now. They could hear the distant roar of thunder. Harry was pulling his hands free. "I don't want to listen–"

"It was all for you."

Harry had walked back a few paces as his hands were freed. He wondered for a moment if he had heard Tom correctly. There was something in those dark eyes that told him he had.

"Macnair's death, our fighting with Grindelwald," Tom listed in a low voice, "you must understand that it was for no one else but you."

Harry couldn't find the words to speak. He had forgotten this. He had forgotten that Grindelwald's people would never have gotten involved with Tom's followers if it weren't for him. Even if they had been wary about Tom's group gaining power, they would not have attacked him this early, they wouldn't have seen Tom as such a threat. Everyone who had died so far had died because of Harry. Not only in this battle, but in the Battle of Hogwarts too...

"I didn't just murder Emeric," Harry whispered. Feeling dazed, he was staring almost blindly, unwilling to move a muscle. "All of their deaths... it was all my fault..."

The thought dawned upon Harry so hard, he felt as though it was slowly crushing him. He could barely process it; he was staring at Tom with an expression of utter hopelessness, trying, with little avail, to accept or to suppress the pain he was going through. Beyond everything he had feared, everything he had forced himself to believe for the sake of saving himself from burning sooner, he had done more harm than he had ever realised before. He was worse than Tom himself...

The shock was so strong, Harry couldn't even find it within him to act upon any of his other emotion. He soon found, however, that Tom was closing the distance between them. The next thing he knew Tom had pulled him into an embrace. The rain pouring from the sky was warm against them in this mid-summer storm. When Tom began kissing him, Harry responded willingly. He needed comfort, he needed to know he wasn't completely alone because of what he had done...

Their embrace made Harry almost forget his worries. It made him forget about the past, for he was able to keep his mind only in the present with Tom, feeling him so close. He didn't have to think about standing in the forest and watching Emeric die. He didn't have to think about Macnair's cold body being stored beneath Tom's couch. He didn't have to think about the rancid smell of carcasses by him now. He didn't have to look at the pile of dead people that rested besides him and Tom, which had made him stop here...

But the kiss soon ended. Harry had pulled away as a thought occurred to him, a thought that shocked him, somehow. He still had Tom. He still had one person who remained besides him, undefeated by every enemy they had faced. Tom was never going to die because of him; he was never going to die at all. He would be there for Harry forever. Harry had someone who would love him no matter how much time slipped by.

"I want to be with you," Harry whispered, trying to stop his voice from shaking. "I want to stay with you forever. I... I don't care about anything else. I love you, more than anything..."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. They stood watching each other, listening to the rain.

Then Tom reached up a hand. He brushed Harry's hair back, away from his face, with his long fingers. He appeared astonished, numbed by Harry's words. He gazed at Harry as though he were a prized possession, sacred, fragile, and valuable in every way. He kissed Harry's face over and over again as if dazed.

"_I will love you forever,_" Tom hissed softly, close to him. "_I will be with you..._"

Harry pulled Tom into a closer embrace, closing his eyes. He never wanted to let Tom go. He never wanted to think about he had done wrong, he just wanted to stay here like this, safe in the knowledge that they had all the time in the world together. The rain poured upon them and he saw flashes of lightning beyond his eyelids, thunder raging in his ears. He noticed none of it. He held Tom close...

After a long while, Harry heard footsteps around them and opened his eyes. When he saw what it was, he let go of Tom in shock, trying to push himself away. Tom allowed him to go, yet watched him calmly even while he withdrew his wand. Tom had taken out his wand already too, but it wasn't to fight the people who had appeared around them. Harry had thought at first that they were Knights, or Grindelwald's people, but he was wrong. They were Inferi.

"You have no need to fear Death so determinedly, Harry," Tom informed him calmly. His every word haunting Harry, pressing upon him slowly and sickeningly. "With magic, we go far beyond what forces nature can muster. Together, we can have more power than anything else upon this earth..."

The Inferi were moving as if in slow motion, stumbling in their attempts to get away from the large pile of bodies. They stepped upon each other's limbs, appearing to lack any true strength, whilst they had just enough will to attempt following Tom's orders. Wizards with prominent wounds upon them – their signs of death – were staring blindly with whitened eyes, open mouths, and limp bodies. It looked as though many of them were nothing but puppets, ready to kill any enemies that might be unlucky enough to cross their path.

"Grindelwald's people don't stand a chance..."


	61. Weakening Emotion

61 – Weakening Emotion

Harry sat alone, staring off into space. Not a sound reached his ears, in spite of the steady ticking of clocks and faint creaking of footsteps in the distance, which might have caught his attention at another, less troubled time. For now, he was as good as deaf. Nothing happening around him could pull him out of his current state of mind, which had been persistent, yet ever-varying, for solid weeks now. Often, he couldn't find it in him to do anything more than to think – and even that became too agonizing after too long. What he wanted most was to just _be_, but even that wasn't much of a desire for him.

He was thinking about Emeric. No matter what he tried, he couldn't bring himself to stop mulling over these thoughts again and again. He attempted to distract himself, as well as to purely suppress the emotions that arose within him, but this only resulted in deep, finely-cut anger and frustration that was overwhelming. He felt surges of sharp pain in his chest that he couldn't stop when he thought about this for too long. He knew Emeric's death was a terrible fate for anyone to have, no matter how many awful things he might have done in his lifetime. Harry wasn't even sure how it had happened...

It wasn't justified – this was the thought that kept running though Harry's mind, pulling him back into a state of numb contemplation during the day, keeping him up at night. Emeric hadn't done anything bad enough to deserve death, as far as Harry knew. Grindelwald's people had taken part in horrid activities, many of which well-publicized in various newspapers across Britain and Europe, but Emeric alone couldn't be held guilty for much of it, if any. Emeric had never tried to murder anyone, he had merely loved a man he couldn't have.

Harry made an involuntary movement with his head, as if to shake away an invisible fly. Emeric never loved him – he had _obsessed_ over him. There was a huge difference between the two ideas; Emeric would have done so many bad things to Harry without mercy. Tom had mentioned this before, had suggested it recently. Emeric would have done nothing but cause pain, and Harry believed this – he knew it must be true because he remembered so clearly the immediate change to fury that had appeared in Emeric's expression, as if it only took one small thing to set him off into rage. It was a look that was so much his own, but it still reminded Harry so intensely of every mad man he had come across before.

There had been another side to him, however. Harry remembered this well. There was a soft, comforting side to Emeric that had shown through quite often, breaking the rage even at his worst, and it had been there constantly whilst they worked together in England. An odd crushing sensation dawned upon Harry. When he wasn't crazed out of his mind for reasons Harry still couldn't quite understand, Emeric was a lonely, sad boy who had nothing to be mad about. He was a hard-worker, a Hufflepuff if ever Harry saw one. This was the side of Emeric that had gotten close to Harry... and closer...

But he was mad! He was utterly insane, and no amount of rationalization could possibly change this. Harry was more confused than ever; he began rubbing his face with his hands in stress. He felt as though by killing Emeric, he had killed two people at once. Guilt, shame, and self-hatred entwined themselves around Harry's very being, crushing him steadily when he reflected that he had murdered the lonesome boy he once knew. But as for the crazed man who had broken through the surface of Emeric's normal state, Harry felt as though there had been reason to attack him. That side of Emeric could easily have done worse things, if Harry hadn't fought back...

Harry didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything at all to do with Emeric. Towards the end of his life (and perhaps secretly before that) Emeric was far from sane – Harry had to remember this, and nothing more. He wasn't the gentle, harmless man Harry thought he knew during their work together. It had all been lies, a ruse. Harry had a right to kill Emeric... He would only have caused more pain, as Tom suggested. Harry had killed a murderer, not an innocent boy. Emeric had been obsessed, not in love...

Harry didn't need to do much more than to think of Tom to see the difference between Emeric's obsession and how love really was. For real love, Tom was going to stay with him forever, was going to continue protecting him and loving him with everything he had, just like Harry would to Tom. Emeric had used Unforgivable Curses against Harry, he had gone into bursts of unexplained rage for nothing, had tried to kidnap him, to force him into a relationship. Tom was the love of Harry's life... It made Harry wonder sadly if, for Emeric, he had been the same thing...

Harry felt so much joy thinking about Tom, being with him, being close to him... It filled his heart with ecstasy to just think about staying by his side forever, never having to part with the one true thing he loved... Because he had already lost all else he loved...

Without questioning it too harshly, Harry reminded himself that Tom wasn't to blame for many deaths directly. In the end, he hadn't killed a lot of people, which was always a little surprising. Dumbledore, for one, was responsible for the death of many, and other people – Death Eaters and Order Members alike – had taken part in killing others, with or without meaning to. It was a lot to do with Snape and Pettigrew that Harry's parents had died, anyway. No one, not one person, had been innocent in the wizarding wars.

The fact that Tom had only murdered for Horcruxes told Harry that, after everything, Tom wasn't killing for pleasure, surely. Harry had thought of this only recently. In the eyes of a man who truly believed himself genius, it was almost no surprise that Tom would quicken inevitable death in others to gain immortality. At the expense of the father and grandparents who would have hated him as much as he hated them anyway, Tom had traded their lives for the ability to keep learning forever, to stay always with that which he loved, to fulfil his dreams (or destiny, as he thought of it), and to be renown for his sheer, unquestionable greatness.

That was it, Harry thought suddenly. Tom was just taking precautions to protect his own greatness, in fear and distrust of those around him. The war would be accidental, a fight made against a wizard who had more power than others were comfortable with. All those fighters who would be be killed shouldn't have fought at all, the witches and wizards who got in the way should have known, the families that were to be hunted down and ripped apart for voicing their thoughts... the innocent Muggles unaware of what was happening... slaughtered in their own homes and cursed to do things for a dark wizard's pleasure that they could never understand...

Harry felt sick. He switched from seemingly understanding to suddenly hating himself in an instant. Trying to rationalize the massacre of thousands of innocent witches, wizards and Muggles was a new low. People who had done nothing wrong morally – children who had been left on their own, if not taunted and harmed in ways Harry shuddered to think about – can't have suffered for merely getting in the way of a genius. They had found themselves in the midst of a forceful, needless war. A war, moreover, that should not have started at all...

"Jonathan?" Nott was standing in the doorway of Harry's sitting room. It wasn't clear how long he had been there for, but it couldn't have been for long. Harry hoped not, anyway.

"Hey," Harry greeted, sitting up a little straighter.

"I was just leaving," Nott said. His bright eyes stared back at Harry, but there was no telling what his thoughts were. "Since the training with Tom is almost complete, there's no need for me to stay here anymore."

After a slight pause, Harry nodded, indicating he had been informed of this already. Tom wanted to have both houses alone with Harry, which wasn't a bad idea in his opinion.

"I thought I should say goodbye, anyway," Nott carried on, filling the silence. "Even though... well, we don't talk much anymore."

Harry was taken aback by this claim. He tried to think when he last spoke to Nott, and how often... Admittedly, he hadn't been much in the mood for conversation these last few weeks, not since Emeric's death. He was sure he hadn't stopped talking to Nott completely, however...

"I've been busy," Harry said. This wasn't a lie, but guilt was ripping at him, trying to catch hold of him for reasons he couldn't understand.

"I know."

Nott almost looked sad, but Harry didn't know why. He sat in a state of continued confusion, feeling sorrow creeping up on him too. But why? There was nothing to be sad about. Harry was beginning to feel paranoid and he regretted Nott knowing Occlumency so well. Those bright eyes saw something they didn't like, Harry could feel it as they bore into him.

"I heard some rumours," Nott mentioned slowly. He was cautious, which wasn't usual behaviour towards Harry. "Someone tried to get to you in that battle. You fought them."

Is this was it was about, Harry wondered? Emeric's death? It seemed unrelated, somehow, yet it was all that fitted. Harry wanted to be sceptical about it, but it was difficult. The idea that Nott disapproved of all this, as well as that he was acting peculiar about it, confused Harry about the emotions that were flooding over him...

"I heard you killed him," Nott mentioned.

"Yeah, I..." Harry couldn't finish his sentence. As much as he tried to pretend this information was worth nothing more than a light comment of agreement, he couldn't do it. Silence is better than to speak revealing words, Tom had always told him, and beyond this he was scared that by letting his voice out, what he was feeling would come pouring out too.

Nott's voice was quiet when he asked, "Why?"

This, beyond all else, guilted Harry. Nott was genuinely grieved by recent events, Harry could tell by the subtle air of hopelessness that leaked through his soft expression. "It was a mistake."

Harry wasn't sure if Nott believed him – he wasn't sure if he even believed _himself_ with these words, but somehow he cared to say it anyway.

"Well... if you ever need someone to talk to... I'm not far away."

To this, Harry had no response. As much as he wanted to believe (for the sake of simplicity) that Nott meant this as an offhand comment, the claim was too unusual for Harry to ignore. The sincerity in Nott's eyes was alarming. At first it sounded as though he was attempting to take on an authoritative role, but the more Harry thought about this the less it made sense. The only reasonable explanation was that Nott had meant this as nothing more than a friend... and this, more than anything, bewildered Harry.

"Well, I should go."

"Right..."

After a moment, a smile broke though Nott's serious expression. It was short-lived. It seemed as though it had occurred to him, in just that moment, that this wasn't the end. "I'll see you around, Jonathan."

"See you around."

With that, he was gone. Harry listened to the sound of him leaving, mulling the conversation over in his mind to try and make sense of it. Unsuccessfully, he sat in solitude.

He felt empty. All of the happiness he had felt earlier from thinking about Tom was long gone, replaced by a sensation that the world was crashing down around him. He regretted that he hadn't once mentioned Lestrange; Nott was probably still struggling to accept the loss of his best friend, the boy he loved, and Harry hadn't even considered it. What was worse, Nott asked if _he_ was alright, of all things, when Harry was in no need of reassurance. He wasn't alone like Nott was, he wasn't caught up in lonesome sorrow... He had Tom to talk to, anyway.

Harry wasn't sure why he was thinking about this, or anything else related to the odd encounter. Nott was just a follower of Tom, and of him, so it didn't matter what he meant by this confusing farewell. Likely, all of his words had been said in politeness, nothing more. The things he said were probably only odd because he was in need to find something, anything, to talk about. Harry was sure that Nott would have brought up Lestrange if the thought was bothering him, anyway... But then, why did all of this still make Harry feel bad?

Before much time passed, Harry heard his front door opening. For a fleeting second he let himself believe that it was Nott; he felt a sense of relief at the idea of being able to talk about Lestrange, or about why Nott had acted so odd in his goodbye, yet this was all just Harry's imagination running wild. A familiar voice ask after him, saying his real name, and soon Tom appeared in the doorway to Harry's sitting room.

"Good evening," Tom greeted softly, smiling. "How are you?"

"I'm – good," Harry managed, distracted by his thoughts, "a bit tired though... I suppose today was busy?"

"That assumption would be correct," Tom said, still looking very content. He sat down besides Harry, close to him on the couch they now shared. "A lot has been accomplished, as always."

Harry was slightly discomforted by the sharp grin that spread across Tom's face at these words. "I see that Occlumency with Nott and Lestrange is finally ending."

"Yes indeed," Tom confirmed in a light tone, "they did better with their work that I could have hoped so soon."

"You seem impressed by it," Harry remarked. "That doesn't happen often."

"I'm merely satisfied. Since they accomplished Occlumency on schedule it leaves us with far more time to be together, alone."

This made Harry smile a little. "So this is about what _you_ want then, not about what they accomplish?"

"You could say that," Tom said, leaning in a little closer with a smirk, "because I do want you, very much..."

"Very funny," Harry said. He moved away from Tom a little.

"What makes you think I'm joking?" Tom inquired. His hand was rubbing up and down Harry's leg slowly, lightly. "We have all the time in the world together, to do as we please..."

"I'd rather hear about your day first."

Harry was half afraid that Tom might get annoyed at him, but far from it Tom was suddenly laughing. Harry hadn't heard him laugh like this in a long while. "Something rather amusing happened this morning. I'm sure it will be of interest to you – here, I brought the_ Daily Prophet _just for you."

Harry's stomach clenched in fear of some morbid, depressing story being the headline of the newspapers yet again to Tom's amusement, but he found he was wrong. The _Prophet's_ big story was over some political debates that Harry had very little interest in, but his eyes didn't have to focus on this for very long. What caught his attention was a less important story on the cover, accompanied by a small photograph of a wizard he recognised very well, smiling smugly and dumbly up at him.

"Avery?" he asked in disbelief.

"The very same."

There was a short caption next to the young Death Eater's photo that read: '_British hero fights off Dark Wizards; saves small German town._' Harry began turning the pages, silent in disbelief as he tried to find the story. He fell across a page that had yet another photograph of Avery looking proud and (to Harry's eyes) completely bewildered and amused that people could make such a huge mistake in assuming that he was some sort of hero. Harry began reading.

_In what officials have described as a 'lucky turn of events' for one British holidaymaker visiting northern Germany for the weekend, Gethin Avery fought and defeated three wizards who are currently under questioning for attempting murder after an attack on a small wizarding village late last night. Ministry officials were called to investigate unusual magical activity that arose fear in the close wizard residences, who witnessed fighting between the three unnamed wizards in question against the British Hero. _

"_They just came out of nowhere," describes Avery readily when questioned about the traumatic event. "They knew a load of foreign spells – Dark Magic, like – but it didn't scare me."_

_When asked about the possibility of these Wizards having connections to the recently defeated Gellert Grindelwald, Avery responded, "Oh, definitely. Some of those spells I saw, you wouldn't of known them if you weren't a part of some Dark Arts group. But I figured, if they were weak enough to attack a harmless village like that, anyone up for a fight would be able to stop them."_

_The public is eagerly awaiting more updates on this shocking story, as investigators are looking into the uncanny spells that were used against Gethin and a number of Ministry workers in the three criminals' desperation for escape. It is currently unknown what drove the three Dark Wizards to start their attacks upon the cheery little village..._

"I don't believe this," Harry said, shaking his head. "The _Daily_ _Prophet_ thinks that Avery is some sort of hero?"

"It was the best explanation he could give the German Ministry for why he was there," Tom informed him, appearing amused. "The Ministry didn't think twice about it, not knowing that Lestrange, Rosier, and Mulciber fled the scene before the villagers caught sight of them. Avery made this all up, being Avery, and for once the story fooled someone. There was enough truth in it to last, even if Avery played the heroic victim in the _Prophet's_ tale."

"And people believe this?"

"They have no reason not to. No one suspects Avery of taking part in any sort of illegal activity."

"This is mad," Harry said, watching Avery smirk up at him from the paper. "Isn't it a bad thing that people back in England will hear about this?"

"It's irrelevant, no one will know that Avery is in fact a part of another Dark Arts group fighting against Grindelwald's people." Tom smiled. "There's nothing to suggest it, and Avery is now in favour of the public, whilst Grindelwald's followers are being thought about badly once again. Since people are reminded of them again with this, it will only be harder for them to continue operating well."

"This is brilliant."

Tom was blatantly happy to think about all these things falling into place.

"You seem optimistic today," Harry mentioned. Tom had been this way for weeks, and though it did nothing to stop his relentlessness towards his devoted followers, Harry felt more comfortable in the joy Tom shed upon him. He was making Tom very happy.

"It makes me see the possibility of us defeating Grindelwald's people soon, very soon," Tom said. "By sending our followers out as often as we can within the next few weeks, this war could be won by the next full battle we request from our enemies."

"That soon?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"There's nothing to stop us now. The only reason we haven't defeated them fully is because of a greater number of fighters on their side, but now we've levelled it out. If they don't surrender now, we will defeat them all."

"There are still loads of them," Harry pointed out, "we're hardly level in numbers."

"In numbers of wizards, yes, we are a smaller group still. However, with the addition of Dragons as well as Inferi, I would say there is no chance that Grindelwald's people could win."

Harry had forgotten about the Inferi. He tried to push the thought out of his mind, but it was difficult. He forgot what he was supposed to say to Tom now. He was going to mention that there was still a chance of failure, but he thought better of it.

"There's something else I wish to discuss, however," Tom said.

"Yeah?"

"It has been on my mind a lot lately that there were only ever two reasons for us to be here in Albania: for the Diadem, and to raise Dragons, before fighting Grindelwald's people. Now, the Diadem has been long since found and has been put to it's use, and our remaining Dragons are not only fully grown and trained adequately, but are also helping us to quickly defeat the wrath of Grindelwald's remaining followers."

"So, you want to move away from Albania?"

"There's no reason for us to stay much longer."

"Where will we move? Back to England?"

"England will welcome us back again warmly, I dare say."

"If we do defeat Grindelwald's people soon, that is," Harry added.

Tom smiled. "We will."

Despite the fact that Harry believed these words mostly, he added, "You can't know that for sure."

"We've had so much success ever since our last battle," Tom reminded him, "there's not a doubt in my mind by this point. We fought them greatly that night and are continuing to do so. You fought them so well, in spite of the risks..."

Tom's hand found it's way to Harry's, where it began touch all of his fingers, caressing him. He was watching Harry with pure desire in his eyes. His hand slid from Harry's hand back to his leg before he seemed able to resist.

"Once all of this is behind us, once Grindelwald's people are gone," he said in a low voice, "we will be free..."

Harry made no response. Tom was getting closer to him, leaning in more, as he continued to rub his thigh.

"We'll have everything we ever wanted," Tom whispered, his breath brushing against Harry's ear now. Harry closed his eyes. "I'll give you anything..."

His voice had become strong with desire. He continued to caress Harry, exploring other parts of him now, while he kissed Harry's neck. He soon moved to his mouth instead, however, finding it more desirable to feel Harry's response in this way. Harry could tell Tom's desire was to have him as soon as possible, he could feel it in the way he touched him, the way he spoke, the way he kissed. But somehow, Harry didn't feel as much the same way.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked when Harry pulled away.

"I – I dunno..."

Tom watched him silently for a second, appearing a bit annoyed.

"I was... well, just thinking about Macnair."

Tom' was alert now. "Why?"

In truth, this was just a cover for the real problem: Harry couldn't find the will to go through with intercourse these days. "It's just, the way that they attacked him... it wasn't fair..."

"Please tell me you aren't comparing sex with me to rape?"

"No, that's not it," Harry said. "But with what happened to Macnair, it makes me think about how Emeric would have done the same thing to me. If he had managed to capture me... if he had taken me somewhere else..."

Tom stared blankly at Harry's obvious discomfort and sorrow for the whole ordeal. "But he didn't."

"He could have..."

Tom was unsure why any of this was being talked about. He couldn't understand why Harry was feeling this way, but despite this he attempted reassurance. "I would have searched for you. I would have found you."

"It might have been too late, or –"

"It wouldn't have been. I would never let it go that far."

Harry averted his eyes, wishing that he could just believe all this without question. The idea of Emeric still haunted him, and the idea of what he could have done scared him even more.

"You've been this way for weeks," Tom commented.

"Yeah, well..."

"Emeric is dead. Nevermore will he be able to chase after you – you're safe now, Harry."

Harry didn't respond. He couldn't help it, and couldn't deal with talking about Emeric's death. He wished he hadn't brought it up, he could have avoided this conversation entirely. He felt tense with the entire situation, just waiting for the day when he wouldn't be able to hide his emotions about it any longer.

"Don't get him and I confused," Tom said.

Harry looked back at him now, shocked by these words.

As soon as their eyes met it seemed as though Tom wanted to be sure he kept his attention. He raised a hand to touch Harry's face, placing his fingers beneath his chin softly. "I am not Emeric. I will never do as he did."

Harry tried to shake Tom off, not wanting to go through with this. "I just –"

"Don't look away."

Harry fell silent, looking at Tom in confusion. His eyes appeared so soft with desire, it wasn't hard to keep focused on them, in truth. His other hand was back on Harry's leg.

"Tom, I..."

"Just don't look away..."

It was difficult to think about anything else as he stared into Tom's eyes, feeling his hand against him, listening to the sound of his breathing. Apparently Tom enjoyed watching for Harry's reactions to the way he touched him, because he seemed to be enjoying this greatly. He had completely convinced Harry that sex wasn't such a bad idea, and that he didn't have to think about things that worried him... Tom's hand was moving closer to him, finding that he had indeed succeeded in striking desire in the other boy.

Harry's head rolled back to rest against the soft couch-back behind him before he could help it, as he let out a long sigh of craving. "Tom..."

He could feel Tom moving, getting into a better position by sitting on top of him now. With the excuse to, Tom began kissing him deeply, his breath caught and his determination to make this work evident. Harry could feel Tom's arm next to his head, pressed against the high-backed couch, ensuring their closeness. Tom was breathing against him, trying to regain control.

"_I want you to look at me,_" he hissed.

With effort, Harry opened his eyes. Tom was a dark shape hovering over him in this already dimly-lit room, but he could still make out those dark eyes watching him, half-closed as they stared down from above. All Harry knew was that he wanted Tom, and wanted to get lost in being with him in this way. His eyes wished to close in desire, but he continued looking up at Tom's face.

"_Anything you want,_" he was hissing once more, "_I will give it to you. Just don't look away..._"

– X –

Even as days passed, Tom continued acting as gleefully towards Harry as he had since the night of Emeric's death. Any time Harry so much as entered a room Tom would stop all he was doing to greet him, his smile wide and his consideration for the watchful Knights around him almost non-existent. Harry had been met with warm welcomes from Tom in the past, yet not this often, and not quite this openly. When Tom wanted to, he could make anyone who pleased him feel like the only person in the room, he could make them feel like a star.

The steadily more obvious favouritism that Tom was showing towards Harry hadn't gone unnoticed by the Knights of Walpurgis, however. Lestrange for one still cared deeply about it, even if it was clear that understanding Harry's position in Tom's life stopped him from wishing so avidly that he could get as close to his leader; he wanted nothing more than to be an appreciated follower. Other Knights understood it more blandly that Harry was being praised for his help in the recent battle, and although Harry tried determinedly to not think about it, he had a sinking fear that the Knights believed they would have to murder more to become Tom's favourite.

"Jonathan can't have killed as many people as Mulciber," Dolohov said in a low voice one evening, after a long meeting with the Knights and Tom. Harry knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but these words had caught his attention before he could help it. "Voldemort thinks Mulciber's filth, and he's killed more than any of us lot, even."

"Then it can't be about how many wizards are killed," Lestrange's drawling voice responded. "I'm telling you, it must be about _who_ is killed, why, and how."

"What's the difference?"

"The difference, you bumbling idiot, is that Tom sees it as degrading for us to kill anyone in sight like Macnair does. He praises the right kills – Jonathan succeeded with slaughtering that wizard in the last battle."

Harry tensed a little at this, not much appreciating the wording.

"Fuck off, Tom don't give a shit about who's killed," Dolohov slurred. "I reckon Jonathan just killed more people we don't know about."

"That could be true," another said.

"As if we'll ever know. He won't tell us anything."

Harry had to try hard to avoid thinking about this overheard conversation as more days passed. He didn't like any of what the Knights were talking about, yet he was in no position to do anything about it, besides to try and ignore their words. He tried to remind himself that they all believed he was already as much a murderer as Tom anyway, so nothing had changed. He wouldn't, however, refrain from reading the minds of the followers during some of the meetings they sat through together, or at other times when he had to talk to the Knights. He felt a dire need to know what they were thinking.

Currently not a Knight was in sight, despite the fact that Harry was standing in their building, ready for a gathering that was to be held in one of the meeting rooms. Although he hadn't been informed on what this meeting was supposed to be about, he had a bad feeling that it might be for something he wasn't quite keen about taking part in.

"So, what'd you bring me here?" Harry asked curiously as he walked alongside Tom. He didn't know how to ask this slyly.

"With our recent success," Tom began, "there have been a lot of new gatherings, since we have the time to meet in larger groups now."

"But what for? To discuss plans?"

"Not exactly."

They were heading for one of the medium-sized halls, so duelling practice was ruled out. They only had enough room for that in the biggest rooms, or outside. "Has there been a recent change?"

"I would have told you about it before, if that were it."

"Did you capture someone?" He almost stopped himself from asking this at all.

"No. You needn't worry yourself by guessing why I might have brought you here, it isn't because I have some dark deed for you to take part in, or anything of the sort." He smiled. "I merely want you to attend a lesson with a few of the other Knights, for once."

In honesty, this was one of the things that had been worrying him a little. It wouldn't be at all as bad as watching a captivated follower of Grindelwald, but learning the Dark Arts for combat did make Harry a little uncomfortable. "You could have said it before..."

"I didn't want to scare you off."

Harry thought privately that he had been right to think about this in advanced.

As if guessing Harry's thoughts from the silence, Tom stopped walking and stepped in front of him, annoyed. Tom's last words had blatantly been a test, and Harry hadn't passed. "Why are you opposed to learning how to defend yourself?"

"I don't need the Dark Arts to defend me," Harry commented, surprised but ready for this argument. "I know how to fight."

"You don't know how to fight well enough." There was real concern behind Tom's annoyance, which made Harry wonder if he knew about the long fight he had faced before Emeric's death. "You must learn how to defend yourself as well as possible, to fight well."

"You've taught me more than any of the others."

They both knew this wasn't saying much, but Harry stood by it anyway. It was the truth.

"And anyway, I thought you said it was getting too dangerous to allow me to be a part of the Dark Arts lessons?"

"It was getting too dangerous, yet only because I had to teach so many in so little time," Tom explained. "Now I have time for smaller lessons for you – and now it is more important than ever that you become an even greater fighter."

Ignoring the complement, Harry thought about this. "You've been teaching me privately at home. What changed?"

"I want you to practice magic with the others."

Harry wasn't quite sure how he felt about all this. He understood that there wasn't anything harmful in learning how to defend himself, but old reluctance to agree to take part in the Dark Arts was hold him back. He didn't want to know what certain spells and fields of magic were for, what they did, why and how they were used... Admittedly Harry _was_ interested, but he refused to start learning the worst parts of the Dark Arts because of curiosity alone.

"It is of great importance for you to understand it, Harry."

This made Harry think of Dumbledore. Even he had learnt about Dark Magic, despite all the good things he did throughout his lifetime. Dumbledore had guessed the magic Voldemort used for the cave, he had understood how Horcruxes worked – he knew it so well that he knew Harry himself was a Horcrux. He had doubtlessly learnt so much by even the age of seventeen thanks to Gellert Grindelwald. Not because of a desire to be a Dark Lord, but because of curiosity, and love...

"Well," Harry began, unsure, "it wouldn't hurt to try..."

"It'd be great," Tom said, smiling at him now. "It will be worth it."

Harry smiled back a little bit, not because he agreed but because he enjoyed seeing Tom so happy. He felt his hand being clasped, so he entwined his fingers around Tom's without hesitation. They couldn't touch like this much for long, of course, but it was enough to convey shared understanding and affection. Harry felt a lot less bad about the idea of joining one of Tom's lessons as their hands parted. Tom turned wordlessly to lead the way.

Before they had taken so much as two steps, however, a noise made them stop. From far back along the corridor they stood upon came an ear-splitting screech, which made Harry freeze in shock. The scream carried on and on, making Harry think first of torture and second of pure wrath and frustration – from what, he had no idea. There were other, normal, voices trying to yell over the sound of the screeching, to little avail.

"Shut it up, won't you?"

"Well I can't fucking stop it, can I!"

"You're not doing it right, you have to – Stop provoking it! That isn't going to work, Dolo – !"

Then, quite as suddenly as it began, the noise stopped. Tom had risen his wand, shooting a spell to the distant door to close off the sound as well as any sight of what Dolohov and the others were doing. Harry thought he had heard that screech once before, at some dark time long ago, but he couldn't quite place when, where, or why.

"What was that?"

"I merely asked the Knights to move a few creatures," Tom said shortly. "It's nothing to worry about."

Harry wanted to ask more about it, but Tom appeared in no mood for such delays. It made him wonder more what might be going on in that room, but he had to abandon his curiosity. Tom was walking away and he got himself distracted easily by wondering what lessons Tom might have in store for him.

When they entered the meeting hall, ten other Knights stood waiting for them patiently. Among them Harry caught sight of Gonson, Lestrange, Mulciber, Dorn, Nott, and Weiß at first glance, all gathered to a wall to one side. As soon as they saw Tom enter the room, they drew away from their idle conversations, giving him their fullest attention. They had been practising with Tom on their own for hours before this, but it didn't occur to them that this was any reason to be less formal to their Lord.

"Now that Jonathan has arrived," Tom began without hesitation, "it would be wise for me to inform you all that, for the remainder of this lesson, you will all be the test subjects for a few pieces of magic that I want Jonathan to learn. This is, naturally, why I have kept you all here so late. Pray you should not dissatisfy me in your attempts to follow my request well..."

Confusion was clear on the faces of many of the Knights, but not one of them dared to make a comment on this. In an attempt to politely ask what was going on, Lestrange said, "I thought Jonathan was taking private lessons with you, my Lord?"

"Today I wish to teach him something that requires a third wizard for the magic to be tested upon," Tom explained. "It is magic that can, with practice, be used cunningly in battle. I would have requested only one of you to join this lesson, if it weren't for the fact that one wizard alone might fall too quickly to be of any further use."

The Knights visibly tensed. It was clear that they were fearful of the fact that Tom could very well be referring to magic powerful enough to leave them completely robbed of energy and strength. They were well aware of the fact that whatever this magic was, it was soon going to be used against Grindelwald's people by Harry. Moreover, they were all aware that Harry had so recently murdered an enemy of theirs.

"Are there any volunteers?" Tom asked, somewhat mockingly.

None of the Knights responded.

"Very well. I'll leave the ten of you to decide amongst yourselves who should go first."

With that, Tom left his followers to talk it over awkwardly. None of them wanted to be thought of as weak, yet none of them liked the idea of being the first to see what would happen when they stepped forwards to face Harry defencelessly. Leading Harry across the room to where the Knights wouldn't hear them, Tom evidently wished to explain what he had to do.

"Why don't you want them to hear?" Harry asked in a low voice when they were out of earshot.

"It involves Legilimency," Tom explained softly. "If I were to explain that to them now, it could only end badly. Now..."

They stopped walking and turned to each other. Tom took a moment to compose his thoughts.

"What I am about to teach you is both a very complex and very useful piece of magic. It is an advanced form of Legilimency, one that is difficult to perfect, but if mastered right it will be amongst the most useful pieces of magic you may have learnt from me so far."

"It sounds complicated."

"It is, but I'm confident you will be able to comprehend it. As I'm sure you will have already guessed by the mention of Legilimency, this spell is possible only through the ability to fully read an enemy's mind. The idea is that, through a series of pinpointing the most sensitive areas of your victim's mind, you will be able to evoke powerful emotions within them, to manipulate and control their state of mind for better or for worse. Through dragging their focus-point back to certain thoughts to provoke darker emotions – sorrow, loneliness, dejection, fear – you will be weakening them from the inside."

Harry was a little taken aback. "I... I don't know if I can do this spell, Tom."

"I assure you, it isn't as difficult as it sounds. It is one of the simplest forms of possession, even if it is the most complex form of Legilimency you will have learnt so far."

The idea of of this being considered a form of possessing someone made Harry feel a little uneasy. "But I thought you said you wanted to teach me magic that I could fight with?"

"That's what will make this an interesting lesson," Tom said, his tone light enough to tell Harry of his enthusiasm. He had doubtlessly combined magic in such a way that it became somewhat of his own invention. "You see, normally this type of magic would be learnt as a rudimentary platform on which to torment those who are already under physical restraint; it would be a subtle form of torture to constrain the mind. But the way you are to learn it first, the way I am to teach it to you, is through focusing on using it as a destructive force, as a way to ensure that all of your enemy's abilities are affected by pure emotion, once you learn here how to preform the spell with ease."

As much as he didn't want to think about it, Harry couldn't deny that this was a wise use for a spell. It was fascinating, purely captivating, and no amount of guilt from his own mind could stop him from seeing this clearly. It didn't seem like a particularly sinister spell, but as often with things in relation to the Dark Arts it was nothing more than intention that made this evil.

"The true brilliance of this magic arises from the fact that you will also have time to fight your enemies in other ways," Tom mentioned. "Legilimency takes a lot of concentration, but due to it being almost always entirely through mind-power, you will have flexibility to fight if you work hard enough. What is more, when an enemy is soon weakened by your spell they will be almost entirely unable to fight – assuming you do the spell well enough, and if you avoid them feeling strong emotions such as hate, love, hope, courage, happiness, and confidence."

"This is brilliant... Did you think of this piece of magic yourself?" Harry asked, knowing this was likely.

"I did indeed," Tom said, grinning. He seemed satisfied to say it.

"I just hope I'll be able to manage it."

"You will," Tom assured him. "Now, allow me to explain what you should avoid, and how to avoid it..."

Tom's explanation was complex, but it only took a few minutes for him to go over every detail before he felt confident enough for the lesson to begin properly. The Knights appeared to have decided who was going to face the wrath of this lesson first, because when Harry and Tom turned back to the other side of the room they saw Gonson standing a little further on from his fellow Knights, waiting for the two of them with pride.

"Well, well, Gonson," Tom began softly, "I must complement you on your bravery this evening."

"I'm always eager to see what new magic you've considered worthy of teaching, my Lord."

Tom appeared amused, perhaps feigning it. "Let us hope my new experiment works out well for you."

Harry was standing opposite Gonson by this point, around the centre of the room. Tom stood along the same wall the Knights, except he was closer to Harry. He planned to watch the process of this magic closely, Harry knew, to see how it would turn out.

"Now, if you would raise your wand, Jonathan..."

Harry did so, all the while focusing on accessing Gonson's thoughts to the best of his abilities. Legilimency was so emotion-based in it's natural form, Tom had assured him confidently that it meant this wasn't going to be difficult to succeed at, to manipulate the emotions being used.

"Begin."

Concentrating hard now not only on Gonson's thoughts, but also on the words Tom had told him to speak, Harry began to chant, "_Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi... Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..._"

The room was very quiet. All of the Knights waited in growing apprehension, watching the wizards before them with a burning fixation encouraged by fear. It helped none of them to listen to Harry speak this enchantment at a very slow, very entrancing pace as he went over every syllable, careful not to mistake it. It was pulling the entire room into a circle, into a sort of trance.

"_Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi.."_

Harry was begging to latch onto the emotions that were running through Gonson, which were very strong with fear that it was almost too easy. The low hum of Harry's voice was only adding to Gonson's sense of growing unease, which Harry could focus on easily now. This wouldn't even be a case of forcing the current emotions to fade into darker ones, Gonson was readily negative in his thoughts. All Harry had to do was exaggerate them more...

Harry felt as though he was literally pushing Gonson's emotions at a slow and difficult, yet hugely possible, pace. Like a ghost, like a phantom, he was commanding Gonson's own subconscious to be the shelter of his interference, to allow dark feelings to rise to the surface of the Knight's mind with no sure cause, striking further panic within him. There were no thoughts given to Gonson for him to understand what was happening, but already it was clear from his panicked eyes that he could feel Harry possessing him.

"H-how are you doing this?" he demanded.

"_Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..._"

It was all about balance. He didn't have to do much more than drag Gonson's focus-point back to the depths of negativity, nudging him into place in the rare occurrence, here, that his emotions would try and rise up again to optimism.

"This isn't funny," Gonson said. "Tell me what you're doing!"

"_He's too angry_," Harry heard Tom whisper from besides him. In his concentration he hadn't heard him arrive. "_Anger means the will to fight..._"

Focusing more on where he was with Gonson's state of mind, Harry began to work out where sorrow was instead. He could see the slow fade on Gonson's face as he slid past frustration, worry, fear, terror, hysteria, sadness, then finally sorrow, edging towards despair. Just from feeling those emotions sour through him without real reason, Gonson was already being tormented wholly. Different focus points of emotions could mix, but sorrow, random sorrow is what Harry knew would weaken him best.

He wasn't wrong. Not a minute passed before the sorrow had taken full affect. Gonson was shaking his head in disbelief, confusion, and fear, which was being provoked from Harry's focus on sadness. His eyes had welled up with unexplained tears as if he were a child once more, whilst he stared at Harry with a look of utter helplessness. Before Harry knew the Knight was weeping for what must have looked and felt like no reason at all. Harry had struck something within Gonson that caused a long series of forgotten sorrows to crash down upon him. He fell to the ground in utter hopelessness, crumpled and defeated.

Harry stopped the magic. He felt suddenly horrible as he watched the sobbing Knight before him, not only because Gonson had stood so proudly and so readily before, but also because a sense of desire for the magic to continue had gripped Harry throughout the process of this spell. This was often the case with the Dark Arts for Harry, and it made him feel dreadful. It was a feeling of addiction and of craving that made Harry hate himself, yet somehow he couldn't quite overcome it...

Tom was walking away from Harry, passing him without so much as a glance as his eyes fixed on the fallen Knight. Gonson sat hunched over in his own tears, staring off into space in total confusion and trauma, as well as embarrassment for what had happened.

"You've done well, Jonathan," Tom said softly. "Very well..."

He was standing above Gonson now, staring down at him even as the Knight continued to avoid eye contact.

"Although Gonson was already a weakened victim, and an easy target to begin this spell on due to many factors, this magic will come in useful to continue to do what we just witnessed... as well as many things similar. The goal here was to leave the victim in a state of such unhappiness that they _want_ to be defeated, they want nothing more than to cry endlessly, clutching at their own painful chests in agony..."

Still Gonson refused to look up. It looked as though he wanted nothing more in this moment than to simply disappear.

"What's the point though?" Mulciber asked from the crowd. "So some idiot like Gonson can cry over a spell that didn't even fucking do anything to him?"

Many of the other Knights – being quite a bit brighter than Mulciber – tensed at these words, far from agreeing to his opinion on the matter. There was a long silence as Tom continued to stare at Gonson, thinking.

"Since you appear unable to comprehend even the general concept of this spell, Mulciber, perhaps you would be best off taking Gonson's place to feel the effects of the magic?"

"Alright then," Mulciber said, "and I'll tell you one thing, I won't be crying like a baby over nothin'."

Tom might not have heard Mulciber. He had reached a hand out to Gonson, and to Harry's surprise he tipped his follower's chin up, to make him look at him. To the other Knights this might have seemed an odd, even somewhat sinister, gesture of praise, but Harry understood that Tom was doing nothing more than examining the affects of the spell at a close range. When he saw what damage had been done, a smile crept upon his face, whilst a low tone of laughter sounded promptly from him.

"You're free to go now, Gonson," Tom informed the Knight as he stepped back, walking calmly towards Harry again, "you've done your work here."

Gonson was still embarrassed and uncomfortable even as he stood up to go, his place soon being taken by the seemingly prepared Mulciber.

"Let's do this, then."

"What shining confidence," Tom commented dryly. "Yet I cannot say that your readiness is quite as admirable as Gonson's was... We shall indeed begin, shortly."

The subtle insults behind Tom's words hadn't gone unnoticed by Mulciber. Harry wondered whether Tom was setting Mulciber up with anger to make it more of a challenge, to give Harry the difficulty of starting with irritation, rather than fear.

Macnair's soulless eyes continued to bore into Harry. Although he didn't have his wand at the ready, Macnair made no secret in his expression of utter brutality that he was prepared to fight if he needed to, yet in his thoughts he was sure that Gonson had merely fallen from the pressure of waiting for Harry's spell to actually hurt him. Although Harry wasn't intimidated in the least, Macnair was under the illusion that he was, when in reality Harry was suffering from a sickening sensation at the idea of having to preform this spell on Tom's Knights.

Tom, who was watching the battle from over Harry's shoulder, had but one piece of advice to give. In a low voice he said, "Search for Mulciber's doubt."

This was a wise idea, Harry thought. There was no denying that not a trace of any other weakening emotion would be found in the mind of someone like Mulciber. He rarely felt any truly moving emotion anymore.

"You may begin."

Harry raised his wand. In the moment he did so he saw a spark of alarm in Mulciber. "_Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi... Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..._"

But the alarm was fading quickly, since Mulciber was relieved to see there was no obvious affects of the magic so far. Harry focused harder, knowing it was his only lead into a weak part of Mulciber's mind. He had to be careful to avoid disrupting the rest of the deeply irritated, singeing mind. "_Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi... Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..._"

"We must all bear in mind that it is easier to perform this incantation when the victim is dreading it's arrival," Tom explained, "but nonetheless it is in no way simple. Even against an enemy oblivious to the entire process of the magic, Jonathan could gain a satisfactory reaction from them in a matter of minutes, to about the same degree as we watched Gonson suffer."

"This is bollocks," said Mulciber, "it don't even seem like anything's happening."

"Look at Jonathan, Mulciber. Don't get him distracted, now."

Reluctantly, and after what might have been the begging of a scowl, Mulciber turned back to Harry.

"_Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi... Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..._"

"Is that chanting, or do you just keep fucking up the spell?"

"Silence," Tom ordered.

"But he's the one who should shut up, can't even work do a non-verbal sp-"

"_Silencio_."

Mulciber's mouth kept on moving for a second before he realised Tom's spell. The idea of being forced to fall into silence annoyed him greatly, which didn't help Harry's quest to avoid agitating such anger... but then something changed. As the silence carried on, it became apparent that hearing Harry speak this incantation was unnerving Mulciber. He had only made fun of it to mask his fear, and this above all else was clear.

"_Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..._"

Mulciber shifted his position as the these words were repeated again and again, showing the building discomfort that he was going through. Harry tried, but couldn't latch onto this particular emotion, yet he knew that a better, purer feeling would finally be felt in Mulciber soon...

The room was dimmed and quiet as Harry spoke the words over in a loop, chanting them and having them echo back, surrounding everyone – Mulciber most importantly. Harry was aware of the fact that the Knight before him wanted very badly to look away from his unmoving eyes, but a mix of remembering Tom's instructions and feeling a deep sense of sudden fixation stopped him.

"_You're close to getting to him now,_" Tom hissed, making the action seem like a mere whisper to the others. "_Remember what he has done, Harry, it will help encourage you to find his weak spots. Unusually for common people, it will be hard to find a weakness like fear in Mulciber's mind. He has strengthened it with suppression, aggression, and a love for all that is evil..._"

"_Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..._"

"_Bring back memories._"

Harry was trying. The magic had been explained to him, but Mulciber was of a far higher difficulty level than Gonson had been. Flicking through Mulciber's mind, he tried to find the darkest part of it that he could. In honesty, this wasn't hard.

"_Show him why he should never question the power of weak emotion._"

Shadows and shatters of memories were making themselves clear as Harry dived into a dark part of Mulciber's mind. Flashes of violence more than anything were making themselves known from a part of the mind that was normally suppressed by the young Death Eater. Harry could feel the very energy with himself beginning to drain more clearly just by attempting to see such a rare part of another's mind. The memories held many emotions.

"_Show him his memory,_" was Voldemort's only instruction as he watched the process of Harry's magic. "_Any one of them - any memory that will strike the emotions we need to see..._"

Harry did what he was told. It was taking more effort than ever before, but he was determined to do it, driven by a sudden sense of revenge against the crimes Mulciber had committed, mixed with that low-burning, evident craving that soared within Harry's very veins when it came to these lessons. Mulciber suddenly seemed to crumple, in mind more than body, as the sharp piece of memory were dragged to the front of his mind, digging in deeply.

He was opening his mouth and widening his eyes suddenly, as if the memories were causing him physical pain, causing him to shout behind the strong silencing charm Tom had cast. This memory, so long suppressed, was striking emotion in Mulciber in quick succession, like the notes of a music box played twice their normal speed, plucking away at his array of forgotten feelings. It was playing a song in Mulciber's simple mind that he had chosen to ignore so long ago.

"_Choose one. Taunt him with it._"

Again, Harry followed his orders. The emotion he chose to exaggerate in Mulciber was fear, simple fear. It was horrific to watch him: a tall, muscular, strong wizard of the Dark Arts suddenly screaming at the top of his lungs without a sound, staring into Harry's eyes with a familiar expression of utter helplessness. His eyes were the eyes of a child, of a boy who had grown up so many years ago and who had changed into a soulless, brutal man, only to be suddenly broken for the first time. His adult shell had cracked, the pureness inside him shining through for the first time in years.

It was in a gesture that reeked of desire to witness the suffering of others when Tom raised his wand. He was breaking the silencing charm.

"AAAAAAAAAAUGH! AAAAAA–""

If the terrifying sight of Mulciber screaming without sound had been bad, it was nothing compared to this. The volume of his terror caused the ears of everyone in the room to split, whilst an odd sort of vibrating affect could be heard accompanying the burning pain. Everyone recoiled in some way the moment they heard it; Harry crashed into Tom, nearly causing them to fall over together, whilst many others had similar reactions, jumping back to the wall behind them, covering their ears, and staring with shocked faces at the Knight behind all of this. Mulciber had dropped to his knees in continuing agony, gripping his head with his hands as though he couldn't get away from his own mind.

"MAKE IT STOP! GET THEM AWAY FROM ME! DON'T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN, DON'T LET IT HAPPEN!"

"Tom!" Harry tried to shout over the sound of Mulciber. "TOM!"

"DON'T LET IT, DON'T LET I–"

When the shrieking ended, catching Mulciber's voice in the act of violent sobbing now, Harry's ears were ringing, numbed by the heavy attack that had been inflicted upon them. He stared at Mulciber, listening to the soft, high pitches in his ears. It took him a moment to realise it when Tom was walking towards the very centre of the room, to get a closer look at Mulciber. He didn't need to get very far beyond Harry. It was clear, even to the other Knights, how badly he was suffering. He was feeling real emotions again.

"This is better than I could have hoped," said Tom. He spoke softly, yet everyone heard him, despite their damaged ears. "Both the planning of the spell and the actual delivery of it.. It's perfection."

Nobody said a word. Mulciber had rolled onto his side to begin weeping there, his back to the other Knights. Harry had never seen such sadness from such a brutal man before. And it was all due to his magic... somehow, he had done all of this...

"Allow this, above all, to be a lesson on the weakness that every human is born with. Despite all your training, despite your physical and magical ability to help get you through the basic challenge we see in Grindelwald's people, let Mulciber today be a reminder to you all of the affects of weakening emotions... Fear, guilt, sorrow, loneliness, as well as stronger feelings of jealousy, emptiness, deep woe, frustration, hopelessness... and remorse, dear remorse, can all be used against you as a weapon..."

The Knights were stunned. They attempted to hide their disgust, worry, and fear as their eyes scanned over Macnair (who continued to wither, kick, and scream on the ground like a tormented child) even as Tom's back was turned to them. They didn't want to be picked next, or ever. To their relief, however, they got lucky.

"You may all leave," Tom said, turning to them once more. "You are of no more use to me this evening; Jonathan succeeded far more easily than I could ever hope with this new magic."

Harry couldn't help but feel happiness strike within him as Tom glanced at him, his expression full of pride. The craving for the Dark Arts that resided in Harry strengthened, somehow, at the sight. He felt deeply accomplished. He could tell Tom was overjoyed. He felt happy about this too, up until a moment that broke the chain, when he felt as though someone was looking at him.

He wasn't wrong; Nott was staring at him. His expression was blank, his eyes innocent yet toned down a little in this moment, as if a stifled sorrow had flooded him because of something he saw from Harry. No sooner had Harry seen this, however, Nott looked away, soon getting himself lost in the crowd of Knights.

A feeling of emptiness gripped Harry again.

"Mulciber, you leave too. Go get yourself sorted out."

Harry was confused by his own emotions, not just because Tom had talked of almost all emotions beyond anger being a weakness. It wasn't long before the room cleared. Soon, it was just Harry and Tom standing together.

"You did wonderfully," Tom said softly, once the room was quiet from fading footsteps. The door closed.

"It wasn't hard," Harry responded shortly.

"It was new magic," Tom reminded him, "it was a successful experiment, an exceedingly useful find."

"I never said it wasn't brilliant magic."

Tom smiled. "I'm thinking now that perhaps there is a way to lock a victim in a perpetual state of one exaggerated emotion. Evidently it carries on for longer than the spell itself with Gonson and Mulciber, but it could be improved. In much the same way that depression is said to lock it's victim in a state drawn to sorrow, a whole range of emotions could be focused on, could keep our enemies weakened..."

"This is a lot to think about," Harry mentioned, only mildly surprised. He reflected that this is probably how Tom would end up being the most skilled Legilimens the world will ever have seen; the subject fascinated him.

"It could go further into possessing victims," Tom said, his grin broadening even more, somehow. "There could be whole branches of magic for us to invent form this one successful discovery alone."

"Yeah..."

The smile faltered.

"It is – brilliant," Harry added.

This wasn't a lie, but his tone gave away his true thoughts. Tom wasn't amused. "Do you dislike the idea?"

"No," Harry said, lying this time, "It's not that."

"Then what is it? You seemed happy earlier."

"I was, earlier. It was... well, it was brilliant that I managed to get the work done so quickly, it felt great. But, I don't know anymore..."

This was a very vague answer; Harry was surprised Tom even attempted to understand it. "What don't you know?"

"It's just... It doesn't feel right."

"What doesn't?"

"Everything. All of that magic."

Tom's eyebrows were creased in concentration. "Is the magic flawed in some way?"

"No, not at all. I just feel like... like..."

Harry was twirling his wand between his fingers, looking down at it now as he tried to think what he was even saying. He had no way of explaining that he hated the feeling of performing the Dark Arts to Tom, it wouldn't make sense to him. He didn't know how he was supposed to talk himself out of this one.

"Is it your wand?"

Harry looked up. "What?"

"Your wand," Tom repeated, "Emeric's wand. Is this what this is about, does it bother you?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Yes," Harry said, seeing this as the perfect opportunity to stop Tom from truly knowing what he had meant. This wasn't a full lie anyway, he hated the feeling of Emeric's wand, especially for combat magic.

"If it stops you from appreciating magic, we should replace it. I could get you a replacement within the very hour if you'd be willing to change a Knight's wand for the wand you own now."

Harry wasn't sure about this – mainly due to fear of giving Emeric's Wand (a potential Elder Wand) to a Death Eater (which it might work a little _too_ well for for them). "I'm not sure..."

"Did you have a certain wand in mind?"

Harry thought about the Elder Wand. He remembered thinking about it, obsessing over the Deathly Hallows at one point, during his final year of Hogwarts with Tom. He had seen it before as a way to succeed, as the only clear path forwards to defeating Tom in the future. A lot had changed since then, of course, but Harry still saw the Elder Wand as a secure, safe item. It was something that would guide him on, something that would protect him. It always protected it's Masters, as it protected Dumbledore now, and as it... as it...

"I want Grindelwald's," said Harry suddenly.

"Grindelwald's wand?" Tom asked slowly, unsure.

"Yes."

There was a pause. Despite Tom's hesitance Harry was excited at the idea that he had found the perfect excuse to go chasing the Elder Wand without Tom even realising it. It fitting into his fake past, it made sense. It was a wand that Harry truly did want, at any rate.

"You are aware that, ever since Grindelwald's defeat, the wand in question has been under the ownership of no one other than Albus Dumbledore?"

"I know," Harry said in a rush, "but, if I'm going to bother getting a wand that isn't my own, it may as well be one I actually want."

"The wand chooses the wizard, Harry," Tom mentioned, perhaps quoting Olivander directly. "We can get one made for you; we can search through thousands of wands to find you a match, one that chooses you directly. Even if it is that you desire no other wand, I must warn and remind you that Grindelwald's may not accept you as it's master."

"Well, it probably works for Dumbledore, doesn't it?"

"Dumbledore was strong enough to conquer it."

"So I noticed," Harry responded. This made him wonder how Dumbledore had won against Grindelwald at all.. Despite the fact that Dumbledore had been faced with the greatest Dark Wizard of all history, the man who had gained so much power and who had caused so much pain that hundreds of witches and wizards had flocked to his potential downfall at the risk of their own lives and safety, Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald, fighting against the master of the Elder Wand...

Harry pushed the thought out of his mind. "Can't we can get it from him anyway? We're defeating Grindelwald too."

"We're fighting against Grindelwald indirectly."

"Loads of his followers now follow you, Tom," Harry pointed out.

"It would be difficult to get the wand from Dumbledore."

"I would really like that wand, Tom."

Tom shook his head. "It is exceedingly risky."

"It's the only wand I want," Harry said honestly. "If I just had that, I'd be completely set. We could work out a plan, we could set it all up until it's perfect – even if it takes months, I'd be willing to wait that long."

Tom was mute. He took some time to brood about it, blatantly going over everything that could go wrong. "You must truly want this wand."

"I do."

The thought seemed to drag Tom into a state of low spirits. "I would be risky. Very risky..."

Harry had a suspicion that Tom felt it was too dangerous, and his heart sank. He dreaded to think that a rejection might be the only response Tom could give him at this point. Harry wished Draco's wand hadn't snapped, so he could just use that one instead. Harry felt vulnerable thinking about Emeric's wand...

Then, out of nowhere, a gleam of excitement expressed itself through Tom's eyes. He had thought of an idea, and Harry was eager to hear it if it meant he could perhaps get the Elder Wand. "What is it?"

"I thought of something," Tom said. He was staring at Harry, thinking deeply now, as if he was sure of his idea whilst being unsure on how to present it.

"Yeah?"

"Yes..." Tom took a few steps closer to Harry. He took his hand. "I want you to have this wand, since you desire it. However, I don't want you to get hurt – I don't want you to end up getting into a terrible situation by getting caught by a wizard like Dumbledore."

"So?" Harry pressed.

"So, I want to make sure you'll be safe."

"I will be," Harry assured him, "We can plan it out, we can set it all up."

"No, that isn't good enough."

Harry was confused. "Then, I can't have the wand?"

"You can," Tom told him, "you definitely can... but there is something I'd like very, very much for you to do first..."

Harry was about to ask what he had to do first, but he stopped. That look in Tom's eyes told him everything he needed to know. The mad, wild happiness had returned as Tom relished in the glory at having finally found a way to rationally encourage Harry to take part in a certain area of the Dark Arts... "Tom, I... I don't want to make a Horcrux."

"But once you are safe, once you are immortal," Tom began, evidently expecting this, "you can do anything you like. I will help you with anything, with everything. All that I'm asking is that you join me in staying alive forever, to be together, to love each other forevermore."

"Tom -"

"You already killed Emeric." At this point Harry tried to back away, but Tom held onto his hand. "Your soul has already cracked – why not go through with being with me forever, now? Why not use it to your advantage, to be sure that you are as safe from danger as I am, as safe from the clutches as death as you can possibly be, so you and I, Harry, can do _wondrous_ things together?"

Tom's tone was so confide, so reassuring that Harry found it difficult to remind himself that this was Horcruxes they were talking about, the most evil piece of Dark Magic Harry had ever heard about. He had been thinking about Horcruxes so much lately, the concept had lost it's true meaning. He no longer feared the things as he ought to, he no longer worried so much about them. He wondered, now, weather this was because his soul was already cracked. This seemed the worst part about the creation of Horcruxes, yet here he was, with a soul split neatly in two by Emeric...

Did it really make a difference, by this point, if Harry made a Horcrux? He already felt different, cracked and broken, ever since Emeric's death. He understood there he didn't have much else to live for beyond Tom... so why not live forever with him? Why not take this final step to being with Tom, after all these years of staying together? The idea wasn't so bad to Harry in this moment in time. He felt as though this was an inevitable fate. He didn't once think about the subsequent consequences, because in honesty he didn't really care.

He had spent many long years clutching onto the old morals that he had been trained to think since his very first years at Hogwarts. It was in longing for his friends that Harry had kept away from being with Tom fully, but his friends were long gone now. He couldn't work out why he had stuck to the same ideas; there was no one watching him, no one here to judge him for loving a man that he simply couldn't resist. The only thing holding Harry back was himself. His lonely self. It never occurred to Harry that this was depression speaking, depression suppressing his inner instincts. All he knew was that he loved Tom, and this is what he wanted to do.

"I think you're right."

Even Harry himself was surprised by the confidence in his tone.

"I think I should make a Horcrux."

Tom was stunned. He stared at Harry unblinkingly, as if afraid he hadn't heard him properly, as if he wasn't sure whether Harry had meant to say this at all. When Harry didn't take it back or change his words, Tom was left looking more astonished than Harry had ever seen him before.

Without saying a word, Tom took yet another step forwards, lifting a hand up to touch the side of his face softly with the tips of his fingers. Harry could feel Tom's hand shaking, he could see that his pupils were widely dilated. Tom brushed a piece of hair behind Harry's ear, a grin dancing across his lips, before fading a little, and breaking through again more strongly. The next thing Harry knew, Tom was kissing him vigorously.

"I love you," was all he could whisper. He presses his lips against Harry's again, and again, but could do no more beyond this. He stood centimetres apart, still quivering in a mad happiness and joy that he couldn't control, with or without a smile. His breath brushed against Harry, his hand urging him closer gently. Once again, the only thing he could say in a whisper was, "I love you... I love you so much..."

"I love you too, Tom."

After one more kiss, Tom moved back a little to look at him in this dim light. Harry had never seen so much joy mixing with desire in Tom's expression. He was shining with a new sense of gratification, doubtlessly basking in his accomplishment at having convinced Harry to be with him, now and forever. The uncontrollable, sharp smile kept breaking across Tom's face without warning, but somehow, now, Harry didn't hate it so much. Harry was in no state by this point to question the decision he was making; he was smiling too.

"How does it work?" he then asked. This was a question that had been playing on his mind a lot lately, especially since Emeric's death. "I know how the soul cracks... but how does one end up with a Horcrux from there?"

"A difficult piece of magic must be preformed to break the soul fully," Tom explained in a low voice, appearing overjoyed at the chance to explain this to Harry. "One must sever the soul completely or the magic will fail – and there are no second chances. After preparing for the magic, making sure that everything is as close to perfection as possible, one must be prepared to do what it takes, to prove themselves trusting of their own power and worthiness..."

"Do you mean I'd have to kill again?" Harry asked, thinking that this was the only thing that Tom could be so vague about concerning 'doing what it takes'.

"You won't have to kill anyone else, no..."

"Then what is it?"

Tom watched him carefully. "You must be prepared to risk your own life. You must be prepared to kill yourself."

Harry was confused. He didn't even know where to begin asking what this meant.

"You come alive again, of course," Tom explained, "but in order to allow your soul to split fully, it must be out of your body, it must have room to become two parts."

"So, you're saying that in order for immortality... I have to kill myself?" In disbelief, Harry couldn't help sounding harsh. "Won't my soul just disappear into the afterlife?"

"There is a short stretch of time – very short – where one's soul drifts in this world. This is how even Muggles have the ability to come back to life if they are lucky after a close-to-death experience. You will die theoretically for about a second, but your soul will not have time to drift onwards because we will make preparations before this; we will prepare your body as well as the object you choose for a Horcrux to carry your soul. Thus, your soul will be caught between choosing where to go. It will split where it is in the act of feeling a very deep connection to both you and your desired Horcrux."

"So, once dead, the soul has the chance to go to an item designed to be a Horcrux?"

"Yes."

"But, wouldn't that mean that souls could just latch onto anything once a person dies after murdering?"

"One must prepare the item and body first," Tom said again.

Harry understood this, but there was something else bothering him that he simply couldn't ask about directly. He wanted to know why a piece of Voldemort's soul had attached itself to him when he accidentally killed himself in Godric's Hollow, after killing Harry's parents, then trying to kill Harry. Voldemort had blatantly preformed the initial act of creating a Horcrux – killing himself so his soul was free – but why, then, did a shred of soul attach itself to Harry? He wasn't prepared to be a Horcrux...

"What happens if you, for example... make a second Horcrux? What happens to the soul then?"

"Killing will break the soul again, of course, then you will have to go through the act of creating a Horcrux just like before. There are a few complications that many Dark Wizards overlooked after their desire for a second Horcrux... but I shall explain this later."

Harry didn't care to hear the complications, in honesty. "What happens if you die when your soul is split again? A lot of wizards must, if they create Horcruxes. Surely they kill again."

"A soul split more after Horcrux creation acts the same as it would if you had only killed once; the soul is still able to hold together, it would still be strong enough. It would merely have the ability to split for another Horcrux if one wished for it to, but it could not split through normal death."

But you killed yourself, Harry thought to himself. You killed yourself in Godric's Hollow, and you never realised what that meant... Was this the answer, then? Voldemort had released his soul by accidentally killing himself, and the act of doing so had caused a shred of it to break off in his weakened state, to rest inside Harry instead? But how was Harry a good holder for a shred of soul? Harry knew that he wasn't an intentional Horcrux, so he can't have been prepared as one... He was an unknown carrier of Voldemort's shred of soul... but why?

"So, when a Horcrux is made, does the soul just hide there?"

"In the beginning stages of a Horcrux, yes, the shred of soul merely hides within an object. However, what makes a Horcrux truly a Horcrux isn't the mere act of giving the shred of soul shelter, one must also let the soul take full possession of the object in question. In order to ensure safety, after sealing the soul in completely, the soul must be given encouragement to take over the object wholly for it to become a Horcrux. It must have an intelligent understanding of it's surroundings and of the dangers around it. It must affectively become a living creature."

Thinking back to the time Harry spent with Ron and Hermione holding that Locket, Harry felt a little unnerved, even now. This all made sense, considering how the Diary had taken possession of Ginny Weasley, how the Locket had tormented Ron so much, how Dumbledore had been so drawn to the Ring... Pieces of Voldemort had been right by them, taking total advantage of their curiosity. He had fed off their darkest emotions...

If a Horcrux had to be sealed in order for the soul to take full possession of it's resting place, this would explain why Harry wasn't possessed by his concealed shred of Tom's soul. Harry supposed that, since he himself was a living being with natural intelligence and an unwillingness to allow himself to die, like most beings, he was doing the same job a Horcrux might do. He wasn't feeding off of people's misery, but he was a perfect unknowing carrier of a shred of soul as a human; he did it's job by living...

"What would you like to use as a Horcrux?" Tom asked. "What object?"

Harry had no idea. He thought of the Elder Wand, but didn't like the idea, even if he could have it soon enough. He thought of the other Deathly Hallows, of the Cloak... but he wasn't very keen upon the idea of drawing too much attention to the Deathly Hallows, least Voldemort (in the future) should think back to Harry's Invisibility Cloak being used as a Horcrux. Eventually he came up with a suitable answer.

"I want something of Gryffindor's. Anything."

Tom thought this over quickly. "That's an unusual choice."

"I can't think what else I'd want," Harry explained. "It'd mean we have items from all the four house founders, at least."

After a minute, Tom smiled. "I would have found an object similar on my own, yet what could be better than to complete my collection with you?"

"It'd make sense... I can't think of anything else."

"It'd be good," Tom said. "We could begin our search this week, before proceeding to make the Horcrux as soon as we find it."

Harry was surprised. "So soon?"

Tom grinned that wide, sharp grin. "The sooner the better, my love."

* * *

**Dear readers,** excuse my lateness, I spent a rather long time staring into space, wondering how Horcruxes are made, and why JKR describes the act of creating one like the act of splitting an atom. You'll hear more on it. Also, don't worry, I know where I'm going with this fic.


	62. Rising

62 - Rising

Harry was shaking badly. Both of his palms stung as his uncut fingernails dug deep into them, drawing blood as a result of the tightly clenched fists he continued to hold, to distract himself from other pains. His spine ached and his head pounded as he knelt hunched over on the cold, rough ground, which – despite it's temperature – did nothing to cool his burning skin. He could feel the sweat release itself in waves over his body, making him feel even more direly ill. His eyes remained wide open, staring off into space in delirium between surges of violent, ongoing vomiting.

It had only been a few days ago that Tom had taken a trip to Hogwarts, accompanied by a few of his closest followers. Taking advantage of the arrival of the summer holidays, Tom had managed to break into the Gryffindor Common Room after gaining entry to the recently vacated school. He had crept through the halls of the castle unnoticed, confident in the magic he cast, while his loyal Death Eaters waited apprehensively outside the gates. They wanted to remain close; they stood expecting and dreading to be signalled via the Dark Mark at any moment, if danger found its way to Tom.

The spell of his own spew was pungent to Harry was he breathed in deeply, but he barely had the will left in him to care as he spat out the rancid taste, wishing he had more to throw up. His stomach heaved painfully and ceaselessly. He wasn't sure if he had much more energy to even keep himself kneeling like this. The dark cave around him was spinning, and all he could do to keep sane was to urge scraps of thoughts to surface in his mind.

Within the Gryffindor Common Room had been a statue, and upon that statue of Godric Gryffindor there rested a sword that had been placed there decades ago. Harry had never heard of the sword of Gryffindor ever being placed there, nevermind the statue taking up a spot in the Common Room, but although none of the Death Eaters themselves had come from that Hogwarts House, it was apparently common knowledge (for Tom at least) that the sword resided there. Tom had mentioned quietly to Harry one evening that he had planned to get the sword himself on a trip to the castle at a later date.

The vast cave amplified Harry's breathing, exaggerating his already horrid, jagged rasping, which gave wordless voice to some of the suffering he was facing. He had been amongst the few select Death Eaters waiting outside Hogwarts School, of course. He had been there when Tom emerged from the castle, his face hidden beneath a dark cloak, his form blurred between layers of falling rain on the stormy night they had chosen. Tom had been so excited when he came into view, he had almost forgotten to hide the passion that burned into his already maddened eyes for Harry.

That night, Harry couldn't believe the extent of Tom's adoration for him. He had taken Harry to a quiet place, a nearby Inn, to hold a more private discussion and to express his excitement. He had seemingly kissed every inch of Harry's skin, whispering to him about how much this would change their lives, how it would expand the possibility of what they could do. He was almost completely unable to believe he had succeeded in convincing Harry to create a Horcrux, he held Harry's hand and pulled him closer between admiring the sword of Gryffindor, whispering softly of the love he felt, of how proud and overjoyed he was that they could stay together forever.

"This sword has made a champion of it's master in innumerable battles," Tom had told him as he leant in close. "It is as you will become: renown for your power, cherished for your continuously growing and adapting strength..."

Harry felt as though he was choking. Coughing fits had begun spontaneously and he began sinking closer to the filthy ground, weakened further by his crushing lungs, by the pounding headache that was worsening every second. If he had thought the worst part of creating a Horcrux would be the act of murder, he had been sorely wrong. Now he was in a state of healing after the affects. He had been here for hours but it felt like months, or longer, of suffering. It felt as though he had gone over years of experiencing pain in a very short amount of time.

They had made plans for the creation of a Horcrux weeks in advance. Only a few days after acquiring the Sword of Gryffindor, Tom had brought Harry here. They had Apparated far from the Inn they had stayed in, arriving at a deserted site by the sea. The horizon had been so dark, it had looked as though it were about to engulf them whole. The clouds above and the shore beneath was all that was slightly visible in the moonless scene. The soft, quiet sea was eerily calm, especially besides such ominous, gaping shadow. The water was clear and smooth against the tiny rocks, shells, and pebbles of the shore. It was unlike Harry had ever seen the sea. It looked closer to a lake.

Tom had taken his hand gently, gazing at his shadowed form. One lingering kiss was all that he needed to convey his emotions. Then he withdrew the Sword, placing it in Harry's free hand without a word. Harry remembered how much he loved the weight of the Sword; this alone told him and reminded him of it's power, it's meaning. Tom had then begun walking with him along the shore. He took him to a dark cave, lighting his wand on the way and analysing Harry as though he was all that mattered in the world.

Harry had rolled over onto his back, avoiding the pile of blood, spit, and vomit next to him the best he could. Still, now, he was slipping into states of unreality, going through rushes of abstract, imaginary thought and non-thought as if his brain could no longer function properly. He knew it was likely that his mind was doing this to distract him from the pain, even if that had died down so much. He felt lifeless now, broken, and empty, but he would stay in this state if it meant he never had to face the recent pain again. It was indescribable, as if he had experienced something so far beyond a human-level of understanding, he had wizened himself by years within seconds.

He had wished he would die, just to end it. Contradicting everything he had promised Tom, all he had hoped for was that this would just end, so he could find peace anywhere available. He had forgotten why this was happening at all. He had lost all memory of how Tom held him before the events started, hissing too him affectionately and promising him it would be worth it. In the intensity of having his souls split, he didn't even know who he was. His mind had been wiped in blind agony and all he could do was face the pain of his soul, leaving his physical body for a strange realm of unnatural experience.

Little did he know, the splitting of his soul had lasted only a few seconds at most. Tom had set up the Sword and Harry in the correct positions, before reminding Harry of the magic he had to preform. To prepare the Sword and his body to hold a shred of soul hadn't been easy, but eventually Harry managed it, at Tom's guidance. When Harry had taken the final step to the creation of a Horcrux, after a gentle moment of reassurance from Tom, the feeling had been very strange indeed for the first few moments. Then Harry had been sucked into the terrible mass of disarray and torment all too soon.

As Harry lay with an arched back, coughing up what felt like blood between heavy gasps of breath, he remembered how happy he had felt when Tom led him here, his words and touch so gentle, so compelling. He had felt a dull sense of excitement as he watched Tom show such happiness, and the reassurance in all of Tom's actions deepened his trust. He had been a fool for believing that creating a Horcrux would be a simple process. Hours later now, he knew he had been nothing but an utter fool.

"Wh-w-w-what's hap-p-ppen-ning t-t-" he had stammered, unable to hear his own words as he watched flashes of abstract thought play before his very eyes. Even now Harry felt haunted by what he had gone though. He understood that for as long as he lived he would not be able to forget his experiences tonight, no matter what he tried. It would always be there, hunting him, reminding him of the worse mistake he had ever made. Existence had shattered before him...

The only moment of relief that Harry had felt during the course of Horcrux creation had been a stretch of time, cut up into many tiny pieces that flickered between pain, where he had imagined a peculiar scene. Floating in the air above his own body, he watched as a ghost of himself slide out of his already ghostly form. Interrupted only sometimes by his other (painful and loud) illusions, Harry watched the ghost of himself glide off into the distance, heading in the direction of the Sword of Gryffindor.

The sound split his eardrums between the quiet of his nicer illusion. Before the ghost of his main being could go far, another figure was emerging from the darkness from behind Harry. This time it was a figure of Tom. Harry thought at first that the Tom ghost was going to leave with his second half; he reached out a hand to stop him. Tom, however, didn't go. He glided closer to the other Harry, pressing his lips against his once, before turning back to the real Harry. It was almost as though Harry was watching it as two people, being the him above the body and the him drifting to the Sword.

The ghost of Tom had become very close. Before Harry knew it he bad begun kissing him, a lot more passionately than Tom had kissed the other Harry. Tom was embracing him fully, wrapping his arms around him as if this was the first time he had had enough space to touch him fully, to make them – together – a whole. The kiss wasn't a sexual action. It intensified further as the illusion began to break up, flickering faster and faster until it wholly returned to the terrible wasteland of pain Harry had felt before. It was beyond all physical suffering, it was the complete act of inhumanity in the shattering of a soul.

Although he had been far from able to hear it, he had screamed at the top of his lungs as soon as his soul returned back into his body. He had withered on the ground where he lay since dropping dead, his eyes bulging and staring off into nothingness as every breath he took released itself in the loudest possible volume, to unknowingly express what he felt. He seemed able only to cry for relief from the trauma of having his scrap of soul settle back into place. He never knew it when Tom, who stood watching him, began grinning at the sight of his animated body, laughing hysterically as he understood that this meant the Horcrux had succeeded.

"The worst is over, my love," Tom whispered to him now, kneeling over him in this cold, damp cave.

Harry could just about see reality again, he could understand the difference. He heard Tom's words slowly, unevenly, but understood it's meaning. To get closer to Tom and to try in vain to lesson his discomfort, Harry curled up on his side. Wrong in the assumption that Harry could fully feel it, Tom was stroking his hair, looking down at him with half-closed eyes that still burned with elation. It would be another hour, at least, before Harry felt well enough to even move.

Until then, and just like in the hours before, Tom waited by Harry's side. He was watching over him in the knowledge that Harry was the only person in the world who truly mattered to him. He wad basking in the joy of knowing he would have him now and forever...

– X –

Two days passed before Harry was well enough to walk around. He had rested in Tom's room, trying hard to regain his energy as he remained laying still for a forgotten stretch of time. He could barely remember how they had returned to Albania, or why they had moved so quickly from England instead of staying put there. All he knew was that even now he felt utterly exhausted, in mind more than anything. He found himself sitting in Tom's kitchen in the late evening, wishing his brain would start working properly again.

"Drink this tea," Tom offered, handing him a cup of dark liquid, "it'll help."

Harry took the cup from Tom's hands. It was too warm to drink quickly; he set it on the table in front of him.

"I'm satisfied to see you are awake and better now, at least somewhat," Tom said as he sat down opposite him.

Nodding vaguely, Harry continued staring into space. He felt too tired to look at Tom, or even to lift up the cooling tea before him.

"Perhaps, since you are less ill now, you might wish to begin thinking about training with me?" Tom suggested. "There are many new things I would like to show you... I have been preparing for this for a very long time."

Harry could think of no objection. It didn't matter by this point. "If you want."

"I do want," Tom said, smiling. "I want it very much."

Harry didn't understand Tom's open happiness at this. The smile he wore faltered somewhat after a moment of no response.

"Drink the tea," he said, "it'll give you more energy."

Harry followed Tom's orders, taking a small sip.

"Would you be willing to learn new magic, now that you're safe?"

Harry took another slow sip of tea, this time a bigger one. I tasted nice. "It was never about being safe or not."

Tom watched him. "But you'd be willing to try?"

"Yes," Harry responded. "I've been curious about it..."

He couldn't stop his monotonic voice, but nevertheless what he said was true. He felt so tired, so deadened. He took another sip of tea.

"When were you thinking about starting?" he asked.

"Any time that is preferable to you, my love."

The tea was making him feel better, oddly. "I don't mind."

"In a day or two then, perhaps."

Harry attempted a nod, but he wasn't sure weather it was much success. He was staring into space again, wishing he didn't feel so numb.

"It will be a while before you return to your normal self," Tom informed him, as if he too had been thinking about Harry's tiredness. "This exhaustion will fade."

The cup in his hands was burning Harry's fingertips, but he barely felt it. "I don't think I'll ever return to my normal self..."

"This stage of Horcrux creation fades," Tom told him, perhaps correcting himself. "It's the worst you will have to have endured."

"And when I die?"

Tom took a moment to try and make sense of this. "Die?"

"If I get too hurt," Harry elaborated, "if I get hit by a Killing Curse, if I get my head ripped off by some beast... you're saying being born again won't be this bad?"

"Well, there are some similarities, I believe," Tom said quietly. "Weather or not it would be worse than creating a Horcrux itself... I cannot yet be sure."

Harry guessed that it was probably the same. There would probably be that odd, torturous state of becoming a bodiless soul in an unnatural way. He continued to drink his tea.

"How does it work?" he asked. The idea seemed quite curious. "After your body is destroyed, I mean."

"It's rather simple," Tom said, "one becomes caught between the stages of life and death, having the ability to wander this earth as far less than a human. One becomes a spirit, of sorts. The piece of soul that makes us who we are is saved from death in search of it's whole, but naturally when the rest of it is locked away in Horcruxes there can be no finding or retrieving it... not out of one's human form, anyway. So we're free to wander."

"What happens after that?" Harry asked. He was looking at Tom now. "Surely you don't just stay as a wandering shred of soul?"

"One must then acquire a body."

"By living with someone in a shared body?" Harry suggested, thinking of Quirrel.

"That is one way, yes," Tom said, "but it is a lot less efficient than what is normally suggested."

Harry didn't understand. He was tired, he wished Tom would explain it all at once."What's normally suggested?"

"Well," Tom began calmly, "you must first understand it is difficult, if not impossible, to take full possession of a grown witch or wizard's body. It takes too much magic for a mere shred of soul to kill someone from the inside, and due to a lack of energy one cannot take possession of their victim's mind for long. One cannot force the victim to harm or kill themselves either, for to kill the victim from the outside is to destroy any chance of stealing the body. It would be a waste of what precious energy one has left; to fail regaining a body once could mean years of having to wait.

"What is more, adults have a lot of will to fight against an invasion as such; they have the ability to understand you are possessing them, they have the power to fight back, to seek help, and to warn others of your slow, painful theft of their body. If they make an appointment with a Healer, for example, the Dark Magic one uses within them could be easily detected. Even after taking full possession of one's victim, there is a lot of magic involved as well as a difficult potion. One needs help to regain total control of a human form again."

"So... what do you do? If you can't take over their mind, or kill them, they'll find out you're infecting them eventually. They'll break you first, and people will find out you're rising from the dead again."

"This is true, but as I said before: it isn't possible – or at least not advisable – for one to steal the body of a fully grown witch or wizard... Thus, one must focus on a weaker prey, on a type of human that will lack the faults an adult has in fighting back, seeking help, and telling others. In the simplest explanation, one must instead possess the body of an infant, murdering it from the inside with all the energy one has."

Silence fell. Harry didn't feel shocked by these words, nor disgusted, nor afraid, as he might have only a few days ago. Instead, he was curious. "You kill a child?"

"It's the most vulnerable form of human," Tom explained. "There is little for it to do, and because all of the affects of taking over the body are internal, there is no one who can discover why it cries for help so often. It can't elucidate what it's feeling, there is no way for anyone to even know it before it's body is taken over wholly. One can kill it from inside out without the parents' knowledge, wearing it's otherwise wasted body as protection for one's soul."

Harry didn't know what to say to this. Shadows of emotions were surfacing in his conscious mind, but he could neither feel nor identify them. He brought the cup of tea up to his lips once more. He remembered how Voldemort had looked just before his rebirth; his body had been tiny and frail. The very sight of him had repulsed Wormtail to the point where he couldn't even look at him properly, nevermind touch him... It made sense now that Voldemort had killed a child, to hide in it's vulnerable skin.

He reflected that this explained why Voldemort's shred of soul had latched itself onto him as a baby. He must have been vulnerable too, like any object prepared to be a Horcrux, a shelter for a shred of soul. He wondered whether he might have been infected by Voldemort's main piece of soul if the other shred hadn't found him first. He wondered if Voldemort might have killed him slowly like the other babies, perhaps while he, Harry, rested in the arms of a clueless Sirius, or Hagrid, or even Dumbledore later on. He wondered how soon he would have died...

Instead, however, Voldemort's main shard of soul had wandered on. Harry supposed, now, that Voldemort had hidden away for so many years in Albania because he had lost all of his energy, as Tom suggested could happen. Voldemort's followers never knew what to do to revive him. Tom couldn't find a body to possess until thirteen years later because he was weakened, he was aware that the Order of the Phoenix and Ministries were after him, and he was even less of a fragment of soul than he had ever been before. This might be the flaw of multiple Horcruxes. Harry wondered if Tom had ever even been close to dying before that...

"We needn't think of any of this until a far later date, however," Tom mentioned casually, the idea having no affect upon him. "What is important now is that you are free to practice any magic you like. You are free to move on to learn great things..."

Harry knew Tom liked this idea very much. He talked about it often, and each time his eyes would light up with a burning passion, as if he found nothing more appealing than the idea of Harry getting more involved in the work that he did. It was his passion, it was all that he cared for.

"I'd like that," Harry responded in a low voice. It was irrelevant to him if this was a lie or not. All he wanted was to make Tom happy. It was all that mattered now.

– X –

"Round 'em up!"

They were standing in a dark field to the middle of Tom's land. Around twenty Knights of Walpurgis were present, all of them spread out to form a very large ring around Harry. They were focused on the centre of their circle, where a single deer was pacing frantically past a pile of dark shapes.

"They're already dead, aren't they?" asked a Knight loudly from the crowd. "It ain't exactly hard to _round 'em up_, Dolohov."

"Shut up Mulciber," Dolohov shouted back, momentarily ignoring what he was helping to levitate to the centre of the ring, "you don't even know what you're talking 'bout."

Harry barely listened to their argument. The pile of bodies being moved was of much more importance at this time, so he watched with forced interest. This would be his first proper lesson in the Dark Arts – he had to stay focused.

The deer tried hard, again and again, to run away from this place, perhaps scared by the rancid smell of bodies, but the Knights were eager to stop it. They shot spells at it any time it ran in their direction, acting as if this were an amusing game for them.

"Whenever you're ready, Jonathan," Tom's voice called over the others, "you know what to do."

Harry nodded without looking up. Tom had explained to him how he must preform this magic, of course. It wasn't very difficult, but it was dangerous nevertheless. He wanted to get this over with quickly, to understand finally what it felt like to use the Dark Arts to this extent. He raised his wand.

Dolohov and the others quickly retreated to their places in the circle at the sight of Harry preparing for magic. They never once turned their backs to the pile of carcasses they had brought here, for good reason. The whole circle was apprehensive. They held their wands held out in tightly-gripped fists, barely daring to look away.

Harry filled his lungs with air. Upon breathing out he began to chant the words of a long, complicated incantation. At first nothing happened. The bodies stacked, scattered, and strewn across the centre of the ring of wizards remained immobile and silent. Then, just as the Knights began to wonder if Harry had failed to master what Tom had discussed with him, the Inferi were rising.

Their first movements were quiet. Elbows and knees bent at a sluggish pace, as heads and faces drooped over chests and shoulders due to a lack of strength. A low moan could be heard coming from the throats of many of them, making a hum of voices fill the air. Broken bodies long since dead were animated once more, forgetting the fatal wounds that had released their souls, forgetting the rotting, torn flesh that clung to their moving bones. They staggered over each other in the pile freshly created, trying to follow Harry's orders of heading towards the lonesome deer.

There was an undeniably noticeable sense of emptiness that emitted from the Inferi. It caught Harry in a sense of dis-reality to watch them move in such a slow pace, as if the act of standing up was more difficult with each passing second, even with magical support. Some of them were unable to get to their feet, others stood with their heads dropped, their feet dragging along the dry ground. Harry had control over all of their movements; now it was time to give them the will to fight. He raised his wand.

With one spell, many things happened at once. The Inferi froze where they stood while their faces snapping up simultaneously in the direction of the deer. Their whitened, blurry eyes burned a deep red of anger and their teeth were bared in strength and hunger. The Knights closest to the deer were recoiling on instinct at the mere sight of this; they were drawing away and holding up their wands in defence without any further provoking. The Inferi, however, were already on the deer.

They made such loud shrieks of fury, Harry could feel his heart pounding in fear for the first time since the creation of his Horcrux. They were gone from where they stood in so short a stretch of time that he could barely comprehend it. They ran at their prey at a speed that no living human could possibly have endured without serious injury, for they knew no pain. For the first time in memory Harry heard the sound of a deer's voice in terror, before the noise was promptly ended by a snapped neck and a torn-out throat.

He decided to end this, driven first by fear, second by the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to stop it if the Inferi ran at the Knights. With a wave of his wand, the magic stopped. Rage faded from the eyes of the corpses and their knees were buckling with the weight of their flesh. They stared up at the dark sky above them, falling. Clawed fists full of the flesh lost their strength and slipped from the warm body of the deer. The hoard had dropped in a ring around the dead animal, which now looked like nothing more than a pile of blood and bones.

The shrieking still rang in Harry's ears. He stared at the scene in front of him, wondering how on earth it had happened so fast. The deer was gone; antlers were visible in the loose grip of one Inferius, while what could have been a part of a skull had dropped by the hands of two others. Many Inferi had blood staining their deadened fingers, caught beneath their fingernails, spreading down to the wrists and arms of some of them. They had fought tirelessly.

Harry couldn't believe the rush he had felt at the sight and the sound of the creatures running and shouting in rage at such speed. Even now his hair was standing on end, his heart was racing, and every inch of his body was on edge in preparation to deal with the danger. He couldn't remember feeling this alive; before he knew it he was grinning wildly. Without thinking, he raised his wand again.

"What are you -!" a Knight tried to warn him in panic.

The rising, screaming Inferi cut out all other sound. They were ripping at each other's arms and faces in an effort to get to the remaining pieces of deer first. The body of the animal was obscured by it's murderers barely a second into the magic being used again. Harry felt alive with the fear being struck within him, he felt empowered in the knowledge that all of this was under his command and control. The Inferi finished the deer. In an instant they were spreading in all directions in search for other fresh beings to destroy.

"_Protego!_"

Tom's Shielding Charm curved around the Inferi closest to the watching Knights, but before it was cast an Inferius had grabbed one of them. When Harry he saw the struggling Knight, he forced the magic to stop. The Knight was howling in fear and pain even as the Inferius at his neck lost all strength and bloodlust. He was bleeding badly, the bone of his shoulder exposed to anyone who dared to looked. A large chunk of his skin had been torn off, pieces of it caught between the nails and teeth of the crumpled Inferius.

The Knight staggered away from where he had been bitten, cautious of Harry's work even as the magic was not in use currently. There was fear crushed into his panicked features as he glanced around, seeing most of the other Knights backing away hurriedly, or coming to help him with evident reluctance. The Knights feared Harry. They, like him, were probably wondering what on earth was going to happen now, if (on his first try) the Inferi were able to cause so much damage so quickly. Harry caught Tom gazing at him from across the field. Two wide smiles spread across their faces.

However, Tom's smile didn't last long. His expression of happiness was replaced by alarm as he saw something he hadn't expected to see here. He began walking forwards just as Harry felt it; blood was beginning to pour from his nose. Harry reached up a hand to rub it off, thinking it was just a little blood, but it kept pouring out. Tom reach him. Raising his wand with an elegant sweeping motion, he stopped the blood from pouring immediately.

His expression of concern lessened, but didn't fade.

"This is all we need to see tonight in relation to the Inferi," Tom said in a carrying voice, informing all the Knights in earshot of his orders. Many of them saw, but didn't think twice about, Harry's bleeding. It was clear to Harry that Tom was ending this lesson in concern for it. "Dolohov, I'll leave you in charge to take the bodies away again while the rest of you clean up and fix the damage."

Tom looked as though he was close to taking Harry's hand to lead him away. An odd sort of fog was interrupting Harry's thoughts and sight, spinning the world along behind it. Harry was begging to feel ill. He felt as though he should be allowing his nose to bleed. He felt that by stopping it he was causing worse problems.

"You've done well this evening, Jonathan," Tom said to him. "I believe you've earned some well-deserved rest."

This was Tom's way of giving Harry the excuse to leave. The Knights said short words of congratulations for Harry's success with the Inferi, soon leaving him alone with Tom. It wasn't long before they headed back home, away from the others. Harry felt more ill with each passing moment.

As soon as they reached Tom's house Harry headed for the bathroom. He was barely past the door when he felt the desire to vomit – so he did. It brought back rushes of memories related to when he had created his Horcrux. He felt similar pains of that day returning to him, refreshing his memory as if he had been lucky enough to forget about it so soon. When we was finished he stood up. He didn't want to sit by the floor like he had in that cave as he got rid of his own vomit. He cleaned himself off, clearing the taste from his mouth with a simple spell.

He found Tom watching him through a mirror and caught his own reflection close to it. His eyes had become more bloodshot and wide in recent weeks, which was hardly helped by the drying blood beneath his nose. His skin was rougher than it had ever been before, his hair was all over the place and messy to say the least, and his face had become thin and hollow just like Tom's, now more than ever. Harry didn't look at his own reflection for long.

"What's this happening for?" he asked in a low voice. It was Tom's concern, more than anything, that scared him. He felt better after puking.

"I don't believe it is anything to worry about," Tom said quietly. "It is merely unusual that you should be effected in such a way so soon after the creation of your Horcrux. This is merely an early side affect, a sort of reminder from your body of the adjustments to having less of a soul."

Harry was relieved. He believed Tom and he felt as though his reassuring words were all that mattered. He thought back to the Inferi, and grinned. "But I did well today, didn't I?"

Tom watched his sharp smile, responding with a soft one. "Indeed you did."

Harry turned around, wanting to see Tom closer whilst avoiding his own reflection. "It felt good. I felt like I've finally got the chance to feel the Dark Arts properly. By having control over someone like that, over a possessed being... It was great."

Tom stepped forwards, raising his wand.

"I can do it," Harry said, stopping him. He had evidently wished to wipe the blood from Harry's face.

Tom seemed mildly surprised when Harry rose his own wand. Harry, in private, didn't want Tom to dote on him like this. It wasn't right now, he didn't need it.

"You did brilliantly," Tom told him when the blood was gone. Although Harry was a lot less healthy than he once was, it was obvious that Tom still found him very handsome – even more attractive after creating a Horcrux.

Harry's face broke into a grin again. Without needing to think about it, he kissed Tom affectionately. "I want to do more magic like that. I want to _feel_ that again."

Tom watched him fondly, finding enjoyment in his enthusiasm. "That could be arranged."

"How soon?"

A look of wonder crossed Tom's face. There was a moment where he said nothing, but watched Harry as though he was pondering something curious. "You enjoyed that greatly, didn't you?"

Harry thought he had made this obvious. "Yeah, I did. Those lessons... they're better than I thought they'd be."

Tom seemed greatly pleased by these words.

"I had control over all of them," Harry carried on, "I could have done so much..."

The thought alone flooded him with unforeseen happiness; he felt more powerful that he had ever felt before.

"I can control them all again..."

The sickness from earlier had long-since vanished. The Dark Arts had given him such a staggering rush of emotion, he knew he had to continue feeling the thrill of danger to feel alive. He wanted to give something back to Tom, to take them both far away from the dreary cage of lifelessness, numbness, and helplessness that followed the shattering the separation of the soul.

In a burst of excitement, Harry jumped on Tom. He pushed him backwards vigorously, kissing him longingly and deeply as he pulled at his arms to wrap them closer together. All the while, he pressed his hips against Tom's. He was determined to make it clear how much he desired him. He wanted to repay Tom for the day's lesson, and above all else, he wanted to show just how powerful he was becoming.

Tom's back hit a wall of the bathroom, causing him to exhale sharply. He eyed Harry with a look of surprise and desire, bearing his teeth in a grin. His tongue slid across his teeth. His eyes closed as Harry kissed the edge of his jaw, unable to stop himself from grinding against Tom. He kissed Tom between his movements, already knowing this would feel better than the thrill of the Dark Arts.

Tom was breathing heavily. Harry wasn't doing anything more than pressing against him, kissing him, biting him, but Tom was overwhelmed with desire. His hips met Harry's with every movement, his hands clawed at the back of his shirt in an attempt to tear it off. It was clear that he wanted to take over, but Harry wouldn't let him. He continued kissing and licking him in a rhythmic pattern, holding him against the wall roughly. He lowered his hand to Tom's navel, and lower.

Every breath was audible; Harry wanted Tom more with every gasp and groan he encouraged. His head was spinning. He didn't need to go much further than this, even if he was well aware this was only the beginning of the evening. He had forgotten about the pain he had gone through with Horcruxes, he couldn't bring to mind thoughts of the rush of Inferi, and he had no memory, now, of the nosebleed that had brought him here; all that mattered was that Tom was so eager for his touch.

But the nosebleeds didn't stop. Even as weeks passed, the same bursts of unexpected injuries would happen. Harry would wipe the blood away from his nose hurriedly, discomfited by it's appearance yet again. His eyes still worsened since his Horcrux, and although he hadn't noticed it yet his face was beginning to catch a darker air about it. His eyes remained wide and staring a lot of the time, his hands would shake at involuntary moments, and the vomiting – the vile, pungent, blood-filled vomiting – would keep him up for hours at night, occurring without obvious reason.

Tom was teaching him well how to hide it, appearing calmed only by the belief that this was a small price to pay for Harry's immortality. Each time it happened Harry found himself startled, wishing this would be the last of it as he wasted no time to begin forgetting about it. This was the tip of the ice-burg, however, for Harry was going through serious mental changes without even realising it.

When Tom was away, Harry would sit restlessly in his house or with the Knights, feeling as though every minute had stretched into an hour. With the knowledge that he had forever to live, forever to do anything he wanted to, time had become quite a different concept. He felt no remorse at the idea of wasting weeks at a time accomplishing nothing, yet every moment that trickled by felt torturous to him if he was doing nothing of interest. Gone were the days when he could sit in a room and think for hours, all he wanted was constant activity. He _needed_ it.

Whether or not this was just to escape his own thoughts, Harry wasn't sure. His mind wasn't what it used to be and he couldn't just think about the past anymore, he was too intent upon finding amusement for the present. He understood, suddenly, why Tom set so much work for himself, why he was constantly organising training for the Knights and planning attacks against Grindelwald's people; he needed the stimulation. He was addicted to it and he could no longer stand boredom.

In the weeks that past, Tom taught Harry so much about the Dark Arts. He had taken him on so many dangerous adventures to hunt down Grindelwald's people, to search for rare magical creatures, and to find odd objects and wizards to collect and talk to about magic, Harry regretted he hadn't done any of this sooner. He had seen so many new places and had helped in so many tasks, he wished he could be doing it constantly.

By a month and a half after Harry's Horcrux was created, they had found wild Giants. A small group of Knights flying over the mountains had spotted them first. It was out of sheer luck and good timing; they had seen a few of the fifteen Giants stepping out of their home deep within the caves. Tom was overjoyed. Upon further investigation he came to learn that they were indeed wild. He had seen many groups of Giants as such wandering Albania, and now, finally, some where his to take.

There was a problem in Harry's eyes, however. Although Tom was excited to begin getting the Giants to join forces with him and the Knights of Walpurgis, he wasn't willing to do anything before fighting Grindelwald's people. He wanted to spend another months planning to attack Grindelwald's Fortress, and in contradiction to Harry's personal thoughts on the subject, Tom didn't think there was time to use the Giants.

Harry, however, wanted them to gain their trust as soon as possible. He wanted to see the creatures towering above him at twenty feet tall, or more, their brutal faces and terrifying voices sending the Knights into a panic, making them fear the power that rested beneath their think skin. The idea of spending a month doing nothing but writing plans was an awful idea, in Harry's opinion. He wanted everything to happen now, to fall into place as soon as possible in order for the situation to change soon.

He was at his house with Tom, mulling the situation over in his mind. Tom was currently concentrating on reading. Harry couldn't find books interesting enough to distract him from his boredom, even if there were many Dark Arts subjects that normally caught his interest through Tom talking about it. He couldn't stand the silence. It had been this way for too long.

"Is there any news of Grindelwald's people?" he asked, unable to help it.

"Nothing new, no." Tom didn't look up from his book. "Why do you ask?"

"I heard Avery going on about how few of them there are left," Harry explained, "I thought that maybe they're almost all gone?"

"There are still quite a few of them," Tom said, turning a page idly, "it'll be a few more weeks before they're all gone."

"Because you want to plan how to attack them?"

"Indeed."

Harry wished Tom's plans had changed by now. He had asked this question a lot, hoping a new answer would be given. "That's a long time to wait, for all the training."

Tom might not have heard him. The Giants would be a fantastic addition to their small army of Knights, Harry thought, to ensure they would have no chance of losing the fight. All Harry wanted, in truth, was something to be excited about. Helping to train the Giants would be so much more exciting than setting out plans for a month, even with lessons in the Dark Arts.

"What don't we get the Giants now?"

Tom's gaze rose up. It was a suggestion, not a question. "Now?"

"Well, soon," Harry said, knowing this was more rational. "If they're just waiting up in the mountains... then why not?"

Tom paused for only a second before musing this. He didn't often rethink his plans. "It would be a lot of hard work to gain their trust so soon," he mentioned slowly. This was evidently his main concern.

"Not for us," Harry pointed out, "you and I both know how we'd go about making those Giants trust us."

"It could interrupt with our planning, could disrupt how soon we attack Grindelwald's Fortress."

"But they'd make us stronger, wouldn't they? It's so important for us to get them as soon as possible – if we don't talk to them now, who knows what could happen in a month? Someone else could find them, a Ministry could start keeping track of them."

Harry's words struck worry in Tom. "We could lose a great gift fate has handed us..."

Again, however, Tom was confused by what Harry suggested.

"You seem rather eager to do this."

"I am," Harry said. "I want them gone and I want us to do more."

Hearing his own words was curing all boredom already, so he carried on.

"I don't want to just sit around like this for weeks, or months, or years more like this. I want to get this done, now."

Tom was more interested in this conversation than in the book he was reading by this point. He let the cover close in his lap before placing the book neatly to the side. "You seemed keen for everything to stand still not two months ago."

"I know," Harry said, "but that's over."

"Then I take it," Tom began slowly, his words carefully chosen, "you no longer fear the danger?"

"Not at all," Harry responded. The idea entranced him, somehow. "It doesn't matter – nothing's dangerous to us anymore. These Giants will be so easy for us to take. Now that I've created a Horcrux, all of the fear is gone. We have nothing to fear, but everything to gain."

Something about those words struck victory in Tom's eyes.

"If it's a matter of being scared that the Knights will mess it up, they don't even have to be a part of it," Harry carried on. "It could just be us. We could get to them and could convince them to join us on our own. We _need_ to do this Tom. We need to finish this war with Grindelwald's people and to move on from where we are. The Giants are going to make us stronger, this is what we were _meant_ to do!"

It was clear that Harry was quickly convincing him, he could see it in his eyes, in the way he sat in contemplation. Tom was listening to everything he said, and was going to follow his orders.

"Can't you feel it, Tom?" Harry then asked in a whisper.

Tom was quiet. He was visibly pulled out of his state of thought and put into a state of wonder. There was no need for him to have to ask what Harry was talking about.

"We need those Giants," Harry persisted in the same soft voice, never looking away. "We need their power."

They understood each other without explanation. Tom's eyes were wide with joy and realisation. He understood that Harry craved the danger like he craved it. Tom had valued his plans over his own wishes in fear of overwhelming Harry. It was as though he had been waiting for a sign, and this was it. "Of course..."

Identical smiles spread across their faces.

"We will likely need the Knights to help," Tom said, "yet as you suggest, too many of them will indeed get in the way. We shall choose a handful of them to accompany us to the mountains."

"We should send some of them to find presents to bring to the Giants -"

"- and with such a gift in hand they will accept us within good time. We could offer for them to stay here, in this land. We could offer them protection from the Ministries, offer all the food, shelter, and items they could ask for."

"It'll be perfect," Harry said. "We'll have everything we need."

"A few may fight for us, but we needn't have all of them in combat," Tom added.

"It wouldn't matter," said Harry. "All that matters is that we have them on our side."

"I couldn't agree more," Tom breathed. He was shaking his head in wonder, more joyous than Harry could hope. "I will do anything to make you happy, my love..."

That night, and throughout the day following, the two of them began setting out plans for a series of trips to the mountains. They chose their Knights carefully, going to each individual one over the next few fays to begin informing them of the recent plan. After this, they continued to focus also on getting the Knights, Dragons, Inferi, and future Giants ready for battle against Grindelwald's people. Harry helped with this far more enthusiastically than before. He had a feeling he would no longer become bored, and neither would Tom. They had the thrill of war to look forwards to now.


	63. Fortress

63 - Fortress

Night was falling cold and fast. Harry watched the sun sinking beneath the low clouds in the distance; it would soon slide behind the peaks of the other mountains surrounding them, causing the earth to slip into a slow, frozen sleep. Not a sound could possibly be heard at this height beyond the howling wind; neither bird nor the breath of trees sounded. The wind screamed against their ears, causing them to pull their cloaks closer still over their shivering bodies, clutching at the material with seemingly bloodless hands.

The Giants had been magnificent. Although Tom questioned their intelligence harshly, Harry couldn't help but find himself impressed by the way they reacted to visitors, the way their unwavering distrust persisted throughout the first meeting and the early meetings following. They lived within the mountings in a cave that was very well hidden, so rarely ever seeing humans. Neither Tom nor Harry could wait until the Giants were under their control.

Their plan to convince the Giants to join them them was working well. Harry and Tom had spent a lot of time deciding on what gifts to find and to create for them, before ordering the Knights to search for the items while they, together, enchanted what they needed to. The two of them planned to take the offerings to the Gurg personally, without any Knights around. It was such an important moment for Tom that Harry simply couldn't miss it. He wanted to see it all...

"It is a shame I never convinced that oaf at Hogwarts to be of help in gaining the Giants' trust," Tom mentioned as they entered the cave where the Knights had set up camp. "It could have made this quite a bit easier – it's evident he already talks giant half the time."

Harry laughed honestly, thinking back to memories of how Hagrid spoke. He knew Tom was saying this in an attempt to lessen their solemnity, in relation to a problem they had faced earlier on. Two Giants had taken hold of (and had nearly killed) one of the Knights, who they had found wandering in the wrong part of the mountain. He hadn't been alone; a second Knight had brought him back here alive – without disrupting the trust of the Giants, which was all Tom truly cared about.

As they approached the campsite now where a few chosen Knights rested, they could see Gonson healing the German Knight that had been attacked. Harry wasn't sure what his name was. Tom made a point in the past of telling him that it wasn't worth him knowing the names of all the Knights, so often times he simply chose to forget it, to not ask at all. He didn't need to know everyone, for they were expendable, thus to become attached to them was foolish.

Tom headed over to Gonson after a few short words of explanation to Harry. He was checking up on the magic being used, asking for the story of what happened. This left Harry standing alone in the middle of the freezing camp. He decided to join a nearly deserted fire, not wanting to wait around in the cold for Tom.

He sat down. The only other person at this fire was Nott, who Harry took only vague notice of at first. It occurred to him after a minute, however, that this was the first time he had been alone with Nott since he had left Harry's home. This caught his interest, saving him form a few minutes of boredom.

Nott was often chosen to deal with Magical Creatures. He had received an Outstanding in his OWLs and NEWTs, being one of the only students alongside Tom to gain this achievement. Past all of Tom's doubts and dislike for Nott over the last few months, there was no Knight who would be wiser to bring along than Nott to help with the Giants.

Nott looked up, catching Harry watching him. He averted his bright eyes after a moment, nodding shortly to Harry in a mute 'hello'. He went back to staring at the fire. He was so still, Harry wasn't sure why. It didn't look as though he was really taking in the sight before him. His eyes would wander as if driven by thoughts rather than interest in his surroundings. His eyes shined more than usual.

"Those Giants were brilliant," Harry mentioned, hoping to start a conversation to avoid the silence. "It's mad, seeing the way they live."

"Yeah..."

"I've never seen them that close before," he said, still impressed. "Well, not like that anyway."

"Neither had I."

"And the way they attacked like that, towards anyone who wanders..." Harry was smiling, recalling the story. "It's mad. The look on his face when he came back! Imagine his face when those giants picked him up? He must have known how much they were going to hurt him."

Nott said nothing to this. He stared at Harry for the first time. In the silence they could hear Tom talking to Gonson above the wounded Knight, who moaned in pain even with the aid of magical healing. Nott's brow was furrowed.

"What is it?"

Nott's expression dropped at the question. He looked a little uncomfortable. "No, it's nothing... That's just... well, that isn't something I thought you'd say."

"Well, it's true."

Nott didn't seem to want to hear this. He looked confused again.

"You don't agree?"

"It's just... surprising you'd say that..."

This didn't make any sense to Harry. Was he supposed to talk in a certain way to Nott, then? Was something expected of him? He wanted to ask Nott what he meant, but that odd, saddened expression before his eyes stopped him.

"You look different," Nott mentioned quietly. The fire between them cast flickering shadows across his torn expression.

"It hasn't been that long since I last saw you," Harry joked.

Nott looked as though he wanted to smile, but couldn't. "It feels like a while ago now..."

Harry's smile faltered at this. It felt the same way to him, in honesty. If someone said it had been a year ago since he made a Horcrux, he would easily have believed it. The suffering certainly felt that long.

"Nothing's really changed though, has it?" Harry asked lightly, to try and change Nott's sadness.

"No."

They could hear a group of Knights laughing by another fire. Lestrange seemed to be telling what the others thought was a very funny joke. The sight caught Nott's attention.

"No... I don't suppose anything has."

A silence drifted forth.

The look on Nott's face was one that Harry still struggled to make sense of. Expressions in general seemed hard to understand lately, and the fact that Nott knew even simple Occlumency made it even more difficult for Harry to make the situation clear. He felt a dull emotion playing at the back of his mind. It felt strange.

"Do you miss him?" he asked without thinking.

This made Nott look up. They stared at each other for a long while.

"Every day..."

His eyes continued to shine.

The same odd, shadowy, unidentifiable emotions playing at the back of Harry's mind distracted him. It felt like dark sea creatures swimming beneath the surface of already darkened waters. Creatures that he had once known, that he had once swam with, were half gone now, fleeing as he himself became another being. He was unable to comprehend them now...

Harry craved to understand what was happening in Nott's mind. Lestrange was here, Harry reflected, he was right there... Lestrange had been Nott's best friend for so long. For so short a time, Lestrange had allowed himself to feel the same way Nott felt towards him, and this above all else was likely what tormented Nott now... This thought latched onto Harry, pulling him down into a torrent of confusing. He was close to wishing he had avoided Nott altogether – or better yet, that he hadn't asked at all.

But then, slowly (and he wasn't sure what had come over him) a deep sense of need to watch those large blue eyes was settling over Harry. He wished Tom hadn't given Nott the keys to lock his mind. The echoes of emotions he could see in Nott's mind were intriguing him. He sensed them strongly as Nott gave up caring to conceal his thoughts. It felt like a forgotten language, a puzzle that was so satisfying, already, just to look at. If he could only put it together...

"What did you do?"

The question broke Harry's concentration. He blinked many times, looking at Nott's expression now rather than reading his mind the best he could. Nott had sounded so frightened when he asked this question, Harry was stunned. He had whispered it, as if he didn't want to say it any louder in fear of it reaching other ears. Something about the way Harry had looked at him had struck panic in Nott had before he could stop himself from speaking.

Harry wanted to say something, but he didn't know how to. Nott stood up. Lestrange was still laughing with the others and this, as well as Harry, made Nott want to leave. Harry had upset him, clearly, by getting him to talk about what he was feeling, then by reading his mind so eagerly. The emotions that Nott had tried so hard to suppress were rising up within him and suddenly his shaky hands met his face in nerves, to protect his shining eyes from being seen, even as he turned from the light of the fire.

Harry was left alone. It took a few seconds before his mind began working properly again. He sat staring off into the shadows, wondering where Nott had gone.

– X –

A few weeks later, they had made great progress in convincing the Giants to join them. Naturally, there were mistakes quite often concerning how well Harry and Tom gained their trust, but for wizards so young they were doing tremendous work. Tom had explained to the Giants just how rare such groups of magical creatures were becoming. He explained how the Ministry kept information on groups Giants, Merpeople, Centaurs, Dragons, and so many other creatures, watching them. Some of the Giants had heard stories close to this. Tom assured them that with him, they would have the best protection possible. He promised to them that he would give them everything they wanted.

With the Giants on their side, every moment of the next few days was heavenly for Harry. They had left their camp in the mountains for the final time after weeks. The anticipation for the battle ahead of them was causing Harry so much joy, he felt not a moment of dissatisfaction. He helped to raise Tom's army with ease, taking great power in the nervousness the Knights were showing. They too loved the hope of a battle, being addicted to the Dark Arts almost as much as Harry was now. He felt so strong in the knowledge that he had to protect all of them, to lead them into war.

The night of their final battle fell fast and early. The Knights of Walpurgis had been split into three groups; two groups leading the Dragons while a third bewitched Inferi. Harry was in charge of three Dragons, Tom was leading an army of Inferi alongside several Giants, and the last Dragon was being controlled by a group of ten or so Knights, lead by Gonson, Nott, and Rosier.

The most brutal fighters (Mulciber, Avery, Dolohov, Gibbon, Ransom, Rowle, and others) were fighting with Tom. Harry was left to lead some of the smarter Knights, wizards like Lestrange, Black, Dorn, Weiß, and Malfoy, and German Knights he didn't know. They were to be fighting from brooms around the Dragons, landing to join Tom once the Inferi were released. Tom had collected so many bodies of Grindelwald's people, his army of Inferi surpassed the number of Knights he had.

"It will scare them beyond belief to see their old friends and partners in the Dark Arts fighting as corpses," Tom explained to Harry in a fevered moment of joy as they worked out their plans. "It will show them their inevitable fate... They will not have seen this sort of magic since Grindelwald's prime. The fact that we, like him, shall rise the dead again before their very eyes... it will be extraordinary."

Tom still had the knowledge of how to break into Grindelwald's Fortress. He had sent spies there throughout the months, watching the area from afar. His spies had listened to the conversations of various followers in other parts of Germany as he sent them silently to begin watching. Lestrange, Rosier, and Black were his best spies. They were the slyest of the Knights, the most patient, the most trusting. Tom sometimes sent the Knights he found in Germany, like Dorn, to watch the wizards they once knew, yet this was more rare. Tom didn't trust the ex-followers of Grindelwald quite as much with this.

Now, as they got ever nearer to the already crumbling headquarters of Grindelwald's, it mattered not which Knights were trusted. They were all aware of the fact that Tom would win this war. He had plans built up from months of information, he had watched as followers disappeared and fled from Grindelwald's army in fear and understanding that their time was over. It was back in Albania when Tom explained most of this to his Knights in a carrying voice.

"It is time," he said, "to prove your strength as worthy enough for our cause. With relentless vigour and eager bloodlust, I ask you for your best efforts tonight. In contradiction to common assumption, I must inform you all that we shall not be merely killing all of Grindelwald's people off once and for all... we shall be destroying the last headquarters of the followers foolish enough to stay loyal to their weak, fallen leader. We shall let them understand, finally, who are the true masters of the Dark Arts now!"

It was dark when they arrived in Germany. They had flown all the way from Albania, Harry monitoring the Dragons with all of his Knights as they rode on broomsticks besides the great creatures. They stood together now as group that was to follow Harry's every command. They were waiting for a signal. The cold wind of the night air carried the booming cries of the Dragon's voices far, but it couldn't affect Harry now. It couldn't affect the Knights, whose hearts hammered in a thirst for battle that overpowered their numbing fear.

"This is it," Harry said, all of them unmoving where they stood. The Dragon's kept letting out long, echoing cries of desire to be freed in their irritation. They thrashed against the magical binding and chains around them. But still, Harry spoke. "This is what we've been working towards for months, this is why we were there, in Albania, for so long. All we have to do is wait for the sign..."

The wait wasn't long. To Harry, it seemed like no time at all. Before he had done much more than admired the fearful minds of Tom's followers, they could see sparks bursting in the sky not far away. Displays of red and green hit the clouds like fireworks, leading up to a final flash of light, doubtlessly from Tom himself. The Dark Mark appeared in the sky.

The forearms of the Knights burned, sending them into a shock of movement. Harry's eyes had widened at the sight of emerald green. His heart felt as though it was going to burst and his face was numb with elation. He felt like a completely different person – this felt like nothing more than a dream. He registered only vaguely that his forehead burned too as he got back onto his broom, shouting orders for the Knights to mount theirs. The blood within him seemed to be awake from a long slumber, pulsing though his veins with sickeningly glorious enjoyment.

They flew towards the Dark Mark in soaring happiness. From high above, Harry could soon see where a battle was commencing. The light of spells below and the Dark Mark above was illuminating the whole scene as Harry zoomed above it with all of the Knights. They were torn between watching the battle and watching the Dragons, many of them almost forgetting their duties here in the sky.

"Black, Dorn!" Harry shouted to the Knights closest to him, "remember your signal! Stay up here. Lestrange, watch your group! Weiß, Malfoy, follow me with the others!"

He pelted towards the earth, knowing that the Knights all remembered their orders anyway. Weiß and Malfoy were right behind him, followed by seven or so Knights surrounding a Dragon. They landed smoothly quite a bit away from the battle, before the Dragon came crashing down with a sound so loud, it shook the floor under their feet. Grindelwald's followers were throwing spells out at them in panic. Gonson's Dragon was already here too.

Tom's Inferi were already advancing to the Fortress. It was visible from here; Tom was conducting the Inferi as if they were a part of a terrifying ensemble. They were ripping followers apart, unhurt by the innumerable spells and attacks being used against them. Being dead already, it was impossible to stop the Inferi from advancing no matter how many Stunning Spells were thrown, however many limbs were severed and broken. Grindelwald's people hadn't leant how to defeat Inferi, having never been the victims of them before. The screeching and screaming of furious rage reached Harry's ears between the roars of Dragons.

The noise of all that surrounded him was so loud that he couldn't hear his own voice – and he loved it. He shouted for the Knights to follow him, guiding the frantic and enraged Dragon along with them. Satisfaction ran through him down to the bones as several Knights, followed by the Dragon, flanked him. He was meeting up with Tom, who's few close Knights were eagerly awaiting the arrival of the fighters Harry brought. They had been waiting to join the battle with them.

Harry didn't want to be the leader of the Knights of Walpurgis, but the idea of helping Tom so much was a source of great happiness for him. He wanted to be with Tom and wanted to feel this thrill of battle, it seemed only logical to start leading again, as Tom's best follower. He wanted to protect Tom, as well as to be protected. He wanted to give something back for all those years of being guarded when he couldn't (and wouldn't) help himself. They were shielding the Knights as well as each other, causing all of them to be so much stronger than before.

The two Dragons circling the sky above them burned a deep red from the light of battle, spinning on and on around the looming Dark Mark. Tom was pleased by their arrival. He had just sent his maddened Inferi in the fortress to begin tearing up the place like a quick disease, killing everything in their wake. Gonson's group headed over with their Dragon. The Giants were already attacking the walls of the building, being hurt very little by the followers of Grindelwald who tried to attack.

"Those of you who shall be fighting next," Tom called, speaking loudly over the crashes and cries around him. "Upon my command, enter Grindelwald's fortress and kill everyone in sight!"

Those closest to Tom, such as Dolohov, Avery, Mulciber, and Ransom, were excited by these commands. The Knights instructed earlier to form a group began now, leaving only a few chosen others to look after both Dragons here. Tom was commanding the Inferi again, telling them all to come back out of Grindelwald's Fortress the way they had entered it. Harry was sure that a lot of them must have died, yet not as many as Tom must have killed.

The Inferi began speeding out of the fortress with continued force. It reminded Harry wildly of screaming children, so full of energy, but in this case so eager to kill. These Inferi, however, were dropping to the ground as soon as they reached a safe distance from the building. Tom was allowing them to rest, taking his magic off so they lacked the energy he had pumped into their bodies.

Tom told the Knights to begin their battle and they did so without hesitation. They were running the distance to the fortress, a few surviving followers of Grindelwald shooting spells at them as they advanced. The Giants continued to smash away at the face of the fortress, killing off the wizards who still tried to fight them. The two Dragons in the sky continued to spin around and around. The Knights were starting to go inside.

Now that the Inferi were down, the Dragons could be used. Their fire would, before, have warded off the mindless monsters if they had been too close. In a few minutes, as soon as the Knights began running back out of the fortress, it would be their signal to begin using the Dragons. Harry wished it would be sooner than this. He wanted to be a part of this as quickly as possible. Watching the Knights zooming about the circling Dragons above, it seemed a waste to keep them suspending in the air for so long.

It wasn't long, however, before there were none of Grindelwald's people left alive outside. They had retreated inside, and within a matter of minutes the Knights were speeding out of the building with excitement, shooting spells into the air in celebration. The Knights in the sky were told of what was happening at this, thus many of them began shooting spells up even higher, letting them explode like fireworks around the Dark Mark. It was time, now, to begin destroying Grindelwald's Fortress.

"Harry," Tom said quietly to catch his attention. He was smiling, but said nothing beyond this. He was heading towards the nearest Dragon. Harry watched him for a moment, struck by wonder as he waiting to see if Tom would do exactly as he himself thought idly of doing. Tom did indeed; he was walking past the cautious Knights without comment, before he found a way to climb onto the Dragon before him. He was going to control it from up there.

In a fervent rush Harry headed to the second Dragon after thinking for a split second about joining Tom. The Knights would have thought that odd, however, and two Dragons were far stronger than one. Harry would rather do as much damage as Tom, rather than to share the damage with him. This was something Harry knew had changed in him recently; he no longer wanted to follow in Tom's shadow, to be protected. He wanted to help, to use his own power too.

The Dragon's scales were hard and unmoving as Harry began to climb. The beast continued to roar and thrash about madly – weather it even noticed Harry, he couldn't be sure. All he knew was that suddenly he was fully on the Dragon's back, holding onto it as securely as he could manage. In a movement that reminded him so strongly of escaping Gringotts, he pointed his wand to the Dragon's chains.

"_Relashio!" _

The Dragon was freed in an instant – and it seemed to feel it as the chains loosened their grip. Harry wasn't even completely sure if he was doing the same thing that Tom was, even if he had a strong feeling he was. The next thing he knew voices were shouting and figures below him were backing away fearfully as the Dragon stretched out it's hard and powerful wings once more. The Dragon gave a tremendous roar of triumph, taking flight.

There was no controlling it physically, the beast simply wouldn't feel it if Harry moved or kicked, and even if it could there would be no way for it to make sense of his movements. It had taken a great deal of lessons from Tom for Harry to learn how to control a Dragon with magic, using mainly pain and possession, and although Harry didn't know the magic very well he knew enough to guide a Dragon with simple steering.

It was so powerful that he was at Grindelwald's Fortress after a few meagre beats of the Dragon's huge wings. They didn't even need to take flight fully, they were at the building and the Dragon was climbing up it as soon as Harry guided it to. Tom and his Dragon followed them shortly, with far more skill and ease but less eagerness to guide this attack. The walls of the fortress were crumbing under the Dragons' forceful claws. Their fiery breath was blasted against the stone, curving into windows, travelling throughout rooms and down corridors within.

The Knights had almost all vacated the fortress and those last few who were leaving shouted loud warnings to the corridors behind them for good measure. Enemies of Grindelwald's had been found in their cells within the fortress, most of them having been trapped here since long before Harry had joined their small prison. The Knights had broken them free, Harry soon learned, allowing them to flee the building with them before the two Dragons began their attack.

Without having to discuss their plans, Harry and Tom both had the same idea on mind: to blow fire into as many of the rooms as possible whilst helping the Giants to smash the top of this mainly underground structure. They commanded their Dragons simultaneously, soon drawing the attention of the Knights above, who took their attack as a sign to bring the last two Dragons spiralling down to earth. There were soon four creatures attacking the building viscously, ripping stone and dirt apart as their reptile-like bodies twisted in unusual ways for the best angle of attack.

It wasn't long before they had completely succeeded in destroying the outside of the building. All of this destruction now was for the mere fun and amusement for Harry and Tom. Many of the Knights threw spells at the bricks and stones to help, carving the place though with determination until more and more rooms were revealed. When it was finished, all that remained was the walls of the Fortress torn apart and scattered, areas covered in blood from where the Inferi had attacked. There were bodies strewn across every surface, illuminated by the Dark Mark looming eerily. Tom began withdrawing the attackers.

The Dragons were wild with ire as they backed off. They had done as much work that could easily be done here; the rest of the work would have to be left to magic. When all the Knights, Dragons, and Giants had backed away from the fortress, Tom produced Fiendfyre. The moment he saw this happening, Harry joined in, despite – again – having only learnt the magic recently. His craving for the battle was such that he couldn't stand around and just watch anymore.

He was laughing madly, throwing the fire in all directions with Tom. They were standing together like two deranged dancers, swirling around the terrifying, consuming flames that scorched and spread across the walls of Grindelwald's fallen fortress, causing the ground beneath their feet to erupt in fire. Except, Tom suddenly wasn't producing as much magic. Harry couldn't understand it at first, but he stopped too, turning to face him with an expression of awe at their work. Before he could make sense of Tom, however, both of them seemed to remember that they couldn't stay near this area for long.

Harry knew a great change had come over him, but he found himself caught up in so much enjoyment that he didn't care. He was so freed from his previous state of depression and confusion, all he could do was relish in the new comfort he had so resentfully found the path to. He was taking back control over what happened to him, and this beyond all else felt glorious. What made Harry true to the Dark Arts now was that he _wanted_ to do it. What caused him to want the Dark Arts was a desire to protect himself, and what made him want that was his weakened, scared, selfish shred of soul. His decisions, however, were still wholly conscious.

They rode the Dragons all the way home, Tom giving commands to his awaiting Death Eaters from the back of the creature. They had to flee to Albania without stopping. The flight was one Harry felt he would remember for a very long time; he was gliding though the clouds close to Tom, followed by the last two Dragons. They twisted and coiled through the air beneath the stars. They were firing spells in celebration, giving no consideration to the countryside that swooshed past far below them. Harry felt as though he could hear Tom laughing madly in front of him, his voice carried by the rush of the wind.

"We have all done tremendously well tonight," Tom said in a proud voice when they gathered in their headquarters back home. "Our work here has ended in greatly rewarding results; through our war against the now defeated followers of Gellert Grindelwald we have gained not only new knowledge, skills, and experience that will be of help to us for as long as we live, but we have grown in numbers upon bonding over the downfall of a failed Dark Lord. Let us raise our glasses, now, to the Knights of Walpurgis!"

The Knights all did so with pride, gathered around a long wooden table that Tom had set many drinks upon with a simple swish of his wand. "The Knights of Walpurgis!" they said in unison, smiling broadly at both the prospect of drinking and the happiness at being in Tom's favour tonight.

"Now, the Ministry of Germany will doubtlessly be examining the fallen fortress we have so recently abandoned," Tom informed them all after a moment of drinking. The others' voices died down at these words as they listened closely. "It is unlikely that they will find any evidence to suggest who might have committed such a crime, but I must advice you all to be cautious."

"What happens if they do find out?" Dolohov asked from the crowd.

"Then with luck and skill, we shall put an end to their suspicions."

Many of the Knights seemed unsure. Low mumbling broke out amongst the group.

"However," Tom carried on, "it occurs to me that perhaps the best solution will be to escape the possibility of suspicion in the easiest way... If any of Grindelwald's people still remain, they could very well decide that warning a Ministry of who we are could put a quick stop to our organisation. So, naturally, a wise idea would be to move away entirely, to cut out the risk of a follower remembering where we reside."

"So, we're gonna change locations?" Avery asked.

"Indeed, Avery."

"To where?"

A look of satisfaction washed over Tom to say, "To England once more."

The change in the room was immediate; the British Knights were bewildered and beaming at these words, many of them seeming to believe they can't have heard Tom properly. The German, French, and Knights of other nationalities were entertained by the others' excitement, even if they themselves had no concern for where Tom wanted to go. Harry had no opinion. All he cared about was the look of satisfaction that Tom cast him from across the room...

"Tonight we celebrate in triumph," Tom said when his attention was drawn back to the Knights. "Reward yourselves, my dear Knights, for a year of brilliant work..."

Harry was leaving the room, sure that Tom wouldn't stay here for long. An exit at this time for Harry would go unnoticed in the others' determination to start drinking. He knew Tom would follow him. The thought was pleasing to him as he walked slowly down the corridor, away from the loud voices of the rejoicing Knights.

He heard the door open once he was halfway down the corridor and the sound of footsteps was clear. When he looked around, Tom was walking towards him, as he had hoped. Tom was a long way away and Harry was in no mood to wait for him to get all the way here. He headed into the nearest room, a meeting room.

The place was empty, filled with only a tall shelf on one wall and a medium-sized table that fitted around ten chairs in the centre. Most of the chairs were in odd spots in the room, for the Knights had spent some time here gambling in groups late at night. Harry walked over to lean against the table, facing the door as he waited for Tom to catch up.

When Tom arrived he closed the door closely behind him, least he should be seen. He turned to face Harry, whose heart was beating faster at the sight of him. Without needing to be told, Tom locked the door with silent magic. All he could do for a moment was gaze at Harry with a look of overwhelmed happiness.

"You did brilliantly tonight," he said in a hushed voice.

Pride filled Harry at these words. "So did you," he responded, smiling.

A smile broke across Tom's face too, with a breath of laughter. He was taking quick steps towards Harry, until he was close enough to touch him. Although he stepped close, they didn't kiss yet. Tom appeared crazed with adoration, his hair a mess for once with the night's events. He stood examining Harry with a look of joyous disbelief, awed still by what had happened.

"To see you handling Dragons with such skill," Tom whispered, pushing a strand of loose hair away from Harry's face, "it is a gift to me, one comparable to little else. To see what I have taught you, what you have learnt to do..."

He was leaning ever closer to Harry, his wild eyes softening as they travelled down to his lips.

"There is nothing to compare to my desire for you..."

He was inches away from Harry now. Their eyes closed.

Tom kissed him softly, then him again and again. Feeling him against him, above him, caused Harry's mind to freeze as their lips touched like this. His hands reached up for Tom's hair, unable to take the distance. He was pulling Tom nearer as they panted against each other now, kissing deeply and passionately. Tom was pressing himself on Harry, pushing him against the table in rough, even movements.

Harry groaned, biting Tom's lips and clawing at him to make him respond with as much force. It seemed to work; in a fevered rush Tom was tearing at Harry's clothes, trying to feel as much of him as possible. He ripped at Harry's shirt until the buttons began to loosen and tear off. They fought for control of the kiss, until both of them were worked into an utter fever of desire.

"I love you," Tom told him in a strained voice.

Harry moved his lips lower, to the side of Tom's neck. "I love you too... so much..."

Tom pressed his hips forwards harder as Harry licked his neck, breathing hotly against his skin. He pushed Harry's shirt off completely and whispered to him in Parseltongue, "_I cannot believe the power that you too possess..._" Harry rose to Tom's jaw, kissing him there over the sound of his hushed words. Tom breathed against him as their lips met again and moaned into his mouth as their tongues began to slide against each other's, fighting. He grinned into their kiss as he felt how much Harry liked this.

He did it again, pushing himself against him. Harry kept biting his lips, pushing back against Tom as his craving thickened. Tom pushed Harry back when he felt this, watching as he slammed into the hard wooden surface. Harry enjoyed this greatly; he wanted Tom to take him now, where he lay. He took a moment to examine the sight of Tom above him, his eyes gazing at Harry's body and his face flushed with fevered lust. Harry wanted, suddenly, to be the one dominating Tom again. He sat up.

Although there was no way of Harry knowing now, he would later learn and understand that during the course of the evening, great fear had gripped Tom. He had bee been happy to see that Harry lead his group of Knights without problem across Germany, but at the sight of Harry releasing the Dragon from it's chains, attacking the fortress with such avidity and throwing Fiendfyre with such ease after learning it so recently, Tom's fear was deepening. This didn't even go on to mention how soon Harry had controlled the Inferi, how soon he had been able to twist the emotions of the Knights even before he wanted to be a Dark Wizard.

Harry, naturally, still wasn't quite what Tom was with the Dark Arts, he didn't learn the Arts quite as quickly, but the fact still remained that Tom couldn't grasp why a wizard so talented would have stayed away from the subject for so long. He had never properly witnessed Harry leading other wizards before, nor acting with such bravery upon the call of battle. Tom had never seen someone suddenly so strong, even if the Dark Arts often gave wizards new strength. He was scared, now, that Harry would surpass him in levels of power. He knew he himself was the next greatest Dark Wizard to be known... but what if Harry was too?

As soon as Tom saw him sitting up, he pushed him back down again, harder this time. He looked ready to climb above Harry then, to keep holding him down, but Harry wanted Tom more. Getting back up, his lips crashed into Tom's and began kissing him with such force, Tom couldn't push him back again. Harry pulled him closer, biting him, breathing his name, and standing up in quick succession. He was trying to get Tom to do what he wanted, but Tom simply wouldn't allow it. It was with skilled force that he managed to turn Harry around, whispering sickening sweet words to him in Parseltongue. He wouldn't be beaten...

A while later, after they were through with their private celebration for the downfall of Grindelwald's people, Tom spent more time making an appearance for the Knights while Harry joined in only half-heartedly, not truly caring how the Knights wanted to show their joy in response to all of their appreciated accomplishments. There were so many thoughts buzzing through Harry's mind, he wanted to discuss it all with Tom. He thought about England, the future for the Knights, his own future living with Tom, and setting up a hidden place for the Dragons and Giants.

The two of them headed back to Tom's house, leaving the Knights to continue doing whatever they wanted to do tonight in their own building. Harry and Tom were exhausted; they wanted nothing more than to just fall asleep together in Tom's room. As he waited for Tom to get ready for bed, Harry's mind began to wander over to thoughts of Horcruxes. He had caught sight of the Sword of Gryffindor stored away under many enchantments in Tom's dresser. Horcruxes were an interesting subject to him for the mere sake of contemplating the concept, of course. Emotion-driven thoughts were so rare in his mind these days, unless of thought of his love for Tom.

What made a Horcrux truly bad, he thought, wasn't even so much the act of killing, but rather the act of gaining so much from the innocent. Many people died in war and many people were murdered out of pure wrath for doing equally as terrible crimes to the killers themselves; they were not killed innocently. Harry honestly believed that killing Emeric wasn't a crime, for he had been insane with wrath, driven by obsession that arose for reasons Harry couldn't have helped.

Even Tom, in the case of his grandparents, didn't kill the innocent initially. Hepzibah Smith, the attack on Borgin and Burke... those had been rational crimes. The Muggle Tramp hadn't... but Harry understood Tom suffered a lot as a child due to Muggles. He knew it wasn't right. Despite some of the words Tom spoke about Muggles to teach the Knights to hate them more, Harry still couldn't hate them, personally. There were wizards Harry still despised more than any Muggle, thus for him it would be irrational to hate all Muggles. But Tom had reason.

As Harry looked at the Sword of Gryffindor now, it made him think about his second year at Hogwarts. He had used this item for 'good' in the past... it seemed like he was meeting some conclusion by having it as a Horcrux. It was the final step towards moving into the Dark Arts, to becoming a proper Dark Wizard with Tom – not only because it was a Horcrux, but because it was an item of such history to Harry, reminding him of such an important point in his life... It, like he, had now changed.

It was Slytherin over Gryffindor, the dark side over the light. Except, Harry felt as though he was a bit of both. He felt as though it was just the same. He was sure that both Slytherin and Gryffindor had done bad things – the fact that Gryffindor fought with this sword suggested it, at least a little. He had defeated wizards with this item, gaining strength from their defeat... What made this different to a Horcrux, really? It protected his life. It took in all that made itself stronger, just like how a Horcrux used all that it could to strengthen and protect itself.

"I see you're examining your Horcrux," Tom said softly as he approached Harry. He had just gotten out of the shower.

"Yeah," said Harry, "I never really get to see it like this."

"We could place it somewhere else," Tom suggested, apparently liking the idea. "Perhaps let it be seen by us, even with magical barriers around it."

"I'd like that," Harry said. "Maybe in our new house in England."

"Indeed." Tom smiled.

"I was thinking," Harry said, turning as Tom walked around to the other side of the bed, "since we'll be in England soon, maybe we should start writing up plans about getting that wand?"

Tom pulled back the covers of the bed slowly, watching Harry. "The wand in Dumbledore's possession?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed. He then added, "Grindelwald's wand."

A soft smile, perhaps in comfort, crossed Tom's lips. "Ah, yes."

"Do you think we could get it?"

"You must first understand, Harry, that Dumbledore is a very dangerous wizard."

"I know he is, but that's the only wand I want. I'm protected now anyway, you know that. We can do whatever we want."

"We are immortal, yes, but this doesn't mean I'm willing to let you die at the hand of Albus Dumbledore," Tom said. "I'm not willing to throw you into danger as such if it risks years of imprisonment for you, or a rebirth at such a young age. We must still be cautious."

"We've just defeated Gellert Grindelwald's Fortress, Tom," Harry said, just to remind him of the glorious things they had done today alone. "We've gained so much power, we have so many Knights and beasts now –"

"None of that will help you in a confrontation with Dumbledore," Tom reminded him. "We have done some great things, yes, and tonight is a night of celebration, but don't mistake impressive accomplishments with your own abilities as an individual, Harry. A person's greatest skills are often unexplainable to others; to attempt to catch it's glory in words is to smudge the delicate detail that only the live eye can see, only the live ear can hear. Accomplishments stated one after another are misleading, they create wrong assumptions of power – which are no more or less than what is real, but what are nevertheless mislead."

Harry thought about this for a minute. It sounded slightly like an insult, like Tom was suggesting Harry thought he had more power than he truly had because of his willingness to list the things they had accomplished in Albania, yet he understood what Tom meant. Just because they had been powerful enough as a group to rid Grindelwald's people didn't mean that he would be able to fight Dumbledore all on his own.

"You really fear him, don't you?"

Tom knew he was referring to Dumbledore. He was sitting on the bed, watching Harry as he tried to find the words to respond to this.

"Dumbledore never took any sort of liking to me. He's been suspicious of me since the moment he met me, for many reasons – some bias, perhaps – after visiting that filthy Muggle orphanage I grew up in. Perhaps it was the way I acted that struck concern in his eyes, or the way I grew in Hogwarts that made him suspicious... but my point here is that Dumbledore is no friend of ours, Harry, and to steal that wand will give him the perfect excuse to stop us progressing in the world."

This made Harry wonder more about Tom's thoughts on Dumbledore's distrust. Did Tom perhaps think Dumbledore only disliked him because of the orphanage he had lived in? Did Tom carry on his hatred for the Muggles so far as to blame the orphanage, his association with Muggles, for why Dumbledore had never given him any form of respect?

Harry might have begun thinking that Dumbledore _could_ have been bias, if it weren't for the fact that the Professor was a skilled Legilimens. He had been watching Tom's mind since he was eleven years old, he knew how he had grown and how he hadn't. He wasn't prejudiced against Tom because he hated Muggles – he wasn't like his father, accused of Muggle hate and imprisoned for an attack against them.

"It isn't as though I have to fight Dumbledore though," Harry mentioned. "I won't even have to talk to him – I could just take the wand and go, in the middle of the night or something."

"There's no way you could take that wand without Dumbledore knowing," Tom told him. "No matter how the night ends, he'll have found out what happened by morning."

"But don't you want to make a fool of Dumbledore now we have the chance to?" Harry asked. He was taking a different approach to the subject, trying anything to convince Tom. "It'd remind him that he isn't as great as he thinks he is. He doesn't deserve that wand – he isn't even supposed to have it, and it'd be our last step in defeating Grindelwald. There's nothing I'd want more than that wand."

A few months or weeks ago, Harry might have felt bad for twisting the truth so boldly to Tom, but this, he felt, was excusable. He had said worse lies, after all, and this was just a direct result of that. All he cared about was getting the Elder Wand, he was sure he'd be able to. Dumbledore or no Dumbledore, they had the knowledge to pull something like this off if they wanted to – and he very much wanted to.

"Don't you want to seek revenge on Dumbledore for what he's done?" he asked more quietly.

Tom debated over thoughts for a moment. His mind, however, appeared to be drawn to the idea of his dislike of Dumbledore rather than to his dislike of the idea of letting Harry go get that wand. Dumbledore still troubled Tom, even from years and miles upon miles of distance. Tom sat up a little straighter where he rested.

"I seek revenge already," he said in a quiet voice, "by knowing Dumbledore is sitting in his office at Hogwarts, contemplating his petty classroom troubles before he allows himself to wonder, for what he promises himself is the last time, what has happened to dear Tom Marvolo Riddle, who has vanished for reasons Dumbledore will link to the truth…"

He was still very angry about Dumbledore, Harry knew. Although the Professor hadn't done very many obvious things to stop Tom from progressing (minus preventing Tom from being a teacher at Hogwarts, in spite of Headmaster Dippet's enthusiasm), the fear that Dumbledore struck, the feeling of constantly being watched and judged, still stick with Tom. He couldn't shake off his fear of Dumbledore because he knew the Professor was sitting there, waiting patiently for him to slip up in some way. He was waiting for that eleven-year-old to show in Tom again in weakness, he was waiting to show the world his box of hidden, stolen trophies...

"Perhaps it wouldn't be impossible..."

This, Harry knew, was Tom's acceptance. He waited.

"If you wish to gain power from weakening Dumbledore in some way, from stealing from him, from reminding him that Grindelwald wasn't only his to defeat... there are ways it could be arranged..."

"You want to get back at him, don't you?"

"You require a new wand," was all Tom responded.

"He can't hurt us," Harry said, trying to sooth him, "and anyway, you know we can't be defeated."

"But that is the problem, for neither can he..."

Tom looked genuinely intimidated by the idea, his expression grave.

"Even without Horcruxes, even without the immortality Grindelwald might have sought, Dumbledore remains unharmed, unscratched..."

Harry moved a little closer to Tom on the bed, catching his eyes again at a nearer range. "He can't hurt us, Tom. He won't expect it at all, I can get the wand and leave without getting into any trouble."

"He'll know you're there. No matter what we plan, he'll know."

"I can get the wand before he realises it – I'll take the cloak, in fact. I know enough magic to sneak in."

"Dumbledore has already shaken you before by finding your weak spot, Harry," Tom reminded him again in a warning tone. "This is what Dumbledore does, he finds where you are weak and he attacks you relentlessly with the knowledge, until you break. "

"What could he have on me now though? I don't care that he knows we're together, he can't use that to hurt me anymore, nor to scare me."

Tom gave no response. Harry knew he wasn't mistaken, Dumbledore wouldn't see it coming, wouldn't be prepared for it. Harry doubted weather the Professor had even given him much thought since leaving Hogwarts, for he had no connection to Harry. 'Jonathan' had just been another student.

"Tom?"

"He scares me..."

His words were so quiet, barely a whisper. Harry might not have heard them had either of them moved, or had the house not been so still.

"He knows, Harry... He always knows..."

As Harry looked into Tom's face all he could see was the fearful, mistrusting eleven-year-old he had once been. Despite it being ten years later, Dumbledore pulled Tom back to that period of time. He reminded Tom of the past that he tried so hard to forget. He had been a constant reminder at Hogwarts that Tom's sort of personality was hated in the Wizarding World too; his love and obsession for the Dark Arts, the skills that he possessed in doing brilliant magic that so few other wizards could ever master, made Dumbledore, and so many other wizards if they knew, hate him more than anyone else had...

Professors like Slughorn and Dippet adored Tom's power as much as Tom could hope, but it was obvious that as soon as they found out who Tom was, they too would hate him. His own Death Eaters, who were some of the closest people to Tom, would end up begrudging him mostly, loving him and admiring him only if they themselves were as twisted as he, some of them wishing to stab him in the back eventually. Dumbledore was the first of so many...

"I'll go on my own," Harry said, wanting to shield Tom from any contact with Dumbledore so soon. He preferred this idea, anyway. "That way, he won't think twice about you even if he ends up seeing me. It'll be alright."

"I would like to go with you... but the complications would be many."

"I know."

"I'll bring you there."

"That'd be good."

They could have continued talking here, watching each other and discussing how they would break into Hogwarts. They could have planned how Harry would take the wand before Dumbledore knew, or how they would warn each other if something went wrong, but it had been a long night and they were both very tired.

Tom edged closer to Harry, until their noses touched. He kissed him once and told him how much he loved him. Harry did the same thing, feeling so happy to be here with Tom after such a whirl of events concerning the defeat of Grindelwald's people. It wasn't long after this that both of them fell asleep, blissfully content in the comfort of each other's arms.


	64. Greater Things Await

64 – Greater Things Await

Winter had fallen heavily over Hogwarts Castle. The corridors Harry strode through became progressively colder as he continued on, getting further away from the heart of the school. He had arrived through the Entrance Hall, which was decorated in the theme of Christmas for the enjoyment and amusement of the students and teachers alike. Barely any students remained at Hogwarts over the Christmas Holiday, however, and Harry didn't need the Invisibility Cloak that was folded up in his pocket. He met no one on his way through.

The torches burned low throughout the castle. It gave the entire place an air of sleepiness in these early hours, whilst the snowflakes piled up on every window ledge made it feel comfortable and protected. Harry's footsteps were the only clear sound. The snow outside fell so thickly that it curtained any view from clear sight, working on top of the already vast darkness of the dead of night. Harry had travelled to Hogwarts with Tom, but he had entered the castle alone. He enjoyed the feeling of being independent in this way – almost as much as he enjoyed the act of trespassing itself. He felt powerful.

He was soon to become the most powerful wizard at Hogwarts, and this, amongst many things, made his heart pump in horribly pleasing excitement and ecstasy. He was going to take revenge on Dumbledore, finally. It had taken years, but this was his sure chance to make things even. He was the greatest evil within this school and Dumbledore would soon know. He was going to move on to do great things by weakening Dumbledore, using his power for himself. The happiness at this prospect made Harry breathe in deeply in joy, his breath shuddering – but he stopped.

Familiar smells of the castle met his nose. Memories of Christmases spent with Ron and Hermione distracted his mind at the scent of damp stone and snow... He pushed the thoughts away. Greater things awaited him in the future, he knew. Compared to all that he had suffered through in the past, the future was going to be brilliant. As Tom often reminded him, he was finally going to be in control of his own life, his own fate. This was the first, simple step to that. He and Tom were going to become great...

He reached Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore's bedroom would be right behind it, locked with magic that Harry would have to get past. When he reached the door, Emeric's wand in hand, he began silently breaking down the enchantments. It wasn't difficult; Dumbledore didn't need any magic stronger than what was normal taught to the students here. Tom had given Harry suggestions of what type of magic Dumbledore might have used, despite Harry's assurances that he could work it out himself. Harry was a little annoyed at the thought as he worked on the magic, thinking. He felt unusually calm, but this slight annoyance got to him.

He didn't want Tom to feel the need to guide him with every piece of magic, every important moment... yet he knew Tom likely couldn't help himself. He told the Knights how to do everything, after all. He even went so far as help some of them acquire houses in England. Over the last two months, most of them had fled from Albania to come live here instead. They had travelled a long way, and for Harry it was just for this. He draped the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders, pulling up the hood. The lock clicked.

Reaching out a slow, steady hand, be began to push the door open. He took quiet steps into the darkness, allowing the door to swing shut behind him under a Silencing Charm. He stood in the middle of the room, examining his surroundings in the dim light. It was full of bookshelves, globes, maps, tall candles, strange ornaments, and a wide, chipped mirror. Blood began tearing through Harry's veins so sickeningly, but he found so much enjoyment in it.

He had been waiting for this moment for such a long time. It was going to change any odd feelings he felt by carrying Emeric's wand, feelings he'd much prefer to shred altogether, rather than to understand. It was going to be brilliant... He felt like a child as he tried not to laugh at the entire situation.

In front of him rested Dumbledore, visible in the low light being cast by a small fireplace opposite his bed. Dumbledore lay facing Harry, fast asleep on a small bed carved in dark, elegant wood. His breathing appeared even and calm, unaffected by the arrival of his unwelcome visitor. He had no idea what was happening as he slept, and this would remain so. Harry would remain a mystery for so long... Dumbledore's glasses had been removed and placed on a small table beside his bed, and there, sitting beside it, was the Elder Wand.

Greedily, Harry moved forwards. He had to stop himself; he had made too much noise. Frozen beneath the cloak, he examined Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore hadn't moved a muscle. This might have pleased Harry regularly, but somehow the enjoyment he took in all of this was faltering. There was something different about this situation now that he was closer. If Dumbledore did indeed wake up at the sound of his footsteps... but Harry decided not to think about it. The Elder Wand was lying right there, waiting for him to take it...

Tom had advised him to be as quick as possible, but Harry found he was unable to move. He didn't know whether it was out of caution or fear, but he was hesitating. There was something about that wizened, old face before him... He couldn't understand how it was affecting him, stopping him. His eyes kept flickering between the wand and the aged wizard. He wanted that want very, very much... How could Dumbledore alone stop him by just being here?

He took forced steps onwards after a moment, feeling as though he was fighting for it. It was as if he had been subtly cursed. He reminded himself that he was wasting time. He forced himself to stop glancing at Dumbledore altogether, because somehow this distracted him. It played at his minds in odd ways... He needed the wand. He edged closer to it, reaching a hand out from beneath the cloak. His fingers were trembling. He didn't understand why. He didn't feel any joy about the act of stealing the wand anymore, certainly not enough to overwhelm him like this...

Then, before he knew it, the Elder Wand was in his hand. Dumbledore remained asleep. Harry stood frozen. The wand pressed against his palm, gripped tightly in his fingers. He had the Elder Wand, the Deathstick... He had won...

He began turning away, grinning madly to himself. Realisation for his success was taking over, leaving him full of a desire to flee the room, to find a place to express his joy loudly and honestly. Tom would be waiting for him – he felt like running to him. He wanted to jump into Tom's arms already, to celebrate his terribly easy success in any way he could. No longer would he have to use the wand of a man he had murdered; now he had a far more powerful weapon. He was a Master of the Elder Wand without even having to defeat Dumbledore.

He was at the exit to the room. He put his hand on the ancient latch swiftly, wanting to slip out quietly to shout and run with joy, but he was forced to stop. The smile dissolved, stolen from him. His breathing ceased, imprisoning the breath in his lungs. The door was locked...

In one movement, he spun around and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, his wand raised. He felt as though he was going to vomit from the fear that rose up in him; he couldn't remember feeling this without pleasure since making a Horcrux. It was worse than he could remember; he had forgotten what terror was, had forgotten so many memories that were now clogging his mind in understanding. He didn't know how it was was possible to feel this way...

The Elder Wand was gripped tightly in his clenched hand, but his legs were shaking as he stared into the face of Albus Dumbledore. He experienced so many lost feelings all at once as he glowered. He was breathing heavily, watching the old wizard stand slowly. Nothing about this was even remotely satisfying. He wondered if Dumbledore was using magic to make him feel this way.

"Ah... Hello, Jonathan. How nice of you to visit me so unheralded this fine night."

Dumbledore spoke so calmly, he might have been expecting Harry here after an invitation to a pleasant afternoon tea. It was so familiar that for the first time in memory, Harry felt scared by Dumbledore's every move. How could he remain so calm when Harry felt as though this horror would kill him?

"Let me out!"

"After seeing you for the first time in almost three and a half years? There are many things we are in need, perhaps, to speak of, for much can happen in such a stretch of time... It would be a waste if you were to leave again so soon, Jonathan."

The door must lock itself again when it's closed, Harry thought. He wished he had thought of this before. He wasn't sure if he'd able to break the magic quick enough to avoid getting stopped by Dumbledore. Harry had Emeric's wand, yes, and the Elder Wand, Dumbledore surely had his own wand around here somewhere... Harry was panicking and his expression betrayed him.

"It seems as though you simply vanished in the night two years ago, after a year and a half since leaving Hogwarts. Am I correct?"

Harry wished his body would remain still; he couldn't pretend his trembling was the result of the cold. "I have nothing to tell you," he said, wishing his voice was as strong as he intended.

"From what I understand," Dumbledore carried on placidly, "you had attained a job at the Daily Prophet after Hogwarts – an achievement that impressed your old Professors quite a bit. Many of your other school friends appeared to acquire jobs that were mediocre to say the least. Tom, for one, was rumoured to be working at a small shop in Knockturn Alley by the name of Borgin & Burkes."

"You s-seem to - to know a lot about this," Harry commented coldly. He spoke at an uneven pace in an attempt to stop his voice from shaking. It was to no avail, despite his quietness. "I s-see you like to keep track of the boys you taught at H-Hogwarts, then."

"I take as keen an interest in the lives of my pupils as any Professor at Hogwarts – and rather less than that of Professor Slughorn, who simply can't resist talking at length about the lives of his old Slug Club members." Dumbledore smiled tranquilly. Despite being awoken so early, he was fully alert now due to his earlier surprise. "Tom was one of his very favourite pupils, as you are surely aware. No one can deny the fact that such a sudden disappearance of the two of you was very unusual; it struck curiosity amongst our staff here at Hogwarts, thus was spoken of often.

"I assume that, naturally, the two of you went away together. The timing is, of course, too close to be mere coincidence, amongst other reasons. What is more, many of your old classmates disappeared on and off six month later, until – by a year since your departure from Diagon Alley – it seemed that many old students who had been in close connection to Tom were nowhere to be found, rarely visiting England during the period of a solid year."

Harry said nothing, but continued to glare. Dumbledore seemed to have been keeping a very close watch indeed over the lives of Tom and his dedicated 'friends'. He wondered with a sickening feeling if Dumbledore had been expected to meet him like this, preparing information over the last few years on his theories. Most likely, none of the other Professors had brooded much over the subject of his and Tom's departure, but Dumbledore would have considered the idea of something more going on in secret...

"I must assume that, during your travels, you, Tom, and many of his old school friends would have come across various witches and wizards involved in curious activities across countries. From what I understood from our last encounter, Jonathan, you have somewhat of a deeper knowledge of – and somewhat of a connection to – the recently fallen Gellert Grindelwald."

"If you mean that I know you loved him, then yeah, you could say that..." Harry hated how Dumbledore talked around subjects like this. The anger that rose up in him felt better than the other feelings distracting his mind. He decided to hold onto it.

"What I mean is, it would be foolish of me to deny the fact that you reacted quite peculiarly to the subject of Grindelwald... It is only to be assumed that you have been somewhat involved in the recent activity concerning his following. The timing is again too close to be considered coincidence alone."

"We aren't involved with Grindelwald's people!" Harry spat, understanding now what Dumbledore was saying. This annoyed him too, deeply, and it took away from his fear. "We weren't exactly going to start following Grindelwald after his downfall, that wouldn't make sense. He lost followers, he wouldn't gain any."

Dumbledore's head tilted up a little. His his sharp blue eyes shone with curiosity as his previous suspicions were contradicted.

"Yet with Avery's recent appearance in the news... It was clear that he knew precisely who Grindelwald's followers were. It seemed rather more probable that he was involved with them, that he had created an excuse after being found with them in Germany... I assume now that you must have been fighting _against_ Grindelwald, rather than for him. What a curious thing, that two very different wizards, like ourselves, could be fighting such a powerful dark force for two very different reasons..."

It was quite unusual, when Harry thought about it. What was more unusual, however, was that Dumbledore had gotten all of this completely wrong. He had believed Harry and Tom had joined Grindelwald. But why? Did he think it was to spite him? Or did he think that Harry had known a lot about his past with Grindelwald because he, Harry, could have been in close connection to Grindelwald?

Dumbledore had been thinking about all of this a lot, at any rate. How else could be piece together that so many old students had gone missing for the same reason? How else could have recognised how unusual it was that Avery was perceived as a hero in the Daily Prophet after attacking three Dark Wizards alone in the middle of Germany... Harry felt as though he had to say something to defend his claim that they weren't involved with Grindelwald's people.

"Yeah, well, Grindelwald made a lot of enemies in his time."

"That he did..."

Harry hated the way Dumbledore surveyed him next, scrutinizing his appearance for signs to indicate what had happened these last few years. He was trying to suss out what was going though Harry's head. Harry might have been scared to hear Dumbledore make theories on what he, Tom, and the Knights had been up to, if it weren't for the fact that he felt completely safe knowing that this information would be useless to his old Professor. Tom had reminded him this reassuringly, perhaps enjoying this chance to voice his thoughts so gloatingly.

Harry gripped the Elder Wand a little more tightly. He had lowered it during the course of this conversation, but as his fear grew into a stronger sense of anger he felt a deep desire to threaten Dumbledore.

"Tom was never a follower," Dumbledore mentioned after thought. "I should really have considered this before assuming he was helping Grindelwald's following. It is certainly something that I believe many of his friends would have been drawn to – an older, more experienced group involved in that sort of magic – but Tom... he's a skilled young man on his own."

"Tom doesn't need to be told how to use magic," Harry said in a low voice. "What did you think, that he's just going to spend years listening to the followers who stuck around after Grindelwald's downfall?"

In this moment, Harry came to realised that it was no surprise at all that Dumbledore was going to refuse the Defence Against the Dark Arts post to Tom. He knew this wasn't helping, but he understood that nothing he did was going to change anything in history anyway...

"I don't believe you are a follower either, Jonathan."

Dumbledore had ignored everything he said.

"What makes you say that?"

"It was clear, in your only year here at Hogwarts, that you interacted differently with Tom's group of friends. You seemingly felt no need to please nor to impress any one of them, not even Tom. Your behaviour was that of a student who would have surely struck ire in Tom, had you not been the way you are, had you been a follower instead. You were a puzzle, a powerful challenge, for Tom to conquer for his own gain."

Harry's face twisted into an expression of loathing. Was that all Dumbledore thought of his and Tom's relationship? That Tom had found him mildly interesting as a subject, so had wanted to find out more about him?

"You've come a long way following Tom these last few years, Jonathan – and I'm sure you've been following him this entire time. You are not like Tom's old school acquaintances, but you have nevertheless allowed him to lead you for a number of years now with, apparently, no revolt."

"What, you think I've just been trailing after him for no reason all this time? I found love, Dumbledore! Unlike you, I found someone who actually cares!"

"Does he care, truly?" Dumbledore asked.

"Of course he does!"

"He doesn't go against your wishes? He listens to you when you make pleads and demands regarding subjects that you are particularly opposed to?"

"Of course he – how could –"

"Does he appear to listen to you, only to return another day bearing news of a crime that went against your now forgotten wishes, Jonathan? Against the promises he swore he'd keep?"

Macnair flashed into Harry's mind. "SHUT UP!"

Dumbledore did. Harry had taken angered, violent steps towards him, his wand pointed to his face. His expression silenced Dumbledore above all else, but instead of striking fear throughout the lines of the Processor's face, nothing changed. He was merely thinking.

Harry tried very hard to suppress thoughts of Macnair, feeling odd feelings chasing him within his own troubled mind. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his face contorted in fury.

"You don't know what you're talking about..."

"Jonathan... relationships like yours often work in exactly the same way as others like it, with the same mistakes and rationalities to contradict everything you believe in at heart. Throwing away your instinctual habits, going against your very nature for the love of a man who cannot satisfactorily keep any of his promises, is the result of how powerfully a man like Tom can manipulate and influence, all in a terrible greed for his own desires to be met."

"Since when did you know what I'm like?" Harry asked scathingly. "You don't know me – you don't know a thing about me, nor what I believe in!"

"I know what a terrible thing it is to be abused in love."

"He doesn't – I'm not – YOU DON'T KNOW ME!"

"I know Tom well enough. I know the situation you have faced."

"So what, you think he's tricked me, that he had some reason to keep me for his own gain?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.

"He always appears to do only that which makes him wealthier in power. He has weakened you, Jonathan."

"He's made me stronger!"

"I can see a great change has come over you since last we met. You have made a choice that I can understand more than anyone, Jonathan, for it is a mistake I was so very close to making myself."

"Don't compare me – don't pretend – YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH!"

"You have faced a great deal of grief in your lifetime. This much is clear to anyone who takes the time to truly look and listen to you, Jonathan. You were a lonely boy with no one else in the world to turn to, chasing after love in the futile hope that happiness would follow."

"SHUT UP!"

"Too many people are betrayed by the person they love, living a life that isn't meant for them in the hope that somehow they, or the situation around them, will change against all odds."

"DON'T PRETEND YOU UNDERSTAND ME! WE AREN'T THE SAME FUCKING PERSON!"

"Jonathan..."

He spoke so softly that the loathing Harry felt was burning the surface of his skin. He wanted to attack Dumbledore, to strike him again and again to get rid of his own struggles to hear all of this. Dumbledore was waiting for him to calm down. Harry didn't feel any less infuriated as the time dragged on, but the strength he used to clench his wand and bare his teeth in a menacing gesture was lessening his desire to shout.

"Think about what you are doing. It is a mistake."

"You're wrong," Harry said in a low, deadly voice. He was shaking all over in rage now, his glare unstoppable as he attempted to withhold the pure enragement that Dumbledore struck within him. "You're SO wrong – about everything!"

He thought he understood Harry – he thought there was some better situation Harry could have landed in, had he gone against his love for Tom. It was the height of hypocrisy for Dumbledore to accuse Tom of leading Harry through false hope, to accuse Tom of betraying him, when in truth Dumbledore had committed the greatest betrayal. Dumbledore was all lies, and in this moment Harry hated him more than he had hated anyone else upon this earth.

Dumbledore was examining him carefully, appearing solemn as he watched the abhorrence before him. He couldn't know why Harry hated him so much, but he likely assumed it was the general result of Harry going through a great deal of trauma in his lifetime. Harry wanted to attack his old Professor for watching him so steadily, contemplating his rage. He wanted to make Dumbledore hurt. He wanted a real reaction from him past calmness, for once.

"You look more like Tom than ever," Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry waited... waited for the moment when he could attack his old Professor.

"I feel as though... he has made you do a lot of things against your own will these last few years, Jonathan. He has made you much like him."

Harry remained mute. There were so many things he wanted to say to Dumbledore, but he refused to. He breathed heavily through his nose, suppressing it when surges of anger attempted to break through, to make him attack, shout, and hurt the wizard before him any way he could. It wouldn't be wise to attack Dumbledore, however... but he wanted to. Oh, did he want to...

"We aren't so different," he said in a quiet voice that shook with hatred.

"No," Dumbledore commented, "I don't suppose you are, now. He has weakened you."

Harry was trying very, very hard not to let his anger out. "He hasn't – I – HE'S MADE ME STRONGER!"

"In one sort of magic, perhaps," Dumbledore responded, his tone never changing, "but he appears to have forced you, at least somewhat, to believe in all that he believes in. He wanted you only to become like him. He has evidently succeeded thus far."

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!"

Harry didn't know how to deal with the feelings raging inside him. Fear and caution for the future were the only things stopping him from silencing Dumbledore for good. Although Tom wouldn't be against the idea at all, Harry forced himself to resist. He wanted to smash everything in sight, to release the binding fury that took over his body, blinding him...

"What does it matter?" Harry suddenly asked, sounding demanding and enraged beneath his contorted expression and gritted teeth. "What could any of this matter to you, Dumbledore, when you don't care and don't fucking know about me?"

"It matters, Jonathan, because no one deserves to be treated as lesser. It is cruel."

"But he isn't treating me as -!"

"I fear as though Tom is using your power for his own gain."

A silence fell. Harry had no idea what made Dumbledore say this. Harry had no power for Tom to take and he certainly hadn't showed any strength towards Dumbledore. Tom had so many followers, he didn't need Harry's power.

"Can you imagine what the world would have been had I joined Grindelwald, Jonathan?" Dumbledore asked in a quiet voice. There was no other noise beyond that of the flickering fire and soft snow piling upon the windows. "Can you imagine what might have happened had the world been faced by not only the wrath of this powerful young man, but joined too with the strength of the only wizard would could defeat him?"

Harry was stunned. A sickening feeling was rising up in his stomach, causing his anger to pause...

They had said he was the only person who would be able to defeat Voldemort in the future... Dumbledore had contradicted everything, of course, saying he had to die, but everyone had believed firmly that Harry was the Chosen One. It was as if he was living the same life of Dumbledore, only completely backwards. He couldn't defeat Voldemort so he had lost everyone he loved, only to find himself now in love with the man that had killed everyone he knew. He was helping him gain power...

What Dumbledore meant now was that Harry was contributing to Tom doing terrible things. He was becoming just as bad as Tom, giving him everything he had including all of his power. He was helping an insane wizard for love, just like with Dumbledore had with Grindelwald... A violent rush stopped Harry's thoughts.

Every inch of his body was shaken by the sudden appearance of force he did not recognise. His chest stung as though every breath he took was pulling shards of glass into his lungs. His arms were aching with a desire for him to let his emotion out, but he couldn't. It struck irritation in Harry in confusion. He stared, his pained, angry, confused face staring into Dumbledore's impassive one. His old Headmaster's eyes shone.

"It isn't too late to leave Tom, Jonathan. It is never too late."

Harry couldn't take this – as soon as this thought reached his mind, he decided to cut out all thoughts concerning Dumbledore's words. It was going to kill him. His chest ached and his head pounded.

"Let me out."

"I understand that it seems like the most difficult choice to face, Jonathan, but there is no avail to staying with a man like To-"

"LET ME OUT!"

"There is much else I wish to discuss with you, first."

"Do you really think – do you honestly believe – I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK! I DON'T FUCKING CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!"

His teeth were bared and his breath was ripping at his throat in a result of hatred, frustration, and fear that had returned. He wanted to get out of here, to leave, but Dumbledore kept him where he was in fright. Never once, however, did the thought cross his mind that Tom should save him from this situation. He was thinking how to stop Dumbledore from stopping him.

"You cannot honestly believe that you are going to hurt me, Jonathan. You know as well as I do that the consequences would be many. You will not defeat me in a duel."

"Yeah? Well, last time I checked, I'd taken your wand!"

Dumbledore might not have heard him. His expression became one of deep thought as his piercing eyes flickered between both of Harry's, his mouth held in a thin line beneath his beard.

"It comes as a surprise to me, thinking now, that a wizard as young as yourself would venture off to seek a new wand," Dumbledore said quietly. Despite his even tone, his expression wasn't quite as good at hiding his real worry. "Moreover, I am surprised that it is Grindelwald's wand that you are drawn to. Unless, of course, as your contempt suggests, you have a personal grudge against Grindelwald. In which case -"

"I know it's the Elder Wand," Harry hissed through his teeth. He couldn't stand hearing Dumbledore pretend or hope that Harry was just after this wand for the sake of having Grindelwald's wand.

For the first time tonight, there was no mistaking Dumbledore's fear. Harry found enjoyment in watching this weakness, he enjoyed knowing that he was finally gaining some respect.

"And I have the Stone," Harry said in a very quiet, sickening tone. He stared unblinkingly. "The Resurrection Stone... and this Cloak... you know which Invisibility Cloak this is, Dumbledore, and I bet you've known for this entire conversation..."

Elation was crawling up Harry's skin. This is what he had wanted and he relished in it's arrival – he welcomed it openly. It was causing his heart to thump in satisfaction, overriding all else. His wide, wild eyes to continue boring into Dumbledore's without interruption as the weight of his own realisation was shooting up his spine, causing him to feel light-headed.

As if frightened by his expression, as if in a desire to stop Harry from doing anything irrational, Dumbledore tried to speak. "Jonathan, -"

"With this wand, I have them all! With this wand, I – I..."

It was too much for Harry to take; he couldn't finish his own sentence. A sharp, numbing smile spread across his face, breaking and falling and replenishing itself as different thoughts coursed through his mind. He had wanted this wand because it was the only one that meant anything to him in this era, but now, he realised, he had been collecting the Deathly Hallows. The ring was a Horcrux still, but Tom had given it to him wholly, he had entrusted him with it. All thee items belonged to him.

"I am the Master of Death..."

His expression remained stuck upon his face. Dumbledore stood speechless before him. It was that look that stunned him more than anything else, it made him realise that Harry was insane.

"Jonathan," he began slowly, carefully, "you must understand that in a time of great power -"

"I don't care!" Harry exclaimed. He was suddenly angry again, convince that Dumbledore was going to try and take the wand back from him. "Nothing you have to say matters! I can never be beaten – I can never be defeated now!"

"You have faced a great deal of pain, Jonathan. You have much to be upset about. If you would listen to what I have to say to-"

"I won't!"

"It is easy to become spiteful of the entire world, to blame it for the sorrows you have met, but true power rests in the understanding that in all of us is the strength to gain great happiness, to do what is right. You are a very troubled man, Jonathan –"

"You know nothing about me, nothing bout what I've met! All you want is this wand back, Dumbledore, it doesn't take a genius to see it!"

"You are in no way prepared to handle this sort of power."

"Don't tell me how to run my life!"

"You are stuck with a man who abuses you and takes from you all the power you have, you should be glad that someone, at least, informs you that you are in a one-sided relationship. You cannot carry on loving a man who cannot love any-"

"DON'T!" Harry roared, his whole mind seized with anger. "DON'T STAND THERE AND TELL ME HOW I FEEL – DON'T LIE ABOUT HOW TOM FEELS WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW A THING ABOUT WHAT'S HAPPENED!"

Harry wanted to kill him. He wanted to force that calm face of his to show how he truly felt in the moment of his death. Those sharp blue eyes continued to stare at him, as if reading so much about him beneath the surface.

"Forgive me," Dumbledore said after what felt like a long time. "I did not mean to imply that Tom is not in love with you."

This only made Harry more enraged. He was thinking about what would happen if he did murder Dumbledore. It would be the ultimate revenge for how he had cheated Harry in the past, in the future. It would fix Harry to murder Dumbledore, he felt. It would get rid of this terrible pain that bound him, irritating him beyond belief. Hatred was all Harry knew in this moment. There was nothing else.

"It is curious that you are the one to take this wand from me, rather than Tom."

"How is it?"

"The Elder Wand holds great power, as legend tells. Tom surely would have wanted it for himself?"

"I needed a new wand. He doesn't have to do everything for me."

"I never suggested so... Is Tom as of yet unaware of your rise to sudden, deep power?"

"What does it matter? What's any of this information to you, Dumbledore?"

"You know what power not only the Elder Wand, but also the Stone and the Cloak, possess. You are aware, clearly, that together these three items is said to make one the Master of Death. Yet you have shared none of this with Tom. You have divulged nothing of it's power to him, or else it would be him, and never you, standing here before me now. You may, even, have lied to him."

"So what?" Harry demanded through gritted teeth.

"So," Dumbledore said softly, "it seems rational, by all means, to assume that even you know what a terrible thing it would be for Tom to gain such vast power. You have the sense to shield him from any knowledge of the Deathly Hallows... It would, I fear, be a fate for this world much like that of Grindelwald's rise to power. It would be worse than if Grindelwald remained undefeated still, if Tom had both the Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility with the Elder Wand... I do not believe there would be any wizard alone strong enough to stop him."

Harry stood frozen. Here Dumbledore was again, telling him what he feared, making him think about the future and how it could change... He had believed firmly, lately, that nothing he did could possibly change anything later on, but what Dumbledore said was scaring him. He didn't know how, but it was. The possibility was still there, it was still haunting... Tom had never known about the Deathly Hallows... What if something happened and he found out? What if he hated Harry for keeping this information from him, if he thought he had been betrayed? What if Harry didn't mean nothing to this era after all...

"Jonathan," Dumbledore said in a quiet, pleading tone, "Tom is a master of manipulation, he is a young man with far too much skill and talent in both the art of persuasion and magical ability. You cannot accurately defy him on your own."

Harry didn't understand the power Dumbledore had over him. These feelings were like an attack to him. "I don't have to defy him!" he shouted, glaring. But his glare was weak. His heart was hurting and his chest burned.

"If you wish to take the Elder Wand from me, I am, sadly, in no position to object... With the Deathly Hallows, Jonathan, you have a power that is perhaps greater than that of any other wizard alive... I must confess that I cannot fight you."

"You've lost," Harry told him. He wanted to sound gloating, but he couldn't. "You've lost everything you've earned..."

To his utter bafflement, Dumbledore smiled. "My dear boy, there are greater things upon this earth than a weapon of such power. Knowledge is, after all, ultimately stronger still – evident by Grindelwald's defeat, amongst others. I desired the Elder Wand only to be sure that no one else would take it. I have evidently not succeeded in perusing this wish, but I am not interested in what you will do with the Wand alone."

A look of sorrow fell across Dumbledore's face.

"The Deathly Hallows as three, however, are a little different... I care only that they could fall into worse hands – hands that are indeed often close to your own..."

No matter how hard Harry tried, he couldn't take power in seeing this sort of weakness in Dumbledore. The grief was so pronounced, with so little change of his actual features. Harry could feel it radiating off of Dumbledore, unrecognisable to him if it hadn't been something that he bad been forced to feel a taste of earlier in this conversation.

"I beg you, Jonathan... Tom cannot know."

Harry's rage was gone. He didn't know how this was happening, but there was something about seeing Dumbledore show such fear, sorrow, and despair. Dumbledore had been close to being like a father to Harry once. He had been a guardian to him. To see him now, standing in this cold, quiet room, pleading that he take caution...

Harry felt sick. His smile had long since faded as he continued to face Dumbledore silently, his jaw clenched against the pain he was facing. His mind was numbed, was sending pain throughout his body as thoughts crossed his mind doubting Tom's love, fearing his power... He wanted to be happy again, to go back to the glory of having the Elder Wand, but the new texture of wood against his palm did nothing beyond sting him in his tightly clenched fist. He was ill, physically ill...

Then Harry felt it. It hadn't happened in weeks – it alarmed him more than he could have expected in such a short burst of time. He flinched from Dumbledore as if he had been struck, trying and stifle the blood that dripped down thickly from his nose. The liquid poured all over Emeric's wand, through Harry's trembling, clawed fingers as he gasped in fear. It doubled his panic, making him stumble as the emotion Dumbledore had struck earlier worsened too. The only thought that ran though his mind as he felt the blood continue was that Dumbledore had broken him.

His body shook worse than ever. He felt as though he was surely going to faint. Emotions were pressing upon him, pushing him over, catching him and pulling him in all directions. The worry that gripped him was reckless, a terrible worry. The sorrow and confusion that came as one, and the fear and despair that did too, was killing him where he stood. Never once did Harry shed a tear, never once did he allow any of his emotions to be shown openly; they tore through his body like a storm, trying so hard to grow and break free, but he fought them. It was only in his terrified eyes.

He had to leave; this was all he knew. Forgetting that Dumbledore might have his real wand hidden in here somewhere, Harry faced the door, tearing down the magic if it wouldn't let him merely blast his way through. In his panic, his strength seemed stronger than it was before, he thought, but in truth it was The Elder Wand that enhanced his magical ability. He hadn't thought of this before – he hadn't thought Dumbledore would merely stand there and do nothing, watching him go. If he said something, Harry couldn't hear. He was hurrying out of the room already.

Shock blinded him on his way through Dumbledore's office. He had to get out of here as soon as possible. Through corridors outside, the same familiar smells of Hogwarts reached Harry's nose, reminding him of the years he had spent here as a boy, Ron and Hermione by his side all the way along. He had hated Hogwarts for this, on some level, when he had taken his last year of school here four years ago; it reminded him of everything he had lost. The memories seemed to chase after him as he threw on the Cloak, holding the Elder Wand in his blood-free hand.

He was in the Great Hall before he knew it, then out on the grounds, then at the gates to Hogwarts. All along the way he barely had time to think. He didn't want to think and he certainly didn't want to feel. When he saw Tom's figure in the darkness, black against the falling snow, he felt a little calmed. He headed towards the shape, seeing Tom's face covered by the hood of his black cloak. After a minute or two, he took off the Invisibility Cloak.

"Harry," Tom breathed. In the light of Harry's wand, Tom's face was visible beneath his hood. "I was becoming worried."

Harry walked closer. Tom's smile dropped.

"What happened?" he asked. He stared in shock.

"Nothing. I got the wand, Dumbledore woke up, but I -"

Tom was already standing close to him. His hand was raised as if he wanted to touch Harry, but he was hesitant. He stared in fear. "What did he do to you?"

Harry realised, then, that he was still covered in blood. How he had forgotten about this, he had no idea, but Tom's eyes burned in panic and anger. "It wasn't Dumbledore," Harry told him, "I just had a nosebleed."

"Don't turn away, let me have a look at -"

"I'm fine, it's just a nosebleed."

"This should not be happening once more. I thought it had stopped – let me clear it for -"

"I'm fine!"

He had said this with such force, Tom was shocked into silence. He watched Harry with his wand still held up, evidently waiting for a sign to understand why Harry had refused. He did nothing but wait, thinking. Neither of them spoke.

Harry felt guilty for shouting at Tom but he didn't know what to say. He looked away, clearing the blood from his face. He didn't know what to do to change this awkwardness. "I got Grindelwald's wand, that's all that matters. Dumbledore couldn't do anything about it..."

"Why do you refuse my help?" Tom asked quietly.

"It's nothing, it was just a nosebleed – and anyway, I don't need you to help me."

"Why not?"

Harry gave no answer. Tom was confused, but there was no way he could lessen his curiosity accurately. Harry didn't want to be treated like a child. He didn't want to be looked after anymore. The fact that Dumbledore had said that he was following Tom, that Tom was dragging him along, made this all the worse. He didn't want to be lesser than Tom. He didn't want to be seen as weaker, as needing Tom's help...

It was how Tom was taking his power from him. The thought hit Harry so suddenly, he felt those odd feelings rising in him again. Tom was watching him carefully, but Harry couldn't tell what he was thinking. He wanted control over Harry... or did he just care enough to want to help him? Harry had no idea anymore. This is what Dumbledore does, he thought, this is why he should stay away from him for as long as possible. He infected Harry with all these doubts, all these worries that hadn't existed before...

"Are you alright?"

Harry realised he had shown a look of sorrow to Tom. He tried to pass it off as nothing, his expression dropping as he looked away. "I'm fine..."

"What did Dumbledore say to you?" Tom asked in a low voice.

"Nothing, he just wanted the wand back."

"What did he say?" Tom repeated a little more insistently, seeing through Harry's shaky lie. "If he has fed you more lies, if he has forced you to believe his -"

"It's nothing, Tom. I don't need your help – I don't need you to concern yourself with everything that happens to me! I can look after myself!"

It was the same angry tone Harry had used before. He regretted it again, but again he couldn't have helped it in that moment, as the conversation with Dumbledore pained him. He couldn't think how to fix it – nor his worry and his anger. Tom stood motionless, his dark eyes staring from beneath his cloak. He was speechless.

Harry couldn't take this anymore. His chest was aching, he tried to breath in deeply and evenly but it was to no avail; he felt like crying anyway. He wouldn't allow himself to, especially not in front of Tom, but he recognised the feeling now. Dumbledore had broken him, but he wasn't going to fall apart before Tom's very eyes. He wanted to run away from this feeling – and this is what he did. Before he had time to think twice about it he turned from Tom, opening the Invisibility Cloak.

It was too late for Tom to ague, Harry had already disappeared from site, was already hurrying away. Tom shouted after him, attempting to work out where he was in the darkness, watching the snow on the ground, but Harry was gone. With an echoing '_crack!_', he Disapparated into the night.

The feeling of Apparition added to the compressed, powerless feeling he had faced seconds before. He felt helpless in the knowledge that he couldn't understand Tom. He was zooming off to some distant destination without the time to think. When he landed, feeling dishevelled and unsteady, he found himself in what looked like the middle of Muggle London.

He was on a quiet road. None of the houses were recognisable to him. He supposed this meant that this was a location he had heard the name of without properly knowing. He took off the Invisibility Cloak and began hurrying along the snow-covered pavement, as if he was concerned that Tom would be following him. He regretted leaving Tom at the gates of Hogwarts; he was going to be so worried, so angry...

A few wreaths decorated the dark doors of the tall houses. Harry thought back to the location he had thought this place was. He stopped walking. He realised, finally, where he was. Nott lived here. Tom had mentioned the address when he spoke to Harry about all the places the Knights were living, to inform him of where to find them all. Harry had remembered it because he had reflected how curious it was that Nott chose to live amongst Muggles...

Harry had no idea how he had remembered this, but in truth he was in no position to question it. He could see which house was Nott's. To his surprise, there were lights on in that building, in the floor Nott should have been on. Harry edged towards it slowly. He needed a place to hide... This was truly the last place Tom would ever expect him to be, and despite the hour, Nott seemed to be awake. Harry reflected that he needed somewhere to be to regain his energy... He headed for the house.

He knocked and waited, feeling no hesitation as he stood upon the step. Worse things awaited him, after all, like facing his worry, fear, and sorrow. This was the perfect distraction, it was somewhere he had never been, with a man he got along with, but who wasn't directly connected to his troubles.

He remembered, after a minute, what Nott had said months ago, about how he was there for him if he ever needed him... Whether Harry had remembered this all along or whether it was just to rationalize his own reason to visit Nott now, he wasn't sure, but he didn't care. A lock sounded and the door swung open.

"Oh... hello."

Nott's confusion was immediate. His efforts to hide it weren't insulting, somehow.

"Hello. Can I come in?" Harry asked.

"Sure," Nott said without wavering, but clearly without fully understanding why Harry was here.

He opened the door wider and Harry stepped inside, glad to get away from the cold.

Nott's flat was small but neat, with a high ceiling but not much space beyond that which was needed to navigate through the hallway and within each room. Harry was led into a living-room. It had electric lights rather than torches and fires, which came as a bit of a surprise to him. It had been so long since he had been in a Muggle-like house, lights appears too bright at some points. He felt as though he could hear a high pitch of electricity, which he was sure was the mere result of not being near it in so long. Beyond this, however, the front room was adorned with many magical items.

"This place is only temporary," Nott explained, after catching a look Harry cast the Muggle aspects of the room. "I'll be moving again in a few weeks."

Harry wondered why Tom hadn't helped to get Nott a house immediately, like he had with so many of the other Knights. It wasn't that they couldn't do it on their own, but Tom knew how to make the process speed along (somewhat illegally). Even Lestrange had been helped. "Not many of the other Knights would endure living near Muggles," Harry mentioned.

"I don't see them, I've never met the neighbours," Nott told him. He seemed somewhat uncomfortable. "As I said, it's just before I move."

"No, it makes sense."

He hoped Nott didn't think he making a snide comment upon his decision to live near Muggles. Harry wasn't careless enough to say that he thought it was fine, but he couldn't lie that he hated them. The Knights were so against non-magical people, Harry was sure Nott must dislike them too in some way... yet it was curious, his decision to live here.

"Sit down, if you like," Nott offered.

Harry did so, sitting upon a thin couch opposite a chair Nott moved to. Harry wondered where Tom was now, wondering if he should be more scared or guilty at the thought of Tom searching all possible places for him. With the cloak, however, it would be impossible to chase after Harry. Surely Tom would know this...

"Is everything alright with the Knights?"

Harry nodded vaguely, not giving a verbal answer. What Nott was really asking was whether this is why he was here. Harry was surprised, but glad, that Nott didn't ask him more questions more quickly. Looking up at him now, Harry was a little surprised. He looked even more tired than he had been during their time in Albania, even if he appeared to be making more effort with his general appearance in England, like all the Knights. His eyes were red. Harry watched this for a minute, wondering whether Nott had been crying.

"I'm surprised Tom's not with you. You're normally together in times like this."

"I wanted to be away for a bit," Harry said quietly.

"I see."

Nott didn't ask more about it. Harry wondered whether this was in fear for Harry's rank amongst the Knights of Walpurgis or just in understanding. Somehow, he hoped it was the latter. He knew Nott wanted to know more, to make sense of why he had showed up at his house... but if Harry was here and if he wanted to be away from Tom, Harry supposed his purpose was obvious: to hide from Tom. It was mere coincidence that Nott was awake at this hour.

"I don't mean to disturb you," Harry said. "I only knocked because I saw you were awake."

"It's alright, I wasn't doing anything anyway."

Harry could see this. There was a book besides the chair Nott sat in, but it didn't have any page saved and it didn't look as though it had been put aside due to a mere interruption. It sat neatly where it was. There didn't seem to be much else Nott could have been doing.

"I haven't seen you properly since we visited the Giants," Harry mentioned.

Nott nodded, but gave no spoken response. He was staring into space now.

Harry wondered whether he had caught Nott at a bad time. This didn't make him feel awkward, however; Nott didn't particularly seem like he wanted him to leave. It took a minute before Nott stopped thinking so deeply, perhaps after forcing himself to.

"I was going to make some tea," Nott said. "Would you like some?"

"Sure."

Nott stood up, leaving the room without another word.

Harry wondered what Dumbledore would do about losing the Elder Wand, if he did anything at all. He wondered if the old Professor might try and track him down for it... yet Dumbledore now knew that he had all three of the Deathly Hallows. This had scared him. He knew of their power... Tom couldn't know of their power...

Nott was back after a few minutes. He set a cup in front of Harry on a small table before sitting down, neither of them saying anything after a quiet "thank you" from Harry. The silence was comfortable, held in understanding. The look upon Nott's face was one that Harry felt was similar to his own feelings, in some way. It was clear Nott felt sombre for one reason or another; there was no other reason to be awake in the dead of night, alone in an apartment with nothing to read, nothing to say.

"I'm surprised you're awake this early," Harry said.

Nott watched him carefully. "I'm surprised you were out this late."

"I don't have much reason to be awake during the day by this point. You're working though, aren't you?"

Nott shifted a little in his eat, looking away. "Well... I haven't properly been able to get back into sleeping regular hours. You know how it was for us, in Albania, we'd be woken up at unplanned hours and worked more than normal, depending on what was going on."

"That's why you can't sleep?"

Nott hesitated. "It's one reason, yes."

This still didn't explain the way Nott looked – not only in physical appearance, but in the emotion he showed too... Nott seemed to want to change the subject.

"Why were you out so late?" he asked. "I can tell you haven't just come here from your own place. You're covered in snow."

"There was something I needed to do," Harry told him. His voice was low.

Nott watched him. His expression changed a little, but Harry wasn't sure how. It took a minute before he spoke again, his expression going to curiosity. "Why are you avoiding Tom?"

"I just needed some time to think," Harry said, rising his cup of tea to his lips. He took a sip of the warm liquid.

"So you came here?"

The tea was well made, it was just what he needed after travelling through the cold winter weather."It was the first place that came to mind, I wasn't really thinking."

Nott mulled this over as Harry took another sip. "You Apparated from him, then."

Harry was surprise he had guessed right. He nodded. Nott might have heard him arrive on the street, or he might just have a knack at guessing things as such. There would be no way for Nott to guess where Harry had been with Tom before, however. The thought made Harry's mind wander to the two wands in his pocket.

"Were you arguing?" Nott asked.

"Sort of... but not because he wanted to."

Nott nodded slowly, trying to work this out.

"To be honest, it was all my fault," Harry admitted. "I was just... well, I was worried about something from earlier... Something someone said..."

"Did he not like what they said?"

"No, he didn't know. I mean, he can't of, I got too annoyed before I could talk to him properly about what happened. I shouldn't have talked to that person, really..."

"So, he doesn't know why you ran off?"

"Well... no..." Harry was starting to see that from Tom's point of view none of this would make much sense. Tom would worry that Dumbledore had convinced Harry to leave him...

"He'll be annoyed, if he finds you," Nott mentioned quietly.

Harry couldn't deny this was very possible. His jaw clenched a little in worry as he began contemplating whether he should go back, to at least save Nott from having to meet an angry Tom, if Harry was found here.

Harry regretted running from Tom. The thought made him hate Dumbledore for infecting him with doubt, filling him with reasons to question Tom's motives. A feeling of anger found Harry. It felt more natural to him than other emotion again. Dumbledore had spoken about himself more than Harry throughout that conversation, he thought – he cared about Harry's life only because he thought it was a direct reflection of his own past...

"You should speak to Tom," Nott said. "If he doesn't understand why you left, he can't help you to feel better, and you won't be able to make up. You need to understand each other to sort out what's worrying you."

This made sense, somehow. "Yeah, maybe you're right..."

Harry wasn't sure how Nott could see all this so clearly. Maybe he had been through something close, or maybe it was just that an outsider could understand such situations more clearly. Harry was thinking, also, that he shouldn't allow Dumbledore to weaken him like this. He shouldn't allow Dumbledore to take his power...

"Do you think he truly loves me?" Harry then asked. He looked up at the question, wanting an answer badly. It was the difference between fighting against Dumbledore and scorning him honestly.

"Yes," Nott answered plainly.

"How?"

"Well, you're the only person he's ever seemed to care about. You're one of the only things that really matters to him, clearly."

This was true, Harry thought. It was very true... Dumbledore had just tried to weaken Harry – because that's what Dumbledore did.

"If someone doubted that," Nott said slowly, "they're probably somewhat envious. If they know about your relationship with him and if they've made you doubt it in some way... Well, remember that a lot of people would do anything for a relationship that close, that long-lasting. It's a lot easier to suspect someone you love of being insincere than it is proving they're not. That's why doubt works."

"You're right," Harry said, suddenly sure of it. He felt more awake now, more prepared than he had been when he entered Nott's home.

Tom had never cared about anyone like he had cared about Harry – he should never have forgotten this. Tom talked to him in such loving words, he protected him even when Harry didn't want to be protected, he stuck by him despite having the constant choice to drop him for another man – how had Dumbledore let him forget all of this? Tom had stuck by his side when he was ill, he had looked after him even when he didn't feel like looking after himself... He had dedicated so much time and patience for Harry, without one moment of spiting him for it...

Dumbledore had tried to ruin this for Harry. He tried to take away everything Harry had – and for what? To rationalize why he had left Gellert Grindelwald? He didn't want to help Harry, he didn't even know him. He just wanted control, in a reflection of his own life. Anger was simmering within Harry once again. He hated Dumbledore, he despised him for trying to weaken him in this way. Dumbledore knew nothing, nothing at all about love... he just knew how to let go.

Harry stood up. "I should go back to Tom."

Nott nodded calmly. "Talk to him, it'll help."

"I will," Harry said. He should have thought of this all himself. "I didn't mean to bother you so late, I should have just talked to him anyway."

"No, it's fine. If you ever need someone else to talk to... well, you know where I am, clearly."

"Yeah," Harry said. Then he was grinning. "Thank you."

Nott didn't smile back but Harry hardly noticed. He was watching Harry. Apparently he wasn't used to seeing him smile like this. It took him a long moment before he said, "It's no problem."

Harry didn't wonder why Nott was thinking so deeply. He was turning away, neglecting his half-finished cup of tea. "Honestly, thank you. Have a good night."

"You too..."

With that, Harry was gone. Nott didn't walk him to the door because he understood Harry was in a rush to leave anyway. Stepping out into the cold night and taking out his Invisibility Cloak, Harry closed the door behind him.

He was just putting on the cloak, smiling and thinking what he would say to Tom, when he felt an awful emotion again. He hadn't asked Nott how he was... This was the second time he had regretted this. He wished he didn't...

Choosing to ignore his inner emotion, Harry pushed the thought away, knowing that greater emotions awaited him. He turned on the spot and Disapparated. He was going to find Tom, to talk this through.


	65. To Go Anywhere

65 - To Go Anywhere

The sky was pitch black. Harry was unable to see anything but the white snow falling around him, piling upon the tall trees and causing their branches to droop and sink sadly in the quiet. The house that he and Tom shared was a looming shadow in the distance, but even as Harry approached it he understood Tom would be gone. He would be Apparating across the entire country, unable to resist chasing Harry no matter how futile his attempts may be.

Lights were on within their large, rectangular home, but only due to the fires that burned continuously in various fireplaces, lighting up three of the nine visible windows on the front of their house. Harry could see a lot of fresh footsteps from the same shoes on the steps leading to their front door. It made him feel momentarily guilty; Tom had evidently Apparated back home between his searches, hoping he'd be here. He knew Harry would return at one point or another, but the possibility of him not doing so made Tom restless, unable to sit still and wait.

It was just over five minutes of waiting before Tom appeared. Harry heard him Apparate, and turned around. As soon as Tom saw him, his pace began to quicken. His expression was somewhere between indignation and confusion. He stared at Harry's silhouette, his own face visible as he approached with a lit wand.

"Where have you been?" Tom demanded the moment he could be heard. His eyes seemed to burn red. "I chased after you – I searched for you everywhere I could!"

"I didn't want to be found," Harry said quietly. He knew Tom was mostly angry because he didn't understand what had happened.

"Why?" Tom asked, infuriated still. "I didn't do a thing to you! I tried to help you, yet you nevertheless felt the need to punish me for a crime I never committed in the first place!"

"I'm sorry," Harry said calmly. It wasn't a lie. "I didn't mean to annoy you."

"Why did you run off? Why did you treat me like that?"

His tone made Harry feel guiltier still. "I couldn't help it."

Tom's face twitched, but this had robbed him of all claims to describe how Harry had treated him outrageously.

Harry then added, "Dumbledore scared me."

If Tom had been close to becoming calm before, there was no sign of it now. "Dumbledore," he hissed through gritted teeth, "should be no example at all of a man who understands the assumptions he so eagerly voices. You know this, Harry!"

"I know," Harry agreed, "but he knows how to scare people."

Tom wanted to be angry at him – this was clear from the way he stared in indignation and fury – but he understood that Harry wasn't the person to blame. He seem tempted to turn away as he stood in silence, struggling.

"Let's go inside," Harry said, hoping to take Tom's mind off of his ire. He himself felt oddly calm. "It's getting cold and I want to talk about what Dumbledore said. I'm sorry I didn't do this in the first place."

Tom's look of anger lessened, except in his eyes, which burned in hatred for Dumbledore and in frustration for the night's events as a whole. Harry reached for his hand. The moment their fingers touched, Tom watched him more carefully, still struggling. Harry took a few steps forward and pulled him into an embrace. They stood together in the snow in silence, understanding each other better without words.

– X –

Tom listened patiently to what Harry had to say when they went back inside. They sat together in front of a warm fire to forget the cold, trying to make sense of Dumbledore's claims and the reaction Harry had had to it all. Tom calmed down significantly, yet seemed eager to speak ill of Dumbledore throughout their conversation, while Harry poured fresh, warm tea and sat close to him upon the couch they shared.

Harry told Tom everything about his conversation with Dumbledore concerning what he had said about their relationship. Tom was enraged, but Harry's reassurance that he didn't believe a word Dumbledore said calmed him. Throughout their conversation Harry couldn't help but find comfort in how good it felt to talk this through with Tom. He had done this in the past, of course, but tonight he knew he was here only because of Nott's advice.

Somehow, he couldn't find the right time to mention Nott to Tom. He was concerned that Tom would find it unusual or he would be be jealous that it was Nott, and not he, who had reassured Harry about all of this. Harry had mentioned how he had thought all of this through, how he was glad to talk it over, but Tom never asked where he had vanished to from Hogwarts. The desire to thank Nott played on Harry's mind.

"I should never have sent you to Dumbledore alone," Tom said quietly, his thumb tracing along Harry's as their hands clasped. "You should have warned me when he awoke."

"It's alright," Harry told him, "I got the wand, that's all that really matters."

"I suppose this is true... Assuming, of course, that you don't allow Dumbledore's words to affect you to a greater extent. May I see the wand?"

"Sure," Harry said, taking the wand out from within his cloak. He felt oddly reluctant to let Tom hold it. He showed him without passing it on.

"It's quite handsome," Tom commented. "I hope only that it will serve you well, for it was at such risk that I allowed you to seek it."

"I would have sought after it anyway, even if you hadn't 'allowed' me to," Harry mentioned. With a bit of effort, he managed to say this without sounding too annoyed.

Tom smiled softly. "I know you would have."

Harry turned his attention to the Elder Wand wordlessly, aware that Tom was examining him. He felt Tom's free hand find it's way to his knee. When he looked up again, that soft smile returned.

"We should test the wand," Tom said softly, watching him in the low light.

Harry hesitated. "Well, I dunno..."

"Have you tried it yet?"

"No, I haven't."

"You must see if it works. It would be a waste if, after al this effort, the wand is useless to you."

Harry knew this was true. He was caught between fearing the wand wouldn't work and fearing it would be suspicious to Tom. If he just tried some mediocre magic...

"Accio vase!"

Harry ducked. The flowers he had summoned flew at him with such speed that he barely saw it. He felt the hair on the top of his head move as the vase zoomed over the couch, soon smashing loudly on the wall at the other side of the room. It sent glass and water spilling in all directions, the flowers broken and sprawled as they fell. When Harry sat up again his face was flushed in embarrassment and fear, while Tom remained calm, smiling.

"That worked well," he commented smoothly.

Harry's mouth felt dry as he sat up straighter. "Yeah..."

With a swish of his own wand, Tom repaired the smashed vase across the room from over the back of the couch. "We could have a lesson later today, to see the full potential of your new wand. You'll need to learn how to control it a little better. Yet it's working, which is all that matters."

"Alright, yeah," Harry said, still shocked as his heart pounded in his chest. In truth, he had no desire at all to reveal the full potential of the Elder Wand to Tom. If that was what a simple spell did... "We should probably go to bed soon though, it's been a long day."

Tom responded by giving a breath of laughter, leaning in to kiss Harry softly on the corner of his lips. He lingered a few inches away, for a moment. "You did well today, defying Dumbledore. Very well..."

"I'm sorry I ran off," Harry said, staring up into Tom's half-closed eyes. He was glad that Tom at least saw nothing odd about his new wand. "I was confused."

"Don't apologise," Tom asked of him, reaching a hand up to trace his thumb along Harry's jaw slowly. "I understand why, now..."

He kissed him again. They moved closer together in the dim light, speaking only in whispers and hisses for the remainder of the night.

– X –

The following day, and for many days after it, Harry practised magic with the Elder Wand – both in front of Tom and in private. In his first private practice he was scared that he wouldn't be able to understand the wand fully before Tom began to see it was more powerful than he first supposed, but after a few days of checking how careful he had to be and after a few more comments from Tom about how the wand would be unbalanced before it got used to him, Harry was more confident that he'd be able to hide his own strength.

They held private lessons together for over a month until, by the end of it, Harry had complete control over the Elder Wand. Each of the Knights of Walpurgis visited Harry and Tom's home about once a week in all, but this meant three of four meetings per week with different amounts of Tom's followers. It was rare that any of them went through training anymore, though they did hold duels for their own amusement, taking advantage of the large, open hall that was designed specifically for it.

Harry joined into their duelling sessions quite often now, after gaining confidence in the Elder Wand. Once every two weeks Harry and Tom would return to Albania, often at separate times, to check upon the progress the chosen Knights were having in looking after the Dragons. The Giants didn't need looking after; they returned to the mountains until the time was right for them to move to England under Tom's guidance. The Dragons were to be moved again within the next two months. The Inferi, after use, were wiped of magic and buried.

When another month passed, Harry knew he wasn't being quite as careful with his magic as he should, yet he couldn't help it; in the duels he didn't want to lose and in learning magic alongside Tom he didn't want to be slow. Tom didn't seem to think it was suspicious – in contrast, he seemed to take great joy in watching Harry succeed. Although he might have realised that Harry was stronger, he might have decided that it was a Horcrux, instead, that strengthened him.

It was late February when Nott began missing meetings. Tom didn't notice it at first, for it was quite easy for a Knight to go unnoticed amongst the random array of visitors that came and went each week, yet after the fifth week of not once seeing Nott, Tom began to get suspicious. It irked him, to say the least. He wanted to send one of his Knights – Avery or Dolohov or Mulciber – to make sure Nott understood what a mistake he had made, but Harry wouldn't allow it.

"Let me go instead," he insisted, sitting alone with Tom in their large home after the sixth week of Nott missing meetings. Even if almost all the meetings at this time were held for mere amusement, to keep the Knights together, Tom disapproved of his followers drifting away from him. These meetings were what allowed him to speak to each Knight individuality if he had something important to say.

"It will be no effort to convince one of the others to go pay him a visit," Tom responded, sounding unaffected by the idea.

"I want to go though," Harry said. In truth, this was not a lie. He had wanted an excuse to go see Nott ever since his last visit, on the night he stole the Elder Wand. After all this time, Harry still had a nagging guilt telling him he should talk to Nott about Lestrange. There was clearly something wrong now.

"He needs to be told he cannot do this."

"What, you think I can't tell him?"

"It'll be more convenient if one of the others threatened him, setting an example for our Knights."

"He doesn't need to be threatened," Harry said, trying not to sound annoyed, "and anyway, I want to know why he's avoiding meetings like this. Avery or Mulciber or one of the other Knights wouldn't be able to get that information out of Nott."

Tom understood this was true; Harry could see it in the way he paused to think.

"Let me go see him," Harry suggested again, seeing his chance. "I can threaten him too if that's what he needs, but otherwise I want to know what's going on."

Tom believed this, even if he wasn't too happy about it. He looked away in defeat, slightly annoyed. "If you wish."

Harry nodded, glad he had convince him. "I'll go see him tonight."

They said nothing more about it.

It was only an hour or two later when Harry set off to Nott's house, Apparating to the now familiar street in Muggle London where Nott resided. He hadn't yet moved houses, despite almost three months passing since Harry's last visit. It was around twelve O'clock at night, but a few lights shone in the tall, thin apartments on either side of the narrow road. Harry found Nott's flat again easily.

He waited for a minute or two after knocking. He wondered whether Nott knew Tom would send someone after him, or if he feared who might be waiting on his doorstep this late in the evening. Nott didn't appear reluctant as he opened the door (a door couldn't stop Tom's followers from entering his house, after all), but it was clear that he was nervous when he checked to see who it was.

"Jonathan," he greeted. He couldn't hide the relief in his voice. "Come in."

Harry did so wordlessly, glad to get away from the cold night. He had half-expected Nott's home to be rather less clean than it was before, but he was mistaken; Nott was still looking after the place well.

"I'd ask you why you're here," Nott began, as they headed for his living room, "but I can guess, well enough. I'm just glad our Lord didn't send Mulciber, or someone like him, to yell at me."

"He wanted to," Harry admitted calmly. They both sat down in the same seats as last time. "Mulciber would have done a bit worse than yell at you, though."

"What made Tom send you instead?"

"I asked him."

They both thought about this for a moment. An explanation wasn't needed.

"Why have you been missing meetings?" Harry asked, wanting to get straight to the point. "That isn't something that goes unnoticed easily by Tom. Even some of the other Knights have noticed."

"I don't know why," Nott said, appearing uncomfortable. He rubbed his face with his hand. "I didn't mean to at first, I just completely forgot. Then a few more weeks passed and I kept missing nights, kept forgetting about the hours. I don't know, I just felt, well... odd about going back."

Harry thought about this. He could tell Nott was lying; it was obvious from the way he held himself, the way he gave this feeble explanation. The curious thing about this, however, wasn't so much that Nott lied, but that he lied so clearly. Harry could only think of two reasons behind this: either Nott wanted to be asked for the truth, knowingly or subconsciously, or he just didn't care to be too careful around Harry... Perhaps he didn't want to (or knew he couldn't), lie to Harry.

"How did you forget about the hours?" Harry asked, deciding that he had to start from somewhere. "You seem wide awake, despite it being midnight now."

"I've been sleeping at unusual hours a bit, lately..."

This explained why Nott was awake at five in the morning before. "What about work? Or seeing your family? If you haven't been visiting the Knights..."

"I – well, I quit work," Nott said, looking more uncomfortable still, "It's alright though, I have enough money saved up."

"Does Tom know?"

Nott broke eye contact, as if he had hoped none of this wouldn't come up at all. "I've been meaning to speak with him about it..."

Harry knew that Nott would have more than enough money stored away in Gringotts due to the fact that he came from a very rich Pureblood family, but this was beside the point. Nott was supposed to be aspiring for the Ministry, to later be planted there as something close to a spy. Nott was a very bright wizard and his ability to collect useful information was valued very highly by Tom, even if Tom had his reasons to be distant. This, however, would enrage him. It was interrupting his plans...

"Tom wouldn't like that much," Harry mentioned. This made him feel a tiny bit uneasy; he watched Nott in slight confusion, wondering why he was doing all of this.

"I know."

Did none of this strike any concern in Nott? Harry wondered what could possibly make him so daring as to drift away from the Knights of Walpurgis. There was no good reason for Nott to be suddenly squeamish about the work they did, of course, yet something had clearly changed. He didn't want to be a Knight anymore. The fact that Nott was no longer sleeping normally after quitting his job proved this. The fact that he hadn't moved away from this Muggle flat proved it too: it was the biggest possible insult to the Tom and his Knights... but for what reason?

"Do you not like what Tom's doing?"

"He's not doing anything different than usual."

"Something must have changed though?" Harry pressed. "You don't want to follow him anymore."

"This isn't about him," Nott said quietly. His eyebrows were creased in concern. He looked almost sad.

Another thought struck Harry. "Is this about Lestrange?"

The mention of Lestrange made Nott look away, his expression worsening. He rubbed his forehead, not answering.

"What's he done?"

"Nothing," Nott responded. He looked older than Harry had ever seen him. His tired eyes had lost some of the brightness they had once held, the stress was ageing his skin and curling his fingers. "I haven't spoken to him in months."

"You see him at Tom's meetings though, sometimes," Harry mentioned. It all made sense. "I'm sure your families probably still meet up regularly."

He seemed to have guessed right. Nott rubbed his eyes with palms, his voice muffled as he said, "I know..."

Harry felt an odd need to help Nott, but he wasn't sure why. Nott wasn't in any danger. He watched the young Knight, confused by the way he was acting, by the way his actions affected him.

"He's the only reason why I joined in the first place," Nott told him quietly. He looked up. "I didn't care about Tom's group much, I didn't know what they did, but Lestrange was my best friend. We grew up together. Everyone wanted to be Tom's friend, and since I was in the same year as him it just ended up that way... I can't stand seeing Lestrange anymore. I don't want to see him ever again..."

Nott looked pained by all of this. Harry didn't understand how, and it fascinated him. "I could talk to Tom about keeping the two of you further apart."

"You've already done so much in talking to him about this," Nott said, shaking his head. "It wouldn't change how often I see Lestrange out of your house. Our families are so close; if I don't see him around my house or at one of his relatives' houses, I'm still asked about him constantly... There has been a lot of conversation about him lately especially, you see. He's getting married soon. His fiancée Galatea is beautiful - she's pregnant already, I think. Not many people know, she wants to keep it a secret for now..."

"How do you know?" Harry asked, understanding it can't have been Lestrange who told him this.

"I – well, it's obvious."

Harry didn't believe it.

Nott took a deep breath. "I've been teaching myself Legilimency. I was reading more about Occlumency, which is so closely related that it was only a matter of time before I learnt about both."

"I think Tom was expecting that anyway." Harry was smiling a little, not entirely sure why. "I wouldn't go around telling just anyone that, though."

"I know."

They thought for a moment. Nott appeared pained again as he recalled what he had been taking about.

"It's not that I care about seeing them together," he explained, "it's good that he's happy, and she seems to really love him. It's just, every time he looks at me... I feel terrible about what happened. I wish we could go back to being friends, but I don't think that would make me feel any better. I don't want to see him, or to talk about him with my family as if nothing happened. They're all suspicious about why we're no longer friends, but I can't explain it. I don't think I could ever speak to him again..."

"Have you tried speaking to him at all, properly?"

"Yes, and it didn't work. I think he hates me – for what happened as well as for what I am... I don't understand why he won't forgive me, why he won't talk about it. I – I just want to go..."

Nott was staring at Harry with such a strong look of pain upon his face, that same feeling of wanting to help him gripped Harry again.

"Everyone's getting married. Black is engaged with Rosier's sister, all of the others seem to have returned home to women they fell in love with, or cherish in other ways. Even Macnair had a son. He's fatherless now, the boy, of course, but I know Macnair's wife will marry again. But after all this time, no matter how many people I meet, I just... I can't stop thinking about him..."

Nott's eyes were shining. The two wizards watched each other from across the room, but Harry didn't have to say a word. There was nothing to say, and Nott knew it. These words were affecting Harry in ways he had forgotten were possible and he waited, feeling terrible for Nott.

"How is the love of a man any different than that of a woman?" Nott asked in a weak voice. "People in the Muggle and Wizarding worlds alike have such a basic view on romantic relationships, they boil it down to the most emotionless, technical view on sex alone, entirely forgetting love and other relationships. What could possibly make the soul of a man any different than that of a woman? And vice versa? Who could possibly live their life believing that they can never feel love for the gender they are, when love goes so far beyond gender? Yet no one questions it..."

Nott wouldn't allow himself to cry, no matter how close Harry could see he was to it. There was no doubting that Nott had loved Lestrange for perhaps years. He simply couldn't take it, now that everything they had had been ruined. This was the sole reason for why he no longer wanted to be a Knight of Walpurgis. Harry couldn't blame him.

"I don't think Lestrange could ever admit to loving another man, if he did," Harry mentioned quietly.

Nott looked away, struggling with this thought.

"But that doesn't mean he's completely heartless," Harry carried on. "Whether you do or don't speak to him properly about this, just remember that. People aren't ready to accept these views, these feelings, but that doesn't make them any less real. Avoiding him forever won't make this go away."

Nott seemed to want to agree, but it was difficult. He turned his face away, slightly, not wanting Harry to see the extent of his sorrow. "I suppose you're right..."

"I can talk to Tom about keeping him away from you more often," Harry told him, "even if I can't guarantee that you'll never see each other. You won't have to talk. You're going to get more used to seeing him, with time. You could even show up at meetings less often, if you want, but you can't leave. You know it would piss off Tom, it would give the other Knights a reason to bully you after talking about you behind your back. This isn't something that we can just leave whenever we want to, there are too many secrets, too much information at risk."

"I know," Nott said, realising this all the more as Harry said it. "I wasn't even thinking about that. It seems obvious now..."

"If it gets too much again, you can come to me," Harry said, somehow liking the idea. Nott had helped him through his problems with Dumbledore, so it seemed only fair that he had helped Nott with this. They got along well, after all. "You know where to find me."

"That might be more advisable," Nott said. "Thank you."

"It's alright."

Nott looked pained again. "It isn't really alright. I've lost my job, I've been neglecting my family, the Knights are probably already speaking ill of me..."

"That can be sorted out," Harry assured him. "I can make Tom believe you were fired, I'm sure your family are used to you going away without explanation for a while, and as for the Knights, they're easily fooled. You could give them any number of excuses, about family, about work, about a private mission they can't know about, and they'll believe it. It isn't as though Tom tells them about his suspicions."

"This is true," Nott murmured, appearing a bit more assured. This did nothing to help his deeper sorrow, but at least it was no longer being fuelled.

Harry knew it was going to work out smoothly, no matter what lies Nott told the Knights. It wouldn't take much effort to convince Tom to cease his suspicions of Nott, so long as he returned to Tom's meetings regularly enough and if he returned to work. It might also help if he moved away from Muggles, Harry thought. This made him wonder again why Nott lived here, and not amongst wizards...

He wondered, now, whether Nott even cared about the Dark Arts. It made Harry realise that he didn't care whether or not Nott was a Knight, he just wanted to save him from suffering the attacks the other Knights would set on him for trying to leave. He wanted to save Nott also from Tom's fury, especially. He evidently needed someone to reassure him that things weren't as bad as they seemed, concerning Lestrange.

"Raphael seems to be getting on fine, this past year," Nott mentioned. It took Harry a moment to understand he meant Lestrange. "I feel like a fool for still being affected by this after so long..."

"A year isn't all that long, really. It's a usual amount of time, for these pains." Harry wasn't quite sure what made him say this.

Nott's use of Lestrange's first name sounded odd, to Harry. He tried to think what Nott's real name was, and remembered: it was Christopher. The Knights so rarely used each other's first names, except when insulting each other, that Harry had almost forgotten.

"It'll get better," Harry told him quietly. Nott had remained quiet. "If it gets too much, I'm still here."

Nott shook his head, his eyes sad and half-closed in torment. "I don't want to bother you."

"It won't bother me, I'd like to help."

Nott thought about this, looking down at his hands for a moment. "You and our Lord help me more than I deserve."

"You've accepted something that almost every other Knight would have hated us for. Even though neither of you understood how we could like each other in a romantic way, you didn't leave and didn't make a huge deal out of it by telling the others."

"Well," Nott said, with something that could have been the ghost of a smile, "it helped that Tom threatened to punish us if we dared speak a word about it to anyone."

Harry smiled more clearly. "That's true, I suppose."

"Raphael hardly accepts it though," Nott reminded him. "Not after what... well, what happened to his memory..."

"Tom doesn't respect Lestrange anymore."

"He doesn't respect me either. He's still annoyed by what we found out."

"Well... if it helps at all, I don't disrespect you. I know you can be trusted, I know you aren't as bias as the other Knights."

"I'm glad you think so," Nott said, but he didn't look it. "It helps."

"Good," Harry said. Then he stood up. "But I have to go."

Nott stood up too. "Alright. Thank you."

"Don't worry about it. Just remember what we've talked about."

Nott nodded. They said goodbye as they walked towards the front door, Harry mentioning again how he would speak to Tom and how Nott should think of something to tell the rest of the Knights, to explain his recent absence. Nothing more needed to be said beyond this. Harry left Nott, feeling glad that the guilt from before was finally cured.

– X –

Harry sat alone in a sitting room of his and Tom's house. He was holding Marvolo's Ring, thinking. It both awed him and made him feel slightly fearful as he made sure to refrain from twisting the Stone in his hand too many times. He was thinking about his dead friends, the thoughts arriving in a technical form, rather than an emotional one.

It was a curious thing, that time had no affect upon bringing back the dead with the ring. It made him wonder whether the Stone merely conjured up a ghostly shadow of dead people, taken from one's own memories of them, one's own thoughts and perhaps fears. He doubted the dead could give new information, for example. He wondered if it was really them...

The Stone was the Deathly Hallow Harry least wanted to carry around. It was of no real use to him, after all; he didn't want to bring anyone back. A thought had crossed his mind, pondering the possibility of the power of all three Deathly Hallows being able to actually resurrect anyone he had lost, but what would be in point of that? There was no one he missed, no one who would be useful to him now.

What if, on another note, none of the Deathly Hallows were more powerful together as they were apart? The Cloak certainly couldn't become more powerful with invisibility than it already was. It didn't seem likely that the Wand could take power from either the Cloak or the Stone. The Stone might get more powerful... or it might just be to mock Death.

All three objects together had the power to ensure that their Master could live a long, healthy life, with the ability to reunite with everyone he or she lost at any time, but was that the immortality it promised? Harry wasn't so sure. It might have been mere legend that glorified the Deathly Hallows by claiming they obtained immortality, when in reality they merely enhanced one's abilities. Here Harry was, with the Deathly Hallows around him, but all he felt from the three items was confidence in them: power in the Wand, safety in the Cloak, and an ability to let go of his past willingly with the Stone.

Tom entered the room shortly after this. Harry was in half a mind to hide the Deathly Hallows, but he remembered, after a slight involuntary movement, that none of this was unusual for Tom.

"I see you have my ring." Tom smiled.

"I was just examining it," Harry said. The Cloak was resting on his knee, the Wand in one hand, the Stone in the other. Marvolo's ring shone brightly in the firelight.

"I still wish you had taken the ring instead," Tom mentioned, as he sat down next to Harry.

"I don't plan on making a second Horcrux."

He wondered if Tom believed he could change this one day. As Tom examined the ring in Harry's hand, it then made him think how amusing it was that Tom made a Horcrux out of an object that was intended to conquer Death, to bring back all of those that one once loved. Tom only ever mocked death, in fear. The Inferi, amongst other things, proved this.

Harry had spoken to Tom about Nott. It was a few days later and Nott was already attending meetings again. He looked only a little better than he had when Harry visited his home. Although he hadn't seen Lestrange, as far as Harry knew, Nott still wasn't any closer to getting over what had happened between them a year ago now. Harry felt as though he should really go and see Nott again soon, to check on him. He contemplated when might be a good time.

"I've just heard news from Albania," Tom told him softly. "It won't be long now until the Dragons can be moved."

This gladdened Harry somewhat; it would be thrilling to control the great beasts over such a long distance. "That's brilliant."

"Will you join me?" Tom asked. "It'll be this week, I believe."

"Of course." Harry smiled. "I'd like to go anywhere, with you."


	66. Secrets of Emeric

66 - Secrets of Emeric

"With spells like that, Dolohov, you couldn't hit a crowd of wounded Muggles!" Mulciber jeered.

A gathering group of Knights surrounded Harry in the duelling room of his and Tom's home. It was relatively early, 8.30pm, but the sun was setting. Some of the Knights were only just arriving, greeting Tom on their way in, while others had been here for over half an hour, finding those they knew best to stand with.

"Does anyone else want to have a go?" Harry asked, as Dolohov sulked off into the crowd.

Some of the Knights appeared reluctant to respond, whilst others made a game of choosing who should face Harry next, knowing only too well that he wouldn't be defeated in a duel. After a moment of general murmuring and laughing, Rosier was thrown forwards.

Straightening up, he asked, "Shall I make an excuse for my loss now, or later?"

His lips twisted into a smirk as his friends laughed.

Harry gave him a smile too. "Whenever you're ready."

Rosier raised his wand, attempting to look serious. He was already wincing a little, turning at an awkward angle as he faced Harry. He took a deep breath, raising his wand.

"_Expuls-_"

With a sound like electricity cracking through the air, Harry's spell overrode Rosier's, causing it to explode onto itself in mid-air. Rosier, however, didn't give up.

"_Secareileum__!_"

A shielding charm was up before the spell struck, giving Harry time to attack Rosier quickly. In a blast of purple light his own spell missed the Knight by inches, only being avoided because Rosier had jumped away moments before in anxiousness. He shot a non-verbal spell at Harry, grunting frustration, before throwing another, then yet another while Harry barely even had to defend himself.

"_Impedimenta!_" Harry shouted.

Rosier flew into the air with the weight of the spell. He fell to the ground on his front in an instant, while Harry stood watching him, amused yet now slightly bored. He thought he should have used a more interesting spell, even as Rosier cowered from how he had fallen.

"We should begin our meeting in a moment," Tom's voice called across the hall. He was watching the battle whilst engaged in conversation with Black. They were amused. "I do believe everyone is here, now."

"Makes sense," Harry said, feeling satisfied after the rush of duelling for the past ten minutes. "One more round though?"

"If you wish."

"Brilliant." Harry grinned. He felt as though he should use some darker magic this time, at least to make it more interesting. "Who's up next, th-?"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Rosier had risen from the ground. His face was twisted into a sneer as his determination to get back at Harry triumphed. Harry, who had never expected a Knight to dare attack him when his guard was down, stared. The Elder Wand flew out of his hand.

There was a moment of pause. Everything seemed to be moving slowly as Harry watched Rosier in shock, seeing his expression of glee drain with the blood in his face as he paled.

The next thing Harry knew, he flew at Rosier. His hand was on Rosier's throat, his other fingers clawing their way down his arm to the Elder Wand. Harry was pressing him against the wall of this duelling room as hard as he could. Rosier was choking, his eyes popping as Harry stared down at him with a look of rage, wanting little else than to witness him suffocate at his hand.

"_Relashio__!_"

Harry was thrown back. Rosier fell to the floor, shuddering and gasping for breath, while the Elder Wand remained gripped tightly in Harry's hand. Tom had thrown the spell. His face showed fury and concern as he looked upon the two wizards, watched too by the silent Knights. Harry was fuming, standing meters away from Rosier as he waited for Tom's reaction.

"Follow me, Jonathan," Tom ordered him.

Harry began to do so without a word, wanting to get far away from here.

"As for you," Tom added in disdain, turning to Rosier, "let this be a reminder to you, and to everyone, of the dangers of such weak, cowardly attacks."

If Rosier hadn't so recently been choked to near suffocation, he might have blushed in embarrassment and anger at Tom's words. He attempted to stand as Tom turned away, closely followed by Harry.

"Move to the meeting hall, if you so desire," Tom called to the Knights. "This shan't take long."

They were out of the room moments later. Anger continued to simmer within Harry as he walked. He wanted his hands to be back on Rosier's throat, he wanted to punish him further for daring to even touch the Elder Wand. The frustration was burning Harry's skin, streaking along his forearms and causing him to clench his fists in an attempt to contain it.

Once they were far enough away from the Knights, Tom stopped. His expression was unreadable. This would have been a relief to Harry, had it not been for the fact that he had no idea what Tom might be thinking. Even anger would be better than disapproval, or judgement. Harry couldn't take it for long.

"He shouldn't have attacked me like that!" he said in indignation.

"I know," Tom agreed. "It was the weakest thing he could have done. That's no reason to murder someone, however."

"I wasn't going to murder him."

"The Knights don't seem to agree."

"Since when did it matter what they think? Or what they witness, concerning fights? That's the point of all of this!"

Tom smiled softly. "I know."

Harry stared at him, caught between annoyance and confusion.

"I hope only that you're alright."

"I'm fine. He's pissed me off now, though."

"He only disarmed you, my love," Tom said quietly. "You have sought your share of revenge."

Harry knew he was right, but he didn't want to hear it. He didn't know why he couldn't shake off his anger. All he wanted to do was find Rosier to attack him again.

"I'm proud of you," Tom said softly.

Harry looked up at him. Was this why Tom didn't look angry at Harry, simply because he was proud, instead? It was always hard to tell. Tom smiled .

They were shadowed, partially, as they stood together in a quiet corner of their house, where the dark wood around them encouraged darkness. Nobody else was around to see it when Tom leant in to kiss Harry slowly. He touched Harry's chest, and when he allowed their lips to part, the palm of his hand was feeling Harry's heartbeat.

"I thought you were going to be angry with me," Harry said. "I know I shouldn't have attacked him like that."

"You needn't worry. I would never punish you for something so common amongst our group; the Knights are used to such things."

Harry didn't doubt that, somehow.

"Let us return to the others, however," Tom said. "It is time we began our meeting."

"He just can't do that," Harry said before he could help it. "He can't take my wand."

Seeing, now, that he was still annoyed, Tom took a moment to think. "He has learnt his lesson."

Harry nodded curtly. Tom indicated that he should follow him back to the Knights, and Harry did so without comment. He tried to push thoughts of Rosier out of his mind, but it was difficult to do so, especially as many of the Knights gave him furtive looks as he entered the meeting room with Tom.

The Knights were wandering between the duelling hall and the meeting room idly, waiting for the few minutes it would take before the meeting began. When they saw Tom, some of them began gathering around the long, dark table they would all be seated at shortly. Tom took the chair at one end, as usual, as Harry sat next to him. Harry attempted to overcome his desire to hurt, which wasn't hard when Tom began talking. The meeting lasted a little under an hour.

When it was finished, the Knights stood up, some of them speaking with Tom whilst others waited around talking amongst themselves. A House-Elf that Tom had acquired, who's name was Tweaky, served alcohol and light food. Despite the many interesting things to talk about concerning Tom's work and their daily lives, however, a specific topic continued to pop up amongst the Knights, as it had all week; Lestrange was already getting married.

"He's been engaged for ages," Harry overheard Avery explaining to a few others. "He started seeing Galatea just after leaving Hogwarts, I reckon, but they knew each other since they were children."

"It's good to see Purebloods sticking together," Black commented.

"To say the least," another added.

"It would be a shame if he dirtied his bloodline with anyone less pure."

Harry stopped listening. He had hoped these conversations would die down by the end of the week, but he was mistaken. Although it was Thursday evening and Nott hadn't been to any meetings this week until now, the conversations around him continued to focus on Lestrange alone. The marriage was being rushed, which struck interest for all of the Purebloods, it seemed. Harry couldn't help but wonder whether Lestrange's hurry wasn't for the mere sake of his unborn child.

"I'm surprised she waited that whole time," Avery commented, "what with Lestrange's trip to Albania with us, and so on. Surely she knows he must have cheated a few times with other witches?"

"I don't suppose she cares, even if the thought might have crossed her mind," Rosier reasoned. "It's more important that Purebloods stick together."

Harry watched as Nott stood for a moment, staring into space, before finding a place to rest his drink. His face was blank, but it was obvious to Harry that he was distressed once he began leaving the room steadily. Tom stood on the other side of the crowd in a deep discussion with Weiß about something, so Harry knew he wouldn't be missed if he slipped out of the room for a time. Thinking privately that he still owed Nott something, Harry followed him.

He wasn't sure, at first, which way Nott had gone, until he heard a door being opened along one of the large corridors of this grand house. He headed for the sound, in the direction of the kitchen, and was fast enough to see a door to the garden closing as he arrived. Tweaky had his back turned to Harry as he washed dishes standing on a high stool. Harry followed Nott outside.

It took a moment to find the Knight in the darkness, even if Harry had a rough idea of which direction through the garden he had taken. When he found Nott, he stood with his back to Harry, staring up at the sky. He wasn't surprised when he heard Harry approach. They stood next to each other for a moment, taking in the moon and stars high above them. The sky was clear.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is," Harry agreed.

The moon shone low and bright upon the scene, lighting up the sky strongly and giving definition to the treetops, the garden, and to the two wizards. Nott neither sounded nor seemed upset in this faint light, but Harry wondered after a moment whether the Knight was hiding how he truly felt.

"You and Tom have a wonderful home. It must be brilliant, living together like this."

"I assume you'll have something similar, one day."

Nott attempted a smile. "I have a house now, rather than that flat in London. It's a small family home, my uncle used to own it, and it's quite nice. It's in the middle of the countryside, away from people, but..."

"But it's too quiet," Harry finished. He could understand this. When Tom was away it was already silent within this house; he couldn't imagine what it would be like with no one else ever around.

"Still," Nott said, in a tone that suggested forced vigour, "it's better than living in the city, most of all in London. The other Knights would be more impressed, if they visited."

Harry said nothing. From what he could hear, Nott sounded almost cheerful, with optimism bound to his every word, but as he examined him, Harry could see his bright eyes shining. Harry wondered what he was seeing. It looked like agony, again.

"If I knew they'd talk about him, I would have warned you not to come."

Nott gave that same smile again, looking away. "It's fine."

"It isn't fine," Harry protested. "It isn't fair on you, I know -"

"Jonathan," Nott said calmly, setting aside his sorrow again for this unexplainable tone of peacefulness, "it's alright."

"It isn't fair."

"It's better I get it over with," Nott said. "I wasn't invited to the wedding by him personally, but I'll still have to go with my family even if I'm not his best man. You don't need to protect me."

There were many things Harry wanted to say to this. He felt a desire to express the odd need he felt to help Nott, but he knew it would all sound wrong, it would seem as mad as it felt. He could see that Nott was in pain and it fascinated and confused him all at once, making him feel these odd needs to learn more, to try and understand. He couldn't express this.

"I know you're upset," Harry said quietly. "I know this still affects you."

Nott watched him for a minute. He dropped most of his false expression by this point, trying hard to remain blank.

"You can go, if the others are too much," Harry told him. "No one will notice."

Slowly, Nott nodded.

"I have to go back now, but I can walk you out."

"Thank you," Nott said in little over a murmur.

– X –

Harry felt better by the time they headed back into the house, yet he wasn't sure why. He brought Nott to the front door and they said goodbye, before Harry returned to Tom and the Knights. He spent the evening similar to most nights, talking with the others and standing near Tom as they waited for the house to slowly clear of guests. Throughout the evening, Harry thought privately that he should visit Nott later in the week.

Tom had Nott's new address written down, so it wasn't hard for Harry to find. He often wondered if it was somewhat unusual that Tom kept so much information about the Knight stored away, but he didn't spend much time dwelling upon it. It was Sunday evening when Harry found the right time to go and see Nott again. He lived in a small, beautiful home surrounded by nothing but forestry and vast valleys that stretched out for miles. The house itself was indeed very quiet.

Nott was home when Harry knocked. He seemed a little surprised that Harry was paying him a visit, but he almost seemed used to it by this point, despite a lack of invitation. The inside of Nott's home was warm and decorated in a traditional Pureblood style. Dark woods could be see in every room, resting in front of rough stone and accompanied by handsome portraits of various witches and wizards from throughout the centuries.

"Sit down, if you like," Nott offered as they entered his living room.

It was a very different place to Nott's old flat in London. It had a high ceiling with gnarled, ancient beams running across it, with one wall full of portraits, two others taken up by tall windows, and a forth wall dedicated to a large fireplace that warmed the room easily.

"Would you like some tea?" Nott asked as they sat.

"Sure."

It had been a bright, sunny day, but the sun had set and the evening fell cold. They sat for a moment, both thinking. Harry said a quiet 'thank you', when a cup was handed to him. In the process of all of this, he couldn't help but catch moments when Nott's attempts to look impassive failed. He had been good at Occlumency, Harry knew, but something was affecting Nott from the inside, weakening his skills.

Harry had a flashback, more than once, of Tonks. There was something in Nott's expression that seemed changed, as if there was a part of him missing. It caused him to be visibly weakened. He tried to hide it, but Harry was watchful. He hadn't thought back to the Weasley's house in years, but memories of Tonks forced him to, despite how it felt like a lifetime away. He tried to think how Tonks had gotten over her depression.

Nott might have wondered why Harry was here, but he either forgot to ask or just didn't particularly care or mind. Nott was staring into space, the hot cup of tea apparently not burning his cold hands. Harry decided to speak.

"How've you been?"

"Much the same," Nott said after a moment. He looked up. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Harry said truthfully. He had spent the last three days alone with Tom, being served food by Tweaky and not worrying much about work, or anything. "I had a good weekend."

"I'm glad."

Harry could imagine that Nott's weekend had been quite the opposite, staying here alone and seeing no one, except perhaps some relatives.

"What are you here for, anyway?" Nott asked, as if the tea had given him the energy he had lacked before.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"I haven't got much to speak about, I have to admit."

Harry wondered if perhaps Nott didn't want him here.

"I never thanked you," Harry said. He had no idea what possessed him to admit knowing this. "I want to thank you, for helping me in December."

"It's alright," Nott said shortly. He took a sip of tea.

"Only thanks to you."

"Everyone argues, even in the strongest relationships. I'm sure you and Tom would have worked it out, whatever was bothering you that night."

Harry wasn't completely sure about this. Nott had saved him from feeling alone as he worried, at the very least, and there was no guaranteeing that Harry could have thought it through the same way if he hadn't spoken to Nott. "We argue badly, when we do."

"You love each other," Nott reminded him. "As long as that stands true, as will your relationship."

Harry knew this was true. He inclined his head in agreement, feeling bad that Nott had helped him again. He drank more tea.

He noticed, then, now red Nott's eyes looked. He pondered Nott's weekend once more.

"Your parents and family must be interested in the recent news of Lestrange," Harry said, wanting to start on this subject.

"It's getting better."

"It'll worse again," Harry noted. "It's not long away."

"I know."

Harry wanted to say more, but he didn't know what. The thought dawned upon that he saw himself in Nott, but he couldn't quite place how. The way he acted, the way he reacted, reminded Harry of how he was months ago. It was hard to remember how things felt back then. Harry couldn't emphasize with his old self, nevermind Nott, but he knew that he had once felt similar to how Nott looked. He wanted to know how.

"Why do you care so much about this?" Nott asked him. His eyes shone. "I have to face this, whether I like it or not."

Harry couldn't admit that Nott fascinated him, or that the troubles he faced made Harry want to find solutions, to help. What confused Harry most of all what that while Nott suffered a broken heart from losing Lestrange like this, Harry could see his old self more clearly. Except, he had never lost Tom. How could he have felt the same as a boy with a broken heart, when in the past Tom had been with him all along?

"I want to help," Harry said.

"I'm not a child."

"He's rushing into marriage," Harry pointed out, feeling this was true, "He's blatantly running away from what happened."

"Then let him run."

"But what if it means something else? What if all of this is just -"

"He loves his fiancée," Nott cut across him. "Most of all, he'll love her and his unborn child until his dying day."

This couldn't be denied, Harry admitted to himself reluctantly. "You could be friends."

"No," Nott said firmly. He watched Harry for a moment, his expression worsening. "I've thought it over again and again... I'd rather let go."

The silence pained Nott further. His voice was weaker.

"I wish it were easier... I'm alone, I can't look at anyone the same. I – I don't even have any real friends, while none of my family can understand what's happened. I'm twenty-two years old and I have no idea what I want to do with my life. All that I know, all I ever seem to have known is the Knights of Walpurgis... but it's all so connected..."

An odd feeling gripped Harry as he wondered, now, weather he had made a mistake in convincing Nott to stay a Knight. He had a feeling, however, that even in a new environment, with new people and a brand new life, Nott would feel just as alone as he felt now. So long as his sorrow remained, he was locked in his own mind, trapped there to suffer in anguish for mistakes he could neither be blamed for nor change.

"Why do you care?" Nott asked again, struggling.

"I want to help."

"No one else does," he said.

"I know what's happened," Harry reminded him. "I want to know you're alright."

Nott shook his head as if he didn't believe it. "You're not alright either."

This confused Harry. "How aren't I?"

"You've changed. In barely over half a year, you... you became different so quickly."

Harry didn't know what to make of this. He didn't see how anything had changed. He had become closer to Tom and he was gaining more confidence and respect from others, but he didn't feel as though he himself had changed. He thought back to his Horcrux, however, and reflected that he didn't quite remember things as clearly from before...

"What makes you say that?"

"A few things," Nott said slowly. He was clearly cautious that Harry might get annoyed. "A year ago, you would never have attacked Rosier like that."

Harry had almost forgotten about that. He wasn't quite sure why so many Knights appeared unnerved by this event, but it didn't anger him."Does it make you not trust me?" he asked.

"You lead alongside Tom, I have to trust you."

"But as... as a friend?"

Something changed in Nott's expression. Harry watched him closely, hoping that he hadn't said something wrong, something that Nott didn't agree with.

"Yes," Nott said, appearing almost happy for the first time in months, "I trust you as my friend."

– X –

It was as if this was the excuse Harry had waited for, even if Nott had always welcomed him into his home without reluctance nor judgement in the past. Harry understood, now, that his need to help Nott was due to his wish for them to stay friends, just like they had almost been months ago in Albania. Harry continued to visit Nott without as much hesitance as before.

Nott wasn't happy even after gaining a friend, but after certain conversations it seemed as though Harry managed to distract Nott from his worry. Harry felt great about their friendship, he felt proud that he could almost cheer Nott up fully if he really tried. This didn't cure Nott's sorrow, of course, but it led them to more interesting conversations, giving them both something to spend time on when they had nothing else to do.

The subject of Lestrange never softened. It was a humid May evening as they sat together in Nott's library, talking. Lestrange's marriage was little over a month away; when Harry had arrived here he had met Nott speaking with his aunt and uncle about it, enduring ignorantly enthusiastic comments as he tried to seemingly pretend as though it was all well and normal to him. When his relatives went home, Nott led Harry upstairs, his false expression falling to pieces on the way.

"I don't think I can do it," Nott said quietly. "To see him standing up there, surrounded by his friends and family... It would ruin the day, for him."

"You won't have to talk to Lestrange," Harry mentioned. In truth, however, he felt as though what Nott suggested was for the best. "I'm not sure he'll really care whether you're there or not there, but if you don't feel like you can take it, don't go."

"But my family," Nott said despairingly, "my parents treat him as if he was their son."

"Your family will go either way. It's not as though it's your wedding day."

This didn't seem to help much. Nott looked as though he wished it were.

"Have you ever loved someone, besides Tom?" he asked quietly.

Harry had to take a moment to considered this. "Sort of," he began, thinking hard. "I fell in love with a girl when I was sixteen or so. She was brilliant; I imagined spending my whole life with her, I think. It feels a long time ago now, though..."

"What happened to her?"

Harry tried to remember. "I really don't know... I never saw her again."

Nott didn't push the subject. Harry didn't feel bad thinking back to memories of Ginny, but it confused him that he couldn't recall what had happened to her. He couldn't remember when he last saw her, or what he had last said to her. Thinking back to his vague memories of the Battle of Hogwarts, however, he wondered if it was better this way.

"How did you get over her, afterwards?"

"There were worse things distracting me," Harry said. "I was in danger, I almost got killed. I... I guess I just forgot about her."

– X –

That night, like many nights, ended in Harry and Nott talking for hours, sharing stories about things Harry had forgotten, things Nott had only ever told Lestrange. Concerning Harry and Tom, the more time that passed, the more time they had to be with each other due to the Knights all living in their own homes, enjoying their own lives. Harry spend days and nights at a time alone with Tom at their house, wishing they could stay this way forever.

"Let's travel for a while, together," Tom suggested one evening, laying in bed and holding Harry in his arms. His voice was quiet; it was the middle of the night. They had stayed up together to talk, to enjoy the night in peace. "We can travel the world."

Harry couldn't help but enjoy these words, looking up into Tom's dark eyes from where he lay, his head against Tom's chest. "I'd like that," he told him.

"There are so many places for us to see," Tom said. "We have much to learn about, concerning the world. We can see it all."

Harry moved a little closer, smiling. "We have forever to see the world."

"So why not start now?"

"We should," Harry said quietly.

"We will do great things, my love," Tom said softly, stroking Harry's hair.

"I know," Harry whispered. "It'll be brilliant..."

Tom had plans in mind for places to travel to. They would go away for a few days at a time, never leaving their home for longer than two weeks at a time due to the Knights, yet travelling far nonetheless. Tom met with strange witches and wizards that spoke of ancient magic that became rare or almost entirely forgotten. They saw a great deal of unusual things, meeting odd creatures that Tom wished to study, collecting items and information that would serve them well in the future.

Admittedly, Harry enjoyed the idea that they couldn't leave for too long. There was nothing that felt better to him than to go away to a new place with Tom, he adored the time they spent and took interest in the things they saw, but despite it all he didn't want to leave Nott for too long. He felt obliged, as a friend, to visit the lonely Knight quite often. They got along well, with a totally different relationship than Harry had with Tom. He wasn't sure how, but to have a friend felt very important to him.

"You have a new wand," Nott commented one evening. They were standing together on a porch in Nott's home, looking out across the fields nearby, bordered by a distant forest that met the foot of the mountains miles away. It was a beautiful summer evening.

Harry, who had just conjured two glasses for the drinks Nott summoned, took a moment to respond to this. He placed the Elder Wand back into the pocket of his robes. Nott had an uncanny ability to notice little things like this – a highly Slytherin trait that had doubtlessly led him and Lestrange to discover Harry and Tom's secrets long ago.

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely, attempting to act casual, "I had to get my old one replaced."

"What happened?"

Although almost six months had passed since Harry left Emeric's wand, it seemed as though Nott could recognise the great difference. "My last one broke – it wasn't the first, either. I seem to have a lot of bad luck when it comes to wands."

Nott thought about this, then smiled a little. "I won't ask what magic broke it. With how much you and Tom travel, doing and learning who knows what..."

Harry didn't have to respond; Nott handed him a goblet and they drank together.

"Speaking of magic," Nott said after a moment, "I've been thinking a lot lately, about the Knights in general."

"You don't want to leave again, I hope?"

"No," Nott said, "but that's the thing – I'm not sure if I really could have... well, could have stopped going to Tom's meetings."

"Why not?"

"It's like you said, it isn't really something you can quit just like that. Minus the obvious social reasons, the Dark Arts are... well, they aren't something that can just go away, or something that can be forgotten. I don't mean that they scar me, but... it's like an addiction. I still think about all the lessons Tom held with us, I still want to be engrossed in the way such powerful magic makes you feel. I'm scared that, if I left, I'd end up like Mulciber, or someone – just fucking mental all the time. If I didn't keep going back, learning more and practising, I don't know what would happen to me."

Harry had never really thought about this before. He hadn't been keen upon the idea of practising the Dark Arts for a long time; he never got properly engrossed in it until just before making his Horcrux. Yet this made sense to him. "You were going to leave though, before."

"Only because of Lestrange," Nott murmured. He shook his head after this, as if trying to rid himself of that thought. "At any rate, it just made me think more about how important Tom's work is. I think everyone feels it, here."

"I don't think many of the others think about what would happen if they left."

"No... I don't suppose they do."

"I think," Harry began slowly, but he stopped. He didn't want to push his luck, but the thought bothered him for a moment. He tried again. "I sometimes I wonder what would happen if I hadn't joined."

Nott almost seemed surprised. "I've wondered about that too, before."

Harry knew this. It made him think about something more: Nott had only joined Tom's group because of Lestrange, while Harry had joined merely to be with Tom...

"I thought, once before," Nott began uncertainly, "that maybe there's more to the way Tom teaches us... as in, he knows that it's addicting. Maybe..."

"You think he manipulates the addiction?" Harry asked.

Nott looked a little embarrassed, as if he had forgotten who Tom was to Harry. "No, I mean... it was a long time ago that I wondered this."

In honesty, Harry had wondered it too. "You might not be entirely wrong," he said, "but I honestly don't know. I doubt he's cursed all of you, but if he understood how addicting this power is, he might have used it to his advantage. Either way, it makes no real difference – you all have your own minds."

"This is true."

Harry breathed in deeply, smelling the fresh air as he looked out across the view before them.

"It's odd," Nott said, "sometimes I feel like the Dark Arts have made themselves all I can properly concentrate on. There's nothing else out there, for me..."

"You do enjoy it though, don't you?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

They drank in silence for a moment.

"I just can't imagine life without it."

Harry was thinking about the Dark Arts and his long, reluctant introduction to them. It was true that he and Nott had joined for the same reason, for love. Harry, however, felt as though his adoration for the Dark Arts had strengthened so much recently, making him truly desire that Arts as well as Tom. From what Nott said, the same thing seemed to have happened to him.

Throughout all the years Harry had known Nott now, he had never truly thought about what his views upon the Dark Arts themselves might be. He was a greatly talented wizard, he could do all of the work Tom assigned to him... but as Harry watched him closely now, his tired, bright eyes staring off into the distance as his light brown hair moved in time with the wind, he wondered how on earth this boy could be a Death Eater.

"Have you ever done something unforgivable?" Harry asked. In honesty, he didn't know. Nott had managed to spend the last few years being so talented in the art of impressive magic, Harry had never seen nor heard stories of his killings, his tortures, or any number of other morbid achievements the Knights prided themselves upon.

"I know the Unforgivable Curses, if that's what you mean."

"No," Harry said, "I mean, have you ever tortured someone? Ever killed someone?"

Nott didn't answer for a moment. As he looked at Harry, the latter realised that Nott had become surprisingly better at Occlumency recently.

"I was never the person Tom turned to when he wanted someone tortured or killed," Nott explained. He wasn't embarrassed nor shy to discuss it. "Even in battle, I've been better at controlling creatures or helping plans to work out smoothly, finding the best tactics, working with magic that isn't against enemies, but to help and protect the other Knights. It's the only reason Tom still has me around, I think."

"That makes sense," Harry said after a moment. He wondered how he hadn't thought of it before. It would only be a matter of time, he believed, before Nott would have to face killing or torturing another human. He wondered if Nott would change, like Mulciber.

"Have you?"

"What?"

"Have you ever done something unforgivable?" Nott asked.

Harry tried to think what would be considered unforgivable, concerning all the mistakes he had made in the past. He wanted to mention Emeric, but something about the idea put him off, somehow. "I've never tortured anyone," he said truthfully.

"You killed someone though... I've asked before."

Harry said nothing. He hadn't spoken to anyone, besides Tom, about how he had murdered Emeric. He wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about it. He was curious about how Nott reacted to this fact, for the sake of interest rather than fear. His mind, however, was hard to read.

Harry didn't often think about Emeric. He almost never thought about the actual act of killing him and he chose to forget his immediate reaction, as well as the fact that it had been close to an accident. Now, however, he thought about Emeric as a person. He thought back to before his death, to the little Harry saw of him.

"Do you remember when we talked about if I had dated anyone but Tom?" Harry asked.

"Yes?"

"Well, there is someone else. I never dated him, I didn't even like him, but he tried hard to force me to date him instead. He was... obsessed. I met him just after Hogwarts. It's why a got another new wand."

"So, you fought?" Nott asked. "He broke your old wand?"

"Something like that."

Harry wasn't sure why he was telling him this, but somehow it felt relieving.

"Tom hated him," he admitted, "and I can't say I liked him much more. He was fine at first, he seemed pretty normal, but... I think Tom really scared him. He left work, because Tom made him, and ended up leaving before I even knew what happened. I'm just glad Tom didn't do worse."

"Who was he?" Nott asked.

"Emeric," Harry said quietly. "His name was Emeric..."

– X –

That night, Harry returned to his house relatively early. He found Tom sitting alone in their bedroom, reading upon the bedcovers. He seemed mildly surprised when Harry entered the room, and watched him from where he lay.

"You're home early," he said. "I thought that perhaps you would have stayed out a little longer... I assume you were visiting Nott again?"

Harry didn't miss the slight annoyance in Tom's voice. Surprisingly, however, Tom hadn't yet demanded to know why Harry returned to the Knight so often.

"Yeah, I went to see Nott."

"The third time this week," Tom mentioned.

"It's Saturday, it's not as if I go and see him every day."

For a moment Tom looked annoyed, as if he was about to argue. Harry wondered if perhaps he'd start telling Harry he couldn't go and see the Knight, but instead Tom refrained from showing how this affected him. His expression left him, before he looked down at his book, appearing almost unaffected.

"Nott is a child," Tom said, still somewhat bitterly. "It seems only appropriate that he should be looked after by someone."

"You seem annoyed."

Tom sat up a little straighter on the bed. "I see no reason to suppose that he's any sort of treat. If you must pamper him to stop him from leaving our group and spilling secrets, I cannot stop you from so willingly taking on such an endeavour."

Tom's eyes bore into Harry's from across the room. It appeared as though Tom wanted to refrain from arguing over this, as an insult to Nott as well as in understanding that he had to trust Harry, yet he was no good at hiding his anger. He seemed close to threatening Harry more deeply against going to see Nott, but he wouldn't. He was aware that Harry would go either way.

"You visit the Knights quite often," Harry reminded him.

"Never with the same Knights, never so often."

"Nott needs someone to talk to."

"Do you?" Tom asked. "Do you need another person to talk to?"

Harry almost hesitated, but after years of understanding Tom he didn't let the pause carry on. "I don't tell him anything I wouldn't tell you."

"You shouldn't go sharing secrets, Harry," Tom hissed.

"I'm not."

"Nott is unable to handle many things that other Knights take up with ease," Tom said, "but in spite of this he is not a fool. He is weak in many ways, yes, but he has a dangerous ability to find out things that ought to have been kept secret. Don't let him fool you."

A silence fell. Tom continued staring, struggling with his composure, while Harry thought. He didn't think that Nott would do anything with the information he learnt from Harry, concerning the Knights or his and Tom's relationship... but what if Tom was right?

"I have to go," Tom said, standing up.

"Are you meeting some of the Knights?"

"Perhaps."

Tom was already dressed to go out. He put on his shoes in the edge of the bed, straightening out the covers he had laid upon, as he stood up. He turned back to Harry after a long moment, seeing that he was being watched. He seemed tempted to ask Harry why he was still waiting, but he stopped. He began walking towards him.

"I was thinking we should go away for a little while," Tom said quietly.

"Where to?"

"Anywhere. If there's a place you want to visit, I'll take you there."

Tom was standing closer to him now. Harry wasn't sure what he was thinking, or what he meant by suggesting something that was doubtlessly romantic. It made him wonder if Tom thought better of his dislike for Nott, or if he thought that by going away together they might get away from this, so they could work it out.

"I enjoy going away with you, seeing new things," Tom told him. "Would you like that?"

"Yes, I always do." Harry smiled.

Tom leant in, pressing his lips against Harry's. Thinking that they might spend the evening together, Harry held Tom close, kissing him back more passionately. However, Tom didn't seem able to stay in this embrace for long.

"I'll be back later on," Tom informed him.

Their interlinked hands slid away from each other's. Tom left Harry where he was. They said goodbye from there, Harry wishing that Tom had stayed for longer.

– X –

"I think Tom is annoyed with me."

"Why?" Nott asked.

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. He had mulled it over for a great deal of time these last few days. "He don't think he much likes it when I spend time with other people."

"We're friends," Nott said, his brow furrowed. "He can't stop you from having friends."

"He isn't used to it," Harry said simply. "I don't think he'll ever be used to it."

It made Harry think of Emeric. It had been different with Emeric simply due to the romantic feelings that he had harboured for Harry, in what he thought was secrecy. Moreover, Tom had never met the wizard in his life, he neither knew nor understood how he worked, how he might affect Harry... It was different with Nott because Tom knew him well, knew how his mind worked. They were both aware and comfortable with the fact that Tom watched them closely.

"I presume he doesn't speak very highly of me, these days," Nott said.

"He doesn't speak highly of anyone."

"Except you, of course."

Harry smirked a little. "Of course..."

Nott smiled a little too. They sat facing each other in Nott's living room in two comfortable armchairs, a small table with drinks between them.

"I think I might be going away for a little while, again."

"With Tom, I'm guessing?"

"Yes. We'll be back though, of course."

"I understand. I'm sure you'll have a good time, wherever you're going."

Harry nodded, glad Nott didn't ask too many questions. Tom had taught Nott, as well as a few others, very well about how to rid themselves of curiosity, for the sake of convenience within their group. It made Harry wonder why Tom was so scared that Nott would find out more than he should.

"I think he wants you and I to stop talking."

"Why?" Nott asked.

"He just doesn't like for me to get too close to other people. I think he gets paranoid."

Nott didn't respond immediately. He wasn't any less sad than before; Lestrange was getting married and although they spoke about it a little less often, Harry could see something within him had changed this past year. He no longer laughed as openly, no longer found enjoyment in seemingly anything he did. Harry felt as though he had to be here for him. He felt as though there would come a time when Nott would see no reason to go on.

"So, you're going then?" Nott asked. "How many more times will I see you?"

Harry realised, then, that it sounded as though he intended to abandon Nott. "Oh, no, I'm not going to stop seeing you."

"You're not?"

"No, of course not. Tom's bound to realise that he has no reason to be paranoid."

"Is he angry? I don't want to anger him."

"He won't do anything to you."

Nott didn't look so sure.

"Honestly, if Tom wanted to punish you for this, he wouldn't have waited so long. As for me, you know he doesn't treat me like the other Knights."

"Yes, but," Nott began slowly, unsure what he could or couldn't say, "Tom's always been a bit... easily angered. Anything can make him more angry at me, or could make him choose to hurt me."

"I won't let him," Harry said flatly.

"Would you be able to stop him? You said before, with that boy Tom got jealous of, that it caused problems. You've obviously fought with him since, if he broke your old wand. Tom must have been there with you, he must have been angry."

"Tom wasn't there," Harry assured him. "It's a completely different thing; he was obsessed with me, he wasn't my friend. I wanted to get away from him as much as Tom wanted me to."

"How did you know him?" Nott asked, "if he wasn't your friend."

"Well, he sort of was a friend at first, I suppose. We worked together; he seemed nice enough and he definitely wasn't a threat... or, so I thought. He was insane, I think. His emotions didn't make any sense at all, he'd go from being nice to being enraged faster than anyone I've ever seen."

"That's odd," Nott said slowly.

"Tom was furious the moment he heard about him, but there was no way he could have guessed how insane he really was. Emeric wanted me to like him, but at the same time he kept trying to hurt me, thinking it was for my own good, or something. I don't really know why. He'd just burst into anger – it was mad. It was unnatural."

"That is quite unusual," Nott commented. His voice was quiet and he looked both confused and unnerved. He fell silent.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Nott opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. Something was bothering him deeply, but Harry had no idea what it might be.

"Christopher?"

"You said Tom scared him," Nott said slowly, "but it sounds as if from that point on, Emeric changed."

"He became a part of another Dark Arts group," Harry explained, "and we both know how that can change some people."

"But you worked at the Daily Prophet with him – I remember you mentioned that just when we all came to Albania, because Lestrange worked there too."

"So?"

"So, why would someone so interested in the Dark Arts work at the Daily Prophet? What are the chances that you and him could both be planted there at the exact same time as spies, never finding each other out? You're not stupid."

Harry tried to think. "I don't know what you're getting at."

"The way he changed sounds unnatural even through your explanation," Nott said quietly. He looked almost reluctant to speak. "If his emotions were all over the place, switching to anger so often that he hurt you to 'help' you, and if he turned to the Dark Arts without you ever once suspecting that he might be a part of a group... It just doesn't fit."

"He was crazy," Harry said, feeling uneasy at Nott's distress. "He went mental."

"For what reason?" Nott asked.

Harry had no answer. The two wizards stared at each other across the room. It was true that Emeric hadn't given any signs to suggest he might be twisted inside, or might have a deep, passionate liking for the Dark Arts... Harry could remember his face now, staring down at him with wide eyes, jumping from one emotion to the next as if chunks of conversation had fallen away, changing his mindset at an unnatural pace...

"Tom," Harry managed very quietly. He felt stunned, waiting for Nott. "You think it was Tom."

Nott looked uneasy. "I-I don't know... There's a lot of dark magic that can affect people like that, and we know Tom likes to experiment."

Harry couldn't think. True, he had no other explanation for why Emeric turned to the Dark Arts. True, Tom had sent Emeric away from work so quickly, and true he had spoken to him, to scare him off. Tom had enough time and power to do something like this... but why?

"I don't see why he would have done that," Harry said in little over a murmur.

"To keep him away, perhaps?"

"Emeric chased after me with more effort than ever," Harry said, "he found me in impossible situations, he tracked me down by chance."

"Tom might not have thought he'd live."

"Maybe," Harry mumbled. He didn't know what was wrong with his heart, which pulsed in hurting, distracting pressure. He felt a deep sense of foreboding.

"We've discussed it before," Nott said, "it might not even have been intentional."

"Oh, yeah, because I'm sure Emeric just happened to walk in while Tom set a complicated, vastly advanced curse that demented and doomed him forever, making him chase after..."

Harry stopped. He thought about Grindelwald's Fortress. He knew the one thing Tom was sure Harry hated most of all was anyone who supported Gellert Grindelwald. He doubted that Tom could have planted Emeric in Grindelwald's Fortress as a spy, or as a person to help Harry, but it was certainly possible that Tom could have simply forgotten about the boy, after cursing him to take an interest in Grindelwald. He could have thought Emeric was insignificant, or could have been distracted by too many things to think of him when Harry was captured...

Assuming Tom did indeed curse Emeric to force him to follow Grindelwald's people, his reasoning behind it was obvious: he was both ensuring that Harry would never fall for Emeric and ensuring that if the time was right, if Emeric survived long enough to indeed find Harry, there was a greater possibility that Harry might choose to kill him. Harry, recognising the delirious, frightening change that took over Emeric, recognising Emeric's willingness to cause pain, would feel far less inclined to hesitate before an attack...

"I've been so blind..." Harry's voice was shaking. "I..."

He didn't know what was happening to him. He couldn't breathe normally, his hands were shaking, his heart hammering, and his chest felt as thought it would explode. He looked away from Nott, confused, worried, and embarrassed as he didn't understand.

If Tom could curse the Defence Against the Dark Arts job it the future, it only seemed logical that he could have ruined Emeric in this way. Yet it had been so soon, so slyly that Harry hadn't once thought about the inconsistencies of Emeric's story... This, he supposed, was why Tom feared Nott; the Knight had an uncommon ability to put things together that so many other people overlooked.

"He wanted Emeric to chase after me," Harry explained in a low voice. "Emeric was driven insane and I could see that, but instead of questioning it, I... I was supposed to get scared. I was supposed to be angry at him for the things he said, the things he did to Tom and to me, and I did. I..."

Nott didn't say a word. He might have regretted voicing his theory, but whether this was true or nor, Harry didn't care. A sense of hopelessness gripped him.

"I killed him..."

As Harry said it, the pain within him worsened. He felt as though he was a very long way away from where he sat. His surroundings were blurred, his feelings in an uproar of confusion. Harry had murdered Emeric in fear of his insanity, but in honesty he had silenced an innocent boy who had been cursed by the man he loved.

"I have to go."

Harry started to stand as he said it, driven solely by the desire to not fall apart in front of Nott. He felt numbed, but he wasn't sure how long this would last, or what would happen when it faded.

"I understand."

"I'll... I might be back before I leave, I dunno."

"Are you going to talk to Tom?"

Nott was standing too, as if he half expected Harry might faint.

"Yes," Harry said. "I need to talk to him. If this is true..."

"I'm sorry," Nott managed.

He had made an involuntary movement to reach out a hand to Harry, but he stopped himself. Harry barely noticed. He was distracted when his throat began feeling constricted, his hands shaking.

"Speak to our Lord," Nott advised. "It could still be nothing."

If there was one thing Harry was sure of now, it was that Tom hadn't done nothing to Emeric. He nodded nonetheless, starting to feel these thoughts tearing at him. His skin, his body, his heart, his mind, and his soul tensed and ached at the very thought of his theory being right. He wanted to leave. He didn't know what else he could do.


	67. Given Words

67 – Given Words

It was all a blur. Harry couldn't remember half of his journey back from Nott's home, despite how close his and Tom's house was by Apparition. His mind was crammed with thoughts accompanied by odd feelings that made him fear for his health; he was struggling to breathe, his limbs ached with the weight of the slow, difficult realisation that swarmed him. All he knew was that he needed to find Tom. He knew this odd sense of foreboding would come crashing down harder upon him soon. He needed Tom to tell him what was truth.

"Tweaky!" Harry called out the moment he entered the house. He was too impatient to look for Tom himself.

"Master," Tweaky greeted, taking short steps towards Harry from the direction of the kitchen, "Tweaky knew not that Master would return so soon."

"Where's Tom?" Harry asked, forgetting to say hello. "I need to talk to him."

"Tweaky regrets to inform Master that Master Voldemort is not here."

"Where is he?"

"Tweaky knows not, Master, Tweaky knows only that Master Voldemort went to see one of the wizards who visit here oft-"

"When will be be back?"

"Soon, Tweaky thinks. It's a matter of minutes before he should return."

"Well, then send him up to me when he gets here," Harry ordered. "As soon as he gets here, do you understand me?"

"Of course, Master."

"I'll be in the library."

Tweaky turned from Harry, saying something in agreement that Harry had no interest in listening to. He climbed the staircase, feeling numb. He wanted Tom to be here already and he half-regretted not sending Tweaky out to go and find him right away, no matter what he might interrupt.

The library was dark when Harry entered it. His heart pounded on and on and refused to slow down. He was too restless to take any of the comfortable seats around him, so he busied himself with lighting the torches, adding to the dim warmth of the quiet fire. When he was done, he stood still. There was nothing for him to do. He felt as though he should be doing something, anything, to distract his mind, but he couldn't think what. All he knew was that he didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts. His veins were aching, his jaw clenched...

Harry hadn't forgotten what crimes Tom had committed in his past, the far future. He hadn't forgotten about those who had died because of him – because of both of them. What made this different to Tom's other crimes, however, was two important things. The first was that he had possessed and doomed Emeric for no reason, stealing his life from him without so much as an excuse. The second was that Tom had tricked Harry. He had lied to him, he had cheated him, and he didn't believe in Harry's abilities. This, unlike the other terrible things Tom had done, could not be easily ignored...

It wasn't often that Harry thought of his old life. It wasn't often that he allowed himself to feel that pain again – in fact, he hadn't given any of his old family and friends a single thought, properly, since the creation of his Horcrux. The main thing he told himself, after lying awake for hours at night, was that Tom wasn't yet _that_ Tom. He wasn't yet the Dark Lord he would surely become, no matter what Harry did. He wasn't yet the man Harry hated more than any other, the man he had tried so desperately to kill... in his own time...

He waited seven slow, painful minutes. When he heard Tom approaching the room, his heart alarmed him by escalating in pace, yet it had nothing to do with his usual adoration. Despite being summoned, Tom's footsteps were slow and calm. This, somehow, was enough to stress Harry further. Every moment he stood here doing nothing felt like a moment of pure torture.

"Harry," Tom greeted, speaking softly, lovingly, as he approached, "Tweaky told me that you wished to see me?"

"Yeah," said Harry stiffly. "Yeah it's – it's good you're home..."

"Is something wrong?" Tom asked. His smile had faltered as he saw something in Harry's expression.

Harry rolled one of his hands into a fist, trying not to get annoyed by the question.

Tom noticed. He was confused. "Did something happen?"

Harry couldn't take waiting. He couldn't stand making idle conversation if it meant stalling the emotions inside him.

"I know," he said in a quiet, deadly voice. "I know what you did..."

Several crimes, he supposed, might have popped into to Tom's mind. Still, however, he acted innocent. "I don't know what you're talking bout."

"Emeric," Harry said. There was no time to explain how he figured it out, no time to describe how Tom had been right about Nott's abilities to find inconsistencies. "I know what you did to him..."

"Emeric is dead, my love."

"Because of you!" Harry exclaimed, annoyed now, even by so little provocation. "I know that you cursed him, I know now that you possessed him to force him into joining Grindelwald's people!"

Tom stood up straighter slowly, as if preparing himself in his shock and confusion. It was theatre, to him. He might have believed he heard Harry wrong for a moment, yet he wasn't stupid; he was able to see where Harry was with his theories. It was likely due to caution that he held his tongue for a time, unsure what he should or shouldn't say.

"I thought you guessed before."

"You're lying," Harry spat. "You never expected me to figure out any of your plans for Emeric – I'm not an idiot!"

"I never lied to you. I kept my word that I did not kill Emeric that night."

"But you cursed him! You cursed him, knowing that it would surely lead him to his death!"

"Can you not see why?" Tom asked. "Did it not cross your mind that perhaps I did it for your own good?"

Anger rose in Harry so quickly, he could barely control it.

"For my own good? You're a liar! You wanted him to join Grindelwald's people because you knew it would alarm me the most, you forced him to become obsessed with me, driving him mental, just so you could be sure I'd never want to be with him! And for what, Tom?"

Tom was taken aback. "Is wanting you to be immortal not reason enough for you? Is wanting to be with you -"

"You could have waited to see if I'd really want to kill someone, rather than go behind my back to make it happen sooner! How was that supposed to make me want to be with you forever, Tom?"

"You know I could have done far worse to Emeric," Tom said, shaking his head as if this were obvious.

"What could possibly be worse than what you did?"

"Death, for one."

"Death?" Harry repeated. "How is death worse than possessing an innocent boy and forcing him to chase and attack me? What could be worse than ruining his mind, making him do terrible things – just like with what happened to Macnair! He would have dragged me off and would have done far worse things than rape me once, Tom; you know it as well as I do. What if I hadn't been able to fight?"

"You killed him," Tom reminded him. "You won."

"I almost lost," Harry told him, his voice strong due to his anger and frustration. "I almost didn't manage to–"

He had to stop himself. He was tempted, so tempted, to tell Tom how close Emeric had been to capturing him, succeeding with the sheer power of the Elder Wand. What would Tom say to that, he wondered? He knew he probably looked weak in Tom's eyes for almost losing against Emeric, but if he only knew the truth...

"You would never have lost to him," Tom said. "I understand your fear, but you are far stronger and always have been. I knew this."

"You were putting my life at risk," Harry reminded him, "there was no guaranteeing that I'd win, and you knew it..."

"Yet you did win, my love," Tom said more softly, perhaps thinking that he could trick Harry into believing that what he did was right. "I always knew you would win. I knew you were strong enough to finally kill Emer-"

"SHUT UP! JUST _SHUT UP!_"

Harry wanted to attack him. He couldn't control his anger, nor his body as it shook in a mix of emotions he hadn't experienced in months. Ire burned into Tom's handsome face, warping his calm expression into one far less pleasant. He blatantly couldn't make sense of Harry's behaviour, which infuriated Harry like nothing else had.

"All the things I hated about him," Harry said in a low voice, "all the things he deserved to die for, it was your fault... it was always your fault!"

Tom did not respond to his anger this time.

"Emeric was only a threat because you made him one," Harry carried on. "You risked me getting tortured and abused because you wanted to be sure you had a way to force me into making a Horcrux. You did worse than I ever knew."

He held onto his anger, but other emotions of sorrow and regret were being plucked within him like a harp, the sound's vibrations weakening him where he stood. He couldn't stop the emotions, nor the thoughts that brought them in a clutter of built-up repression.

"He didn't do anything, Tom. He had a normal job and a normal life and – and you ruined it... for no reason at all..."

He couldn't believe that any of this was truly happening. It felt like a cruel joke, a huge mistake. Tom began walking towards him, staring in a way that suggested fear. Harry looked away, not wanting Tom to touch him; he backed up. His throat was burning. Finally, after what was two months short of a year, Harry could recognise the emotions he felt. It all came flooding back to him now.

"You – you were almost right," Harry said, managing a weak laugh, "I was almost as stupid as you knew I had to be for this plan to work. I – I feel for it easily. I wanted Emeric dead for the things he did..."

He was ashamed and angry at his own stupidity, at never doubting Tom in all these years. This only added to the way he felt cheated, hurt, and insulted that Tom took him for a fool. Tom had tricked him into doing something that had caused him so much pain. He had betrayed him...

"Is this remorse?" Tom asked in a low voice.

"I - I don't..."

He could feel the guilt rise up as Tom suggested it. If he had only been more watchful, if he had been less blinded by his love for Tom, he might have been able to stop this. Harry's chest was aching. He might have fixed the curses Tom had placed, he might have saved Emeric's future, giving him back what had been stolen from him for no reason beyond a selfish need Tom felt to push Harry into becoming immortal as soon as possible...

Harry's eyes were burning. He stared at the ground in front of him, memories of his interactions with Emeric making him feel more and more guilty for the crime he had committed. He had wanted Emeric dead, in truth. He had attempted and succeeded in killing the part of him that he loathed, the curse that bound itself to Emeric's soul, strangling his inner self like a wicked vine, a coiling snake...

"Harry?"

Harry wiped his face hurriedly, trying to overcome his emotions. It was no use. He couldn't drown out the thoughts that conquered his mind, informing him that if it wasn't for his ignorance, an innocent boy would still be alive today. If it wasn't for his ignorance, he would never have endured the pain of murdering a man – a man who had wanted to kill him first only because of Tom. Tom was taking quick steps towards him, but Harry refused to look up.

"Look at me," Tom ordered.

"Stay away from me..."

Tom had tortured Emeric as surely as he had threatened Harry's life, happiness, and well-being the moment he began that curse. Even now, Harry felt more tormented than ever...

"_Look at me!_"

Tom was alert with fear. All Harry could do was stand where he was shakily, locking his eyes to Tom's own, which were wide and frightful. Tom watched as tears formed before him, gripping Harry's wrist tightly to forcibly take his attention. Beyond this, Tom was too shocked to move.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again futilely more than once. His words were gone. There was nothing he could possibly say to make it clear to Tom what he was going through. Air tore at his throat, he was sobbing and drawing in sharp, shuddering breath that was beyond his control. He wished this pain would stop, he wish he could undo what he had started.

"I'm sorry..."

"Stop," Tom demanded. "Harry, stop crying!"

"I – I d-didn't want this to h-happen," Harry whispered.

"Listen to me –_ Harry, listen to me!_"

Harry couldn't; he could barely stand still. He didn't know what he could do to undo the crime he had so wrongly, so unjustly committed. His soul was aching... The more he addressed the fact that he had killed an innocent boy, that Tom had betrayed him, the more pain he felt. His head was already pounding as he cried, his chest burned and stung sharply with each undeserved breath he pulled into his lungs, and his limbs shook and pleaded to be released of this pain. Each vein within his body felt as if it would burst with the agony of his remorse, regret, and sorrow.

He felt something begin to pour down from his nose, and he knew immediately what it was; blood. Tom couldn't move. The little colour he had left in his pale face drained away as he doubtlessly reflected upon the fact that this was only supposed to happen in the early stages of Horcrux creation. It was the body and soul's way of adapting to emotions.

"You have to stop crying!" Tom shouted, only making Harry feel worse. He had never heard Tom this panicked in his life.

"I-I c-ca-can't," Harry stammered, tears spilling out of his eyes so thickly, Tom was nothing but a blur.

Harry's head felt light, his vision was fading as though he might faint. Both of them understood what was happening. His soul felt as if it was being pulled from his body, tearing at muscles and flesh, bone and veins...

The Darkness was closing in. But Tom... He couldn't leave Tom...

"I'm s-so – s-so sorry..."

"HARRY!"

"Tom, I – I c-can't... I -..."

"DON'T!" Tom billowed, his hands gripping Harry as he began to fall. "Don't do this to me, Harry! Don't move – just – JUST STOP CRYING!"

"T-Tom, I – I –"

_BANG!_

In a flash of blinding light, a spell struck Harry's chest, hard. A sensation like burning, running insects crawling through his veins gripped Harry, causing him to stagger further away from Tom, panicked and terrified.

"L-let me go! T-Tom, p-please, please l-let me g-g-"

The insects were crawling up towards his head; Harry was horror-struck. He tensed and panicked when Tom raised his wand again, sure that Tom would hurt him in his anger, would punish him for feeling the remorse that would surely rip his soul from him.

_BANG!_

Tom's second spell only hurt for a moment. Then, Harry was plunged into a frozen state, his senses quickly becoming dulled. He couldn't feel nor hear his own crying. He no longer felt the agony from before. Fear almost reached him as he watched his vision fade, as he wondered if this was death...

Dark shapes and forms is all Harry could recall seeing next. He was in a slow, eerie state of calm, unable to control any of the happenings of his surroundings. He was dully aware that Tom stood above him. He could hear his voice, which was muffled and echoed, but it wasn't often that Harry could make out any of what he was saying. "_Don't go... Harry, don't you dare go... I'm going to help you – I'm going to fix you now! All I ask – all I need – is for you lay still... Don't - don't leave me like this..._"

Harry was lost in his own mind. He was so close to feeling a sense of complete blissfulness, if it weren't for the vague knowledge that this wasn't a natural state. It was like nothing he had felt before, it wasn't even like his creation of a Horcrux. He was almost a different person, almost not himself...

He opened his eyes.

It could have been anything from minutes to hours since he had last been awake. He felt tired, so very tired. He didn't feel as though he could move an inch of his body. Tom was holding him close. He was rocking him back and forth, his lips pressed to the top of his head. His arms were wrapped around him so securely, he was seemingly protecting him. He was whispering, never stopping once in his continuous, steady rocking of Harry in his arms.

A slither of flickering yellow light made it's way across the room. The door leading to the hallway stood ajar; it made a small portion of floor visible. Nothing was lit in the room itself. The fire was out and the torches had been extinguished for reasons Harry couldn't quite work out; at least one of them was lying on the ground, filling the hair with the smell of burnt wood. The room was cold. No moonlight shone through the tall windows. The night, as well as the rest of the house, was still.

"I'm sorry... Harry, I'm so... so sorry... I will never – n-never let you die..."

The entire room had been smashed to pieces. It was clear from the shards of glass and splinters of ruined wood that were caught in the slither of light. Harry couldn't know if this was his or Tom's fault, or a mix of the two. Tom was shaking, his breath giving voice to the anxiety, fear, and torment he faced, if his words weren't clear enough. He had no idea that Harry was awake, for Harry could not show any sign of it.

"I love-... I love you so much... I'll love you always... forever..."

Harry's tears had stopped long ago. He shuddered and gasped only in stress and fear. He didn't feel fully here. His senses were back to normal, he could see the light shining through the door, he could hear, smell, and feel Tom and his surroundings, and he could taste the vile result of his mouth being far too dry. His emotions, however, were limited. The first true feeling he felt since being awake was fear, provoked only by the sight of Tom's large, trembling, cut, and bleeding hands.

If he was in physical pain, Tom gave no sign of it. His blood was smeared on Harry's arms, on his chest as he held him tightly. Harry knew Tom was crying. He knew Tom felt no remorse, only fear, and he would never sob, like Harry had. His eyes would be open, staring into space. He would be crying with no dramatic change to his handsome face, yet the tears would fall nevertheless. All Harry could do was sit very still, trying hard to make sense of what had happened.

Tom had cursed him. Although Harry couldn't recall it happening, he knew Tom had attacked him. He had flickers of memories showing him mere moment in which he had gained consciousness. He understood that the only logical explanation for what had happened was that Tom was cutting off his emotions. He was forcing him to stop feeling remorse, because it was the only way to stop him from breaking his Horcrux. Tom had stopped a risk of death...

Harry could feel the spells locked upon him. All he could experience was a numb sense of fear at the sight of Tom's hands, and an eerie undertone running throughout him, informing him that this wasn't natural. This feeling was something Tom couldn't stop, because most of all it was an observation. All Harry knew, all he could concentrate upon, was the fact that this wasn't right...

– X –

It was worse than the result of his Horcrux. Harry was in no pain, he felt no agony, and he suffered no physical after-affects of Tom's magic, but he felt dead. A few days passed and in that time Harry did nothing. He could no longer concentrate. Tom was away often and Harry didn't see the point in going to see any of the Knights. Even practising magic had lost it's appeal. Harry couldn't remember what he used to spend his time doing, or why. After over a week of this, Tom suggested they should travel. Harry, seeing no reason to argue, agreed.

They would be gone for a month, taking the longest time away from the Knights they had since before Albania. Tom spoke of it with romance bound to every word, saying how he wanted little else than to run away with Harry for a time. Harry knew that in truth Tom likely wanted little else than to distract him from thoughts of Emeric. What was more, Tom wanted Harry to be with him everywhere he went, thus he had to take Harry along when he needed to speak to people in far places.

They travelled across Western Europe, ending up in Romania, where Tom planned to speak with wizards who knew more information about the Dragons being kept in nearby reservations. Eventually, through discussions with witches and wizards who pointed him in better directions, Tom found the elderly wizard he had been searching for. He gained access to some books he had wanted for these last few months, and he celebrated with Harry alone. After this, they spent their second week away travelling further.

What they looked for next was far less innocent information. Tom brought Harry to a strange town inhabited only by sorcerers. It was far away from any other village, town, or city, and the way people around here acted told Harry that they were far less fond of Muggles than even average wizards. It became clear after a day or two, however, that Tom wasn't interested in the inhabitants of this town. They met many witches and wizards who had an odd obsession with reptilian animals, which Harry was sure related in some way to how Salazar Slytherin had acted in his time. This, above all, was what interested Tom.

Snakes spoke without reluctance of the people who passed through this town. They whispered of dark magic they had seen or sensed, and they explained to Tom things that the witches and wizards around them dared not mention. From the little information the snakes could give, Tom had a sure enough idea of where they had to go next. They travelled soon, reaching warmer, brighter countries where Harry and Tom were looked upon as eerie visitors, having strayed so far from sunlight for so long. Both of them preferred the night to the day, becoming more and more pale as a result, being unable to endure real sunlight.

For the third week they stayed in one place together. They needed a break from travelling and Tom had desired to stay around the beautiful sites close to them for a little longer. Harry didn't object. There was no work for either of them to do here, so their days were spent calmly. Harry was alone with Tom from this point on. It made him feel calm, but not much else. It took away from that uncomfortable knowledge that something unnatural was happening within him, at least.

"It's a beautiful night," Tom said quietly one evening, indicating a hand to the balcony he had just re-entered the room from. "You can see all of the stars, once more."

"Every night here seems to be like that," Harry mentioned.

Tom smiled softly. "It never ceases to impress me..."

He stood in the doorway. His eyes moved across Harry's form, taking in the sight of his bare chest, the way he rested upon their bed, and the subtle expression his face held. He stood up straighter, moving away from the doorframe he had leant upon. Once he had crossed the room, he reaching out a gentle hand to tilt Harry's chin up, standing to the side of their bed.

"I feel as though I could spend forever with you, like this..."

"Why don't you?" Harry asked quietly, staring up into Tom's reddened, half-closed eyes.

"I don't know," Tom answered, smiling ever so slightly. He lowered himself onto the bed, taking his hand from Harry's chin to interlock their fingers.

"Sometimes I wish we could," Harry murmured, squeezing Tom's hand affectionately. "I wish we could just run away from everything... We could start again, find some place else to go. It'd just be the two of us. Forever, we could stay like this..."

"We still have to live our lives, my love," Tom reminded him.

"It's just a thought. It's just something that would be good, even if it might lose it's appeal eventually."

This amused Tom; Harry could see it in his grin and his tone of voice. "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say it might lose it's appeal..."

"What if you had to choose?" Harry asked. He wanted to sound light-hearted about it, but he knew he didn't succeed. An odd seriousness occupied his mind. "What if I told you I'd leave you if you didn't give up working, if you didn't dedicate your time to me instead?"

"That'd be asking me to chose between two things I dearly love," Tom said, "two things that I sought immortality to be with."

"But let's say you have no choice but to answer. Which would you choose?"

"Both," Tom said, smiling. "I wouldn't have it any other way. I would leave my work for as long as you desired me to, even if it meant giving up the Knights for years... I would take you away to a quiet place like this, where not another soul knows who we are. For however long you desire, I would dedicate myself to you, until, at the very least, all of your needs are satisfied..."

"That could take a while," Harry commented dryly. He enjoyed Tom's evident enthralment at the suggestion.

Tom moved up on the bed, positioning himself above Harry. "We have all the time in the world, my love..."

"But you have to get back to working, soon."

"You know I enjoy my research," Tom said softly, stroking Harry's hair back. "This, however, could never lessen my enjoyment of you."

"I'm glad," Harry muttered vaguely. He didn't want to hear any more on the subject, being quite a bit more interested now in Tom's lips, which hovered centimetres away from his jaw.

Tom kissed him once, slowly.

"It isn't so bad, doing this back at our own house," Tom commented in a hushed voice.

"How so?"

"Well, to be with you anywhere is good, my love. To have you anywhere..."

His fingers continued to coil through Harry's hair, his body leaning in close.

"The knowledge that I can return to you still makes each day better, no matter what my mood is... You always make it better..."

His lips found their way to Harry's ear, where his warm breath felt so familiar, yet enticing still. His second hand drew designs across Harry's chest with such practice, Harry felt impatient already.

"Not so soon," Tom whispered, pressing a hand on Harry's chest as he attempted to sit up. He pushed him back down. "I'm nowhere finished with you..."

Harry wanted to protest, as much as he enjoyed this. He wanted to lead Tom, to take control once more. Tom's lips were on their way down his neck. His fingers slid from Harry's hair, his hands making their way lower. Harry bit his lips as he watched Tom kissing his chest, taking his time, moving to the places he knew Harry liked to be touched...

Even this, however, wasn't enough to completely distract Harry. He thought back to what he had asked Tom, thinking now that his own seriousness at the question was unusual. Tom's tongue made contact with Harry's skin progressively more as he kissing him on and on. He looked up to catch Harry's reactions every now and then. Tom's answer to the question, moreover, seemed curious. Harry wasn't sure if Tom had been kind and honest, if he had said it nothing but idly, or if it should be considered worrying that Tom treated his work as equally as important as Harry.

Tom's fingers ran along Harry's sides, feeling and caressing him with effortless passion and ease. Above all of this, Harry questioned silently if Tom was merely humouring him... Harry breathed out heavily, his head falling back onto the pillow. This only encouraged Tom, doubling his vigour. He hissed to Harry vague words of Parseltongue, noticing it and enjoying it when Harry began to react more strongly.

What if Tom didn't mean it? He had fooled Harry about Emeric and had gone behind his back to seek immortality for him, this was true... Harry tried to decide if this was a menacing or strangely kind act. Tom was pulling him from the bed, urging him to sit up. Harry did so eagerly, catching Tom by the lips. They swayed where they were, locked in a close embrace. Harry knew Tom had an odd way of showing affection, past the sex and past the romance. He was a strange boy when it came to getting what he wanted. He had betrayed Harry for what he thought was his own safety and well-being...

Tom's hand found it's way lower, and lower. He was pulling off Harry's trousers, to which Harry gave no objection. He held Tom close, kissing his shoulder as he loosened the buttons of his black shirt. In one strong movement Tom pulled him closer still, whispering of the things he wanted them to do. Yes, Harry thought once more, he had an odd way of sorting through what was right and what was wrong. He had treated Harry like he treated his work; with a complete disregard for the obstacles he knew he could overcome for the quickest, most efficient path to his goals...

Harry felt an odd compressing feeling in his chest, but paid no attention to it. It was purely physical, but it added to the eerie undertone in his mind that he chose to ignore regularly. Tom had thought of Harry's inability to kill as a challenge that he, Tom, had to conquer. Harry knelt with his legs on either side of Tom's, who sat beneath him on the bed. They held each other in this upright position, staring into each other's eyes.

"I can't decide what I want more," Tom said in a breathless, rough tone, "to have you now, or to spend the remainder of the evening taunting you with desire..."

Harry responded by kissing Tom hard on the lips, clawing back his hair passionately. "Why not do both?" he hissed.

"I could," Tom responded, "very easily..."

Harry couldn't deny that Tom was sincere in his desires for him. Even Nott had said once that Tom had never loved anyone like he loved Harry. This was clear in the way that Tom looked after him, the way he dedicated so much time to him, the way he currently ran his fingers down Harry's bare back, kissing him all the while... it was clear, too, in his betrayal of trust. Tom wouldn't risk Harry being unable to kill another man. Harry should have known it sooner. When Tom wanted something done, especially something important to him, he found a way to do it, at any costs...

After all, Tom didn't waste time on things he did not truly love and care about...

– X –

When they returned to England, Harry could tell that Tom was satisfied to find comfort in their house, even after what had been an exceedingly desirable time spent away. Tweaky greeted them warmly when they arrived, igniting all the fires within the house and cooking them a large, plentiful meal that he rightly assumed the both of them would need. Harry still felt an odd disconnection to his emotions, despite over a month having passed since Tom stalled his remorse. He wondered idly weather this would ever fade.

They got back into the usual routine within a few days of returning to their house. Tom went away often to meet with various Knights and other people he needed things from, concerning his work, which left Harry alone often. It was during an evening perhaps two weeks since their return when Harry was visited by someone he had almost completely forgotten about: Christopher Nott.

"You can leave, Tweaky," Harry informed the House-elf, who had accompanied the two wizards up to the library. "I'll summon you if I need anything."

"Of course, Master," Tweaky said with a deep bow, already backing up. He left the room within seconds, doubtlessly returning to the kitchen to cook tonight's dinner. It wouldn't be long until Tom returned home.

"Would you like to sit down?" Harry asked, turning to Nott.

To his surprise, Nott shook his head shortly. "No, thank you. I don't intend to visit for long."

In truth, Harry wasn't sure why Nott was visiting at all. He studied the Knight for a time, assessing that he looked stressed and tired, for reasons Harry couldn't quite guess. There was a certain level of determination clear in the way Nott held himself, however, steadying himself. He was scared.

"What brought you here tonight?" Harry asked, in what he hoped was a causal and not demanding tone.

"I felt as though I needed to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Well," Nott seemed surprised, "I haven't seen you in over a month. I had no idea where you went, I didn't... I didn't have any idea what happened."

Harry was confused. "Since when do Tom and I have to tell the Knights where we go, or why?"

"You don't," Nott said quickly, put off, somehow, by Harry's reaction. "Forgive me, but it's just, you surely remember what happened the last time we spoke?"

Harry had pushed the thought out of his mind. He had believed up until this point that Nott would be wise enough to do the same. "That's been sorted out."

He knew Nott wasn't convinced. He watched Harry with concern and unease clearly displayed on his face. "Why didn't you tell me where you went?"

Ire struck Harry. "Why should I have?"

"I – well, no, I suppose... I suppose you had no obligation to."

"Right..."

Nott became more nervous. Somehow this annoyed Harry further. Both of them waited for the other to talk, but Harry refused to. He didn't understand why Nott had chosen to visit him like this, and more specifically why he had decided to talk to him when Tom wasn't around. He must have known, Harry supposed, that Tom was away with a few of the Knights currently.

"I want to talk to you about what happened," Nott began.

"I don't see why," Harry responded, "If I wanted to talk about what happened, I'd ask."

"I know you were upset, I know something changed that night," Nott pressed on urgently, ignoring his words, "if you want someone to talk to, I'm perfectly willing to be here for you."

"If I need someone to talk to, I have Tom."

"But if that isn't enough, if there's something else bothering you and you don't want to turn to him-"

"You think Tom isn't good enough to comfort me?"

"No, no I just-"

"Tell me why you're here, or get out. I don't have time for this."

His forceful tone alarmed Nott. His worry deepened, clear from his large, strained eyes.

"Something happened," Nott said, "I know it. You can't have forgotten what we spoke about, because I know it affected you badly. You haven't visited me since, you haven't so much as written a letter-"

"Why should I have?"

"You said we were friends."

"That doesn't mean I want to replace Tom with you," Harry said, glaring.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Just listen to me," Nott pleaded, "whatever happened with Tom, whatever possessed you to murder Emeric-"

"Shut up," Harry barked, cutting off his words.

"You've changed again, I can see it. You're not the same -"

"Shut up!"

" - I know you were forced to murder!"

"SHUT UP!"

"Listen to me, I know he did this to you! You're not supposed to be this way! Harry, you-"

_BANG!_

The rage was overpowering. Harry had no control over it before he lowered his wand, lunging at Nott so strongly that he had him pressed hard against the wall in an instant. Nott's terrified face stared up at Harry's, which was twisted into a look of pure fury. He wasn't choking Nott, but his force was as powerful as it had been against Rosier as he pressed Nott against the bookshelf. He didn't want to murder Nott, but his anger controlled his every move. Soon, Nott's expression faded from fear. He was brave as he stared back at Harry, waiting.

Footsteps then sounded, making their way towards the two wizards. Harry momentarily thought it could be Tweaky, which added to his irritation, but he soon remembered that House-Elves wore no shoes. The soft, calm footsteps he heard could only belong to one man. Tom had returned, perhaps here due to the sound of raised voices. Still Harry refused to move, refused to let go of the front of Nott's robes. Tom stopped in the doorway.

"I would ask what's going on," Tom began in a tranquil, steady voice, "but perhaps it is best I leave your quarrels as your own business..."

Harry lowered his gaze to somewhere at the base of Nott's neck, trying to contain his anger. He didn't want to let go, didn't want to lower his wand. Nott was discomforted by Tom's presence, but he understood now that a punishment from Harry could, perhaps, be less severe...

"However," Tom carried on, still taking gradual steps towards the both of them, "it is perhaps best if you, Harry, refrain from murdering such a pure-blooded wizard in the comfort of this house... It would not do well to so early face an inquiry from a Ministry, or something of the sort, due to a well-known visitor of ours to suddenly going missing so suspiciously..."

Tom was standing behind Harry. He had stopped, perhaps surprised that Harry hadn't yet removed his grip from the Knight who had so recently infuriated him. Tom's hand found it's way to his.

"Lower your wand, Harry."

Surprised by the softness of his tone, Harry didn't resist as Tom guided his hand away. He was standing with his head just over Harry's shoulder, at a point where he could clearly see Nott struggling in front of them. This, apparently, amused him. He gave a hum of laughter, still holding on gently to Harry's lowered hand, which was curled into a fist around the Elder Wand.

"You're tense," Tom commented, his lips close to Harry's ear. He spoke in little over a whisper.

"I'm pissed off," Harry responded through gritted teeth. Tom had softened his mood, but if he wanted to help punish Nott in some way, Harry had no idea why he was taking so long.

"There's no need to harm our Knights so eagerly, my love."

"_I want to,_" Harry hissed, refusing to speak in English about this. "_He deserves it..._"

"I don't doubt that. Yet you're stronger than this."

Nott's eyes were wider than before.

"_If you hadn't interrupted me, I could have taught him a lesson by this point._"

"_Ah,_" Tom breathed, "_but it is unwise to attack our own Knights within this house._"

"_You had no problem with this in Albania._"

"_In Albania, I never met this problem with you, and we weren't so closely watched..._"

Harry gave no response to this. It infuriated him that Tom would stop him from these attacks when he has so readily encouraged him to murder Emeric. It was the height of hypocrisy, the next greatest insult. Tom, apparently, could sense his anger, perhaps in the way his grip on Nott's robes tightened.

"_My love,_" Tom hissed, "_we must control your anger..._"

What happened next stunned Harry more than anything else had. Tom leant in closer to his neck, until every breath could be felt as clearly as if he were touching Harry. Then, with no consideration for Nott watching them, his lips pressed against Harry's skin. It took a moment for Harry to process it, by which time Tom had kissed him again, and again. It was evaporating his irritation, replacing it with sickening desire, especially as Nott tensed before them. Tom was close now, very close. He kissed Harry with such skill and control, all Harry could do was draw in deep, steady breaths, trying to make sense of what was happening.

He realised, then, that because of this distraction, not a single thought about Emeric crossed Nott's mind. He tried Occlumency, yet it was weak against the two skilled leaders before him. Although Nott didn't know it, this was the single thing that saved him from infuriation from Tom. He was too distracted by the situation, and by thoughts of Lestrange that broke though his mind. Harry could see confusion, sorrow, and embarrassment pour into his mind. His grip loosened on Nott's robes.

"There," Tom said softly. He had guided Harry's hand away from Nott's chest, his lips inches away from Harry now. "That wasn't so difficult."

Harry backed away from Nott, making Tom do the same. The Knight's face was flushed and he refused to look at either of his leaders. Harry, however, had eyes only for Tom. He couldn't remember why he had been so angry, but he no longer cared. All he wanted was to be close to Tom again. Apparently he wasn't alone in this desire.

"You can go, Nott," Tom informed the Knight shortly, his eyes fixed on Harry. "If you so desire, that is... Jonathan and I have some important business to attend to. Come, my love..."

Harry followed when Tom beckoned him. They left the room together swiftly, Tom taking his hand along the way, while Harry forgot to even look back at Nott. His mind, however, was brooding on some level. If Nott hadn't been distracted, Tom would most certainly have discovered that it was he, and not Harry, who lead to the discovery of Emeric's curse. Harry understood that if things remained the way they were, Nott wouldn't stand a chance keeping secrets from Tom...

As soon as they entered their bedroom, Tom began kissing Harry violently, tearing at his clothes. Harry's back hit a wall before he had time to resist, while Tom breathed against him heavily, hornier than he had been in a while. He ripped open Harry's shirt, kissing his collarbone.

"I love to see you attack others," Tom told him in a laugh, through heavy, strained breaths. "You're so strong, my love. So powerful..."

Seeing it as only appropriate, Harry responded by pushing Tom back, forcing him across the room. They soon met their bed, which Tom was thrown onto, his buttoned-robes only half open. As Harry began to climb on him, Tom pushed him over, forcing him to lay flat on the covers instead.

"Let's go away together," Tom suggested, his eyes full of desire. "In a month, in three... Let us leave England once more, to see what mysteries this world has waiting for us..."

"That'd be brilliant," Harry said. He's approval wasn't a lie.

Tom kissed him with a grin, his movements rough and passionate. His hands were already on Harry's body, urging a groan from him, as he had likely hoped. Harry became engrossed in lust and desire, his mind and body concentrated solely on Tom from that moment on.

– X –

Night fell earlier, days became progressively colder and leaves began to slowly wither in their branches, painting the whole country in colours of yellow, red, and brown. Autumn had arrived restlessly. Although Harry and Tom had been back in the country for less than two months, they were planning to leave again for the winter, travelling to the far more interesting parts of the world. They would be leaving for three months, both giving separate explanations to all of the Knights, even being so precautions as to leave at different dates.

Tom went away two days before Harry, after pretending to the Knights that he had left a week ago. Harry was alone in the house with no one but Tweaky for company, but in truth he had wanted this to happen. If he and Tom were going away for so long together, there was something he knew he must – and could – do first. Knowing that Tom wouldn't have the chance to notice it, Harry removed a certain amount of books from their private library. He would never be caught because Tom had no reason to suspect him of such a crime. On the evening before his departure, Harry had only one more place to visit.

He hadn't seen Nott in over a month, unless meetings at Tom's house counted (which they didn't in Harry mind). This was partially because he understood that Nott had been embarrassed for a few weeks, but mostly Harry felt cautious to go and pay him a visit due a fear that he'd have to talk about Emeric. It had been a wise decision to stay away from Nott for two reasons: it cut out the possibility that Tom might discover what Nott knew, and Harry hated the idea of confronting what had happened. He didn't want to explain it to anyone, he wanted it to be forgotten...

"Jonathan," Nott greeted in slight surprise upon opening the door, "Come in..."

Harry did so wordlessly, stepping over the threshold. It was warm and dry inside. He followed Nott though his handsome home, heading for the living room not far in. They took the two seats they commonly occupied, facing each other in front of the fire.

"What brings you here so late?" Nott asked, a little more politely than needed. "I was under the impression you'd be leaving tomorrow morning."

"I will be," Harry said, "I'll be gone by dawn. To be honest, I can't spend much time here."

Nott nodded vaguely in understanding.

There was a moment of silence where he seemed to struggle with a thought. Harry waited for him to talk about it.

"Listen," he began, "about a few weeks ago... I'm sorry that I offended you. The same goes for Tom, I know he disapproves that I angered you, even if he can't have heard our discussion. I honestly didn't mean to annoy you, I didn't mean to -"

"It's alright," Harry cut across him. His voice was calm and assuring. "I understand."

Nott didn't seem to truly believe him. "I just thought, after your reaction to my theory the last time we met here..."

"I took your advice," Harry told him, "I talked to Tom – about everything."

"Was I wrong?"

Harry didn't want to lie... but he also didn't want to talk about it. "We worked through it."

Nott took this as a 'no'. "Were you alright, that month you went away for?"

"I was fine – never better, in fact. Tom felt guilty, I think. He wanted to make up for never telling me what happened, so we took a trip together."

"I see."

Seeing his chance, Harry decided to steer the conversation in another direction. "Actually, that's part of the reason why I'm here..."

"In what way?"

Harry's chest felt contorted for a moment, flooding him with that eerie feeling. He was beginning to think that maybe this was because of the shield between his mind and his feelings. Tom's dark magic kept half of his emotions prisoner... Forgetting these thoughts, Harry began an explanation.

"I'll be away for a while. For longer than before..."

"With Tom?"

"Yes," Harry said, surprised this wasn't clear, "still with Tom."

"How long are you going for?"

"Three months, at least. I thought you should know."

"Well, thank you for warning me," Nott said after a moment. "I do prefer to know such things."

Harry thought of Lestrange, how he had disappeared on a mission to track down some of Grindelwald's people with a few others. No, he thought privately, Nott didn't just prefer to know such things, he _needed_ to be reassured that the same thing wouldn't happen twice, that someone he cared about, even a friend, wouldn't change if they left for longer than expected. Harry wondered if Nott noticed the change in him, if it scared him. Most likely, the answer was yes.

"There's something else," Harry began. An odd sense of fear gripped him; it felt muffled.

"Yes?"

"There's something I want you to do, while I'm away..."

He reached for a bag he had brought to Nott house. It was resting besides his hair, and he pulled it up onto his knees in one movement, despite the weight. Carefully, he took out five large books, placing them upon the low table between Nott and himself.

"I want you to take these, to read them while I'm away. You understand?"

Nott was cautious. He knew what sort of books Harry and Tom had in their possession, hidden away in the large library that Tom fastidiously created with information from all over the world.

Nott was pale. "Why are you giving me these?"

In truth, Harry wasn't completely sure. In a moment of panic, he had believed firmly that he had to keep Nott's mind sealed from Tom, in case he found out that it was Nott, and not Harry, who found out what happened to Emeric. This, however, was a weak argument. If he wanted to avoid such a collision, all he would have to do is never speak to Nott. The real reason behind Harry's decision was based upon something he couldn't fully acknowledge, but something he understood nevertheless. It was that eerie, looming shadow that had been cast upon his mind. Something, somehow, just wasn't right...

"It's for Occlumency and Legilimency," Harry explained.

"I know," Nott said, not touching any of the books, "but this... I can't accept this. They're too rare, even to borrow. If Tom found out -"

"He won't," Harry said. "If this goes right for you..."

"I won't be able to learn this fast enough to shield my mind from him, Harry. Don't be foolish."

"We're leaving for three months. When Tom sees you've improved, he'll assume you taught yourself Occlumency, most of all, through more common books. He'll be impressed."

"He'll know."

Nott was far from reassured. Harry reflected that he was in dire need of these books; his mind was so clear and so open even now, in his shock. He contemplated this being a trick, a test. He contemplated what Tom's punishment might be, as well as if Harry would be affected by it, if Tom was angry enough after finding out about this. Far from feeling protected by these books containing instructions on how to shield his thoughts, Nott understood this was a deeper responsibility.

"What are you doing, Harry?"

The eeriness spread. Harry ignored it. "I'm teaching you something Tom should have taught you far better. Something he would have happily done, had he not begrudged the process."

"Why are you protecting me?"

"You deserve it," Harry told him honestly, "and anyway, you're smart enough to learn all of this properly on your own."

Nott wasn't so sure. He glanced at the books once more, clearly hesitating to say what was really on his mind.

"Three months is a long time," he said quietly.

"It is," Harry agreed.

He wondered what Nott would do in that time. The Knight wasn't looking at him anymore. He then wondered what might happen to himself, after staying so far away with Tom for a few months. He wasn't sure it'd affect him much. He thought for a moment about what it would be like being alone with Tom for so long, before he remembered what he had to do.

"I'll visit you to take the books back as soon as I can," he explained, "before Tom knows it... If you're not up for it, you can bring these back to my house and Tweaky will take them, but please... consider it. It'll help you... Do you understand me?"

His tone had changed, and Nott noticed it. Harry was more urgent, more strained. Nott had frozen. They watched each other for a time.

"I... I understand."

"I'll be away for a long while. All I ask is that you read this... It'll help you."

"And you?" Nott asked. "What will help you?"

Harry didn't respond immediately. Did this perhaps mean that Nott knew more than he could guess? Harry couldn't know for sure... "I can look after myself."

"I suppose," Nott murmured. His tone was curious. "You've grown more independent, lately..."

Harry nodded slowly, not sure how else to respond. It surprised him to reflect that he indeed felt less dependant on Tom, as of late... He decided not to think about it too much. It was getting late.

"I have to go," he said, standing up.

Nott stood up too, with one last glance to the books before him. "Alright."

Harry turned away.

"Wait."

Nott's bright eyes had risen to Harry's own. He looked almost sad.

"I'll read them," he said in a quiet, unsure voice.

They watched each other for a few moments. Although Nott wasn't at all confident about the idea, Harry couldn't help but feel relief at these words. He realised only then that he had been worried about all of this. He inclined his head.

"I guess this is the last time I'll see you, then. For a few months, at least."

"I guess so."

Harry wanted to leave, but he realised, now, that he was leaving Nott on his own. He might have felt guilty, if he could. All he knew was that this wasn't a kind thing to do.

"Just... Just remember what I said."

"I will."

"And, Christopher..."

"Yes?"

Harry hesitated. "Stay strong."

The concern evaporated from Nott's face, being replaced with stunned surprise. Harry had a sudden feeling that he had said something wrong, but he couldn't help it, he felt as though it was right. He began thinking of a way to take back his words, but soon found that he didn't need to.

"Why?"

The question was uttered with such strain, in such a quiet breath, Harry might not have heard it if he hadn't seen Nott's lips move. He felt pained again, Harry could see it.

"Things will be alright," Harry told him, "some day. I want you to be here when that happens. I'll... I'll be here for you."

Although Nott tried to hide it, Harry could see what affect these words had upon him. Towards the Knights, Nott had become distant and shielded by both humour and anger, but to Harry, and only Harry, his composure broke. He was truly himself. Before Harry knew it, Nott leapt forwards, pulling him into a hug.

Harry was so shocked, he barely knew how to react. Nott's held onto him tightly, not at all reluctant to carry this on. What stunned Harry most of all wasn't the act of Nott's impulse, but the comfort he found in it. It was nothing like any hug Tom had given him; it was shared in nothing but friendship, to convey thoughts and emotions that Nott couldn't put into words. Harry hugged him back comfortably, surprised by how natural it felt. Memories of his old friends came flooding back to him. He closed his eyes.

"Thank you," Nott managed quietly into his shoulder, "for everything..."


	68. A Cure

68 – A Cure

The night's air was thick and heavy, giving Harry's whole body a sticky feeling from the result of his own sweat in this heat. It was November, but being on the other side of the equator stopped Harry and Tom from having to endure the long, cold autumn that was carrying on in England. They had been away for well over a month, staying together in the many different rooms that Tom rented, in various countries and continents across the world that held something of interest to them.

Even on their time off alone, Tom couldn't help returning to his research regularly, never quite being able to leave it properly. He was sitting behind Harry, his arms wrapped around him lovingly, his gaze cast up to the thousands of stars that were strewn across the large stretch of sky visible to them, but Harry was sure his thoughts returned to his work again and again. He wasn't quite sure why this played on his mind so often.

As for why Tom had brought him all the way here to stare, once again, at the bright night sky, Harry had no answer. He was thankful for the slight breeze here, as well as for the chance to do something more interesting than talk in their rented room, but he didn't see the point in all of this. Tom had the amusement of books and research, of letters to write, people to meet, and places to buy interesting artefacts from, while Harry had nothing to do. He had been bored for the past month, and he envied Tom's ability to find things to spend time on. There was no purpose for Harry here, nor anywhere, he feared.

"It's beautiful," Tom commented quietly. His voice was a hushed tone full of awe and wonder that Harry couldn't relate to. "There's nothing quite as calming as to see so many stars with nothing but one's own eyes... to have you here is the only better thing."

Harry shifted a little in Tom's arms, unsure what he was supposed to say. He was glad Tom couldn't see his face, which was devoid of emotion. Tom held him closer, his lips pressing to the top of his head. It made Harry think about that night back at their house, when Tom had planted a curse upon him. He was thankful that, at the very least, Tom was not squeezing him in his arms, telling him over and over again that he would never let him die... Or had he been rocking him?

"I feel often as though times like this are from another's life, as though when I hold you in my arms, I become another man. Or perhaps this world merely becomes another world..."

Surely he had been rocking Harry in his arms? Yes, Harry thought, that had to be it. It felt like a long, long time ago.

"I don't believe I ever felt this way before, prior to our relationship," Tom mused. "I've been with other people before you, have attempted relationships. I am yet to understand how it is that all else could fail, while you and I are so successful... Hmm, yet then again, I believe I already know the answer to that." A smile could be heard in his tone. "We truly are soul mates, aren't we?"

Harry agreed distractedly, having barely listened to what Tom said. Why had Tom even cursed him? It was so, so long ago. Had Harry truly run home to Tom right after speaking to Nott? They had discussed Emeric... Tom did something to him – or had Harry merely blamed him? Blamed him for the crime he himself committed. Or was it something he had forgotten to do, forgotten to check?

"... without anyone else having caused this sort of feeling. It is mad, when I think of it. Do you feel the same?"

A fraction of a second too long in hesitation would give Harry's distractedness away.

"I do," he said without truly knowing what he just agreed to.

Tom gave a breath of laughter. "Well, I'm glad," he said close to Harry, "I couldn't bare for anyone else to make you feel this way."

Harry had no idea what Tom meant. The only way he felt right now was hot and bothered by the humid night, annoyed by the bugs that flew around them.

"Can we go back?"

"So soon?"

"Yes."

Tom loosened his arms around Harry, confused. "If you so desire."

Harry stood up when he could. With effort, he brushed off his general irritation before Tom made a comment upon it. He had no idea how being back at their room would be any better than this, but he took his chances. Tom took his hand on the way, and although Harry could find no excuse to refuse it, he didn't see why Tom insisted upon doing this every evening, before returning to their rented room for the same conversations, the same food and routine, the same attempts to lighten Harry's mood by spending the quiet hours close together before dawn.

Another week passed, maybe two. Harry couldn't recall anything remarkable happening in that time, though he was sure something, surely, must have gone on. Tom was excited about many new branches of magic he was interested in; he explained everything he had learnt in great detail in the hope that Harry too would pick the subjects up in interest. Harry never did. Eventually, Tom stopped expecting it of him.

One evening, two months after being away, Tom received a letter from Avery. The letter held no substance of interest, in honesty, but it lead the evening a very different way than Harry could have succeeded in predicting in his current state. It started, first and foremost, with a joke.

"What does he mean '_Rosier's been making more jokes about strawberries to confuse the other Knights_'? That doesn't even make sense."

"He's referencing to Madam Puddifoot's, naturally."

A crease formed between Harry's eyebrows. "The teashop, in Hogsmeade?"

"Yes."

Harry hesitated. He couldn't recall ever going to that shop with Tom, but he had vague memories of elaborate pink decorations strewn across the place, celebrating what he knew had to have been Valentine's Day. He had been there on a date once... with Ginny? Maybe he had been alone. Or with another girl... or boy?

Tom tilted his head a little. "You remember, do you not?"

Harry opened his mouth, but he couldn't lie about this.

"We went there with all of our followers of the time," Tom reminded him, "it was a joke lead by Avery and the others, which we only bothered to join in with because it meant we could spend Valentine's Day together. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry lied, thoroughly confused. "Right..."

Tom stared at him, expecting something else.

"It was a long time ago," Harry said, trying to brush it off, "it wasn't important."

"You don't remember what happened that night?" Tom pressed. He looked annoyed.

No, Harry thought, he couldn't remember a thing. "We were with the others all day, it's not like I can remember everything that happened every night."

"It was almost the first night we slept together. You don't remember that?"

If Tom had looked annoyed before, it was nothing to how he looked now.

"Of course I remember that, it's just – it was a long time ago."

"Avery – the biggest idiot to ever follows us – remembered a joke Rosier made about strawberries, despite still having never understood it entirely. You're telling me that's more memorable than the night we spent together?"

"Look, I'm tired," Harry told him, closing a pot of ink and placing it on his night table, "Can't you drop it?"

Tom was unimpressed. He watched Harry for a time, apparently struggling with whether or not he should find out why these memories were apparently unimportant enough for him to forget. He then returned to his letter, leaving Harry in silence. Harry looked down at his lap, catching one last glimpse of the word 'break' scribbled sharply at one corner of the paper, before he closed his notebook. He set aside the quill he had been writing with and stood up.

He strode across the room, putting the quill and notebook back into one of his trunks before sealing it with a locking charm. He barely remembered doing it; his thoughts were too troubling. He still had no recollection of going to Hogsmeade with Tom or any of the Death Eaters. Not only could be not remember that night with Tom, he couldn't even recall when they did actually have sex for the first time. He couldn't remember their early relationship at all.

Standing up straighter, Harry soon learnt that he had no idea what he wanted to do with himself now. He stared down at the trunk in front of him, feeling that consuming eeriness wash over him again, then again... There was nothing for him to do. He could sit and wonder why he had forgotten so many things about his year at Hogwarts with Tom, but the thought irritated him a little. He tried to think back to how he had even met Tom at the school. He was unsuccessful. In fact, the harder Harry tried to remember his life back then, the sooner he realised that his memories were gone.

"Tom?" Harry began without thinking. He stared at the floor in front of him, sightless.

"What?"

Harry noted the irritation in his tone and use of words – or word. He couldn't bring himself to make sense of what he wanted to say.

"What is it that you wish to speak to me about, Harry?"

No, Harry told himself, he couldn't let Tom know what was going on in his mind. He was very conscious of the fact that it was strange he could not remember what had happened in the past, but Tom would only change his brain again if he felt there was something wrong. Harry didn't want that to happen. He knew he had changed a lot already because of Tom's magic, even if he didn't quite know how. It was best he remained how he was.

"I didn't mean to forget about before," he said instead.

When Harry thought about it, Tom's annoyance at his forgetfulness proved that his memory loss wasn't something he expected to see. Again, however, Harry refrained from discussing it.

"I understand," Tom responded shortly. He didn't bother looking at Harry, he instead continued to scan through the letters in his hands steadily. For the rest of the evening, Tom remained annoyed at him. For the rest of the evening, Harry was forced to endure the torturous length of his now prolonged, deepening boredom.

He wasn't sure how much more inactivity he could take, as more days passed. Spending time with Tom was the only thing that made him feel anything, but even that did not last for an exceedingly long stretch of time. It was a week or two after realising that he was losing his memories when Harry finally found something that stopped him from the hell of his own bleak, emotionless existence. He followed an impulse that had flooded him with sickening pleasure from the moment the thought crossed his mind. That was the night when Harry murdered a boy for nothing but personal gain.

Tom had taken him up to a tiny town in Italy, the both of them moving miles upon miles north across Africa merely to be here. They would be travelling around Europe for only two or three weeks before heading back to England. It was the beginning of the end of their lengthy trip away, but this knowledge did close to nothing to help soothe Harry's impatience; he knew that back in England things would be perhaps worse for him than they even were here.

They took a walk through the small wizarding town they resided in by nightfall. The town was still awake in these late hours close to midnight, but Harry and Tom were seen by no one as they strolled down a shadowed, narrow street together, hands clasped and hidden by the flow of their dark robes and darker cloaks. They were heading the direction of the edge of town, intent upon being surrounded by the quiet, natural view they'd be able to see in the bright moonlight of tonight.

Not many stars were visible near this light-filled wizarding town, but the moonlight gave to them a view of a dipping valley up ahead, a quietly flowing river, and the silhouettes of tall tress contrasting against the few wisps of clouds above them, which slipped through the sky in haste. Harry and Tom spent perhaps forty-five minutes looking over at the scene, before the clouds finally succeeded in conquering the moon, and they warned of rain in celebration of their success.

Neither of them were very fond of the idea of returning to the Inn so soon, so taking the same route back, they instead carried on to the other side of town where a small pub was open. There were quite a few people awake and drinking even as midnight dragged on. Harry and Tom found a table near the back where they would go mostly unnoticed. At the bar, a few drunken men were talking in loud, slurred Italian that Tom seemed perfectly able to understand.

"Quidditch," Tom said quietly in response to Harry's curious glance at the wizards. "Amongst, perhaps, the most futile and meaningless of all common conversations held amongst common people. Yet it is in a close tie with many topics, in truth..."

Harry nodded vaguely, having nothing to say. The group of wizards can't have been any older than Harry and Tom themselves were. Quite a few of them were younger, in their late teens. Harry watched them over the top of his goblet, wondering what their lives were like.

Tom suggested that they leave after around half an hour of idle, non-conversation. Harry would normally have agreed without thinking much about it, but tonight he wasn't so sure.

"Do you have more work to do?" he asked.

"Merely a few letters to draft to some of our Knights. It won't take long."

That would be another hour or two of Harry doing nothing. The thought frustrated him, making him wish that he could stay here longer with Tom. Even to hear Tom mutter about the irrelevance and idiocy of Quidditch was better than to sit in their room with nothing to do. Tom got up from their chair without noticing Harry's reluctance, however, and Harry had no choice but to follow him. They were heading out onto the freezing street a minute later.

"Where are we going to go next, after this place?" Harry asked, his breath visible as soon as it parted from his freezing lips. They walked leisurely, in no rush to get back.

"To France, I believe," Tom responded, a note of contemplation embedded in the tone. "We could go there as soon as tomorrow, if that's what you desire."

"Maybe. This place isn't bad, but I don't quite fancy staying too long in a town we have no real purpose in."

Harry heard voices behind them, laughing, jeering.

"Yet there is a purpose to this," Tom said. "To spend time together is all the purpose we need."

"I guess. But -"

The door to the pub slammed shut, cutting out the noise of voices from before. A single person had walked out. Without any real reason, Harry turned to look at them from across the street.

Through the cold, icy night air, Harry made eye-contact with the lone wizard. Upon noticing that he was being watched, the young man hesitated. He had been seconds away from crossing to Harry's side. He must have been eighteen or nineteen years old, and he understood in one look that he would be making a very big mistake by getting anywhere near the two close, cloaked, staring wizards.

Something about the stranger's fear struck mirth in Harry. Did he and Tom truly look so terrifying that a nearly fully grown man didn't dare to be on the same street as them? Did he, Harry, truly look like the kind of man who would attack a stranger just for being too close to him and Tom? The idea of actually attacking the boy for even thinking this caused Harry to feel an even deeper desire to laugh. It caused, too, a desire to act upon his impulse, to act upon the adrenaline that suddenly shot through his cold, numb limbs.

Before Harry knew what he was doing, he crossed to the stranger's side of the street. His heart pulsed hard in excitement, encouraging him to follow his impulse further.

"_What are you doing?_" Tom hissed in Parseltongue, as if to save the stranger's ears from their already foreign language.

Harry gave no answer. A laugh escaped him. The faster he stalked this man, the faster Tom followed, trying to reach for his hand to pull him back – Harry wouldn't allow it. They were on a dark road near the edge of town and the stranger was close. Tom soon abandoned his attempts.

It was a cure for boredom. It was a cure.

The young man turned in panic, but Harry did not particularly car to hear the words he stammered, especially as he could already see him cower. Pleasure at the sickening knowledge that this was real life lead Harry further. He heard the terror in the stranger's voice at the sight of the Elder Wand.

"Har-!

A cry of shuddering panic pierced the air as his spell struck; the stranger scrapped meters across the ground after blasting back, rolling to a stop. Blood already spewed from his open wound, causing him to cowering over his left arm with his quivering body. Harry relished in the sight, unable to believe he had truly done this. He was above the stranger in seconds.

"Look at him!" Harry shouted to Tom in glee, "All the things we've done to our Knights alone, just look at his reaction to _this!_"

Quite a considerable amount of red liquid dripped from the gash in the wizard's arm, but Harry could see only his staring, terrified brown eyes. The sight reminded him of forgotten people from his past; he kicked the stranger in his wounded arm, hard.

The trembling howl of pain that this action evoked laughter, again, in Harry. His hands ached with the desire to do worse, and before Harry could stop it he swiped his wand through the air once more, with a curse that caused a bone-deep scrape across the stranger's right hand and upper left arm. The shouting got worse still, as if Harry had used a curse far more torturous. Harry ached for more, he wanted that laughter, that rush of knowing that he wasn't supposed to do any of this.

More strongly, still, Harry wanted to know what it felt like when those gashes formed.

It felt far from reality when Harry crouched down near the stranger, seeing, at a closer range, that he was crying. He was unable to properly protect either hand or arm after the harm Harry had inflicted upon him, but Harry helped him sit up. He giggled hysterically at the thought – _he helped him up!_ The wizard was trying to resist, only hurting himself more in the process. The wound on his arm extended past his shoulder blade too, across his back. Harry lifted up his face, gaining access to his throat.

"I want to know," Harry explained to Tom, who stood watching, "I want to know what it _feels_ like when the cuts are made. It's so easy – that's all we are, right? Just huge, walking bags of skin cells full of organs, full of muscle caught on bones! That's all, isn't it? And we cut so easily! And _he'll _cut so easily!"

Harry had his wand pressed forcibly on the wizard's throat. Despite all the noise, not one person had peered around this street's corner to learn what was happening. It was easier to stop him from crying at this angle; Harry felt the muffled vibrations of his voice as he covered his mouth. Harry's whole body felt like it was being bombarded with waves of pleasure – very addicting pleasure.

"You might wish to consider taking him elsewhere before killing him," Tom suggested.

"No," Harry said, beaming without even really knowing why, "No, I won't kill him. I just want to – I want to see what it feels like, Tom! He'll break so easily, he'll cut, but then he'll grow back! It doesn't matter that he's just a mortal human being, because he'll grow back!"

He pressed the Elder Wand harder onto the stranger's skin, sliding it across slowly. The wizard screeched in agony, having such a strong reaction to the depth of Harry's spell that he almost threw him off-course. Harry was determined, however, to continue. He could feel the wand judder when he scraped across the surface of his throat. He could feel the parting of skin as if he were holding a very powerful knife, seeing the blood seep down from either side of it.

"We have so much power, but we're all in weak skins! We have so much ability, but with this – with _this_ alone – we can't do a thing but relish in pain! Tom, look at him! I think he's sleeping, Tom. I know he's sleeping, or unconscious – I know he's still here! His soul is still here, I can feel it. I could never find it, but I can _feel_ it!"

Harry's very feet felt consumed with the power of his elation. He wanted more, he wanted to understand more clearly what it felt like for human flash to break in one simple action.

"Our souls are so immortal, Tom, but our skins – they're snake skins, for us! We'll shred these bodies, we'll steal another's, we'll keep our souls grounded to earth – what will that feel like? Worse than what he feels? Worse that what he's going through? We won't own the nerves to feel it, Tom. We won't have the bones and skin and hands and spines and hearts and eyes and flesh! We'll just have the soul for it all! I want to know what it's like, I want to -"

Harry's lungs shuddered and forced air out in repetitive bursts to express his joy; he was in a state of hysteria. He rose his wand up.

The first look of fear crossed Tom's face.

"I want to know! I want to _feel_ this too!" Harry gasped and stuttered. "I want to - to _understand_ myself, to know what is to be immortal, to lose all of this! I – I can't ever lose, Tom!"

"DON'T-"

And with that, Harry slit his own throat.

The pain was like that of any other cut at first, but it deepened by ten folds a second after the initial shock. Harry found himself unable to carry on gasping for air to laugh with. He could feel the blood pouring inside and out, he felt his windpipe and lungs fail to find a way of dealing with even this moderately shallow cut. It was deep enough for him to drown in his own blood, unable to see it properly before Tom was on his knees before him, shouting in delirious, agonizing fear and anger at what had happened.

Tom's hands were covered in blood, his eyes were unblinking and more caught up with pain than Harry could ever have imagined. Harry could barely see his surroundings, all he knew was that he was now lying on his back in the cold street. He couldn't hear a thing around him, even if he knew that Tom spoke to him in a pained, struggling voice between the words of his spells. Soon, as if through satisfaction at successfully curing his own monotonic imprisonment of boredom, Harry drifted into unconsciousness.

– X –

The darkness was all-consuming. Strange shapes and forms shifted in and out of focus in a senseless struggle to convey meaning to Harry's confused, tired mind, but no message could be made clear. No signs could get through. In the same way as with many dreams, Harry could not hold onto the memories of what happened in unconsciousness. When we awoke, finally, his mind had been wiped of all but the strange, dark shapes.

He opened his eyes to see an off-white shade of paint spread out between crooked beams, illuminated in the low light. He felt disappointment in this sight, as well as in the feeling of his tired, cold limbs. He could not be dead. He had gained a full sense of thrill during the night's events, but Tom hadn't allowed him to experience a different state of mind, one far away from his current brain and body.

Harry sat up. He looked around the room, spotting Tom resting in a chair near the end of his bed, his hands interlinked and supporting his bowed head, as if in prayer. His posture was terrible, but he sat perfectly still, breathing slowly. He did not stir at the sound of Harry moving.

"You stopped me," was all Harry could say.

This made Tom sift a little, but he did not change positions. Harry could see him breathing in deeply, as if battling with some emotion within.

"From almost dying right before my eyes, yet again?" Tom muttered. "Yes, I stopped you..."

"I wanted to know what it's like. You should have let me go."

Tom's interlinked hands tightened, his posture got steadily worse.

"It's not like I'd really die," Harry reminded him. "All I wanted to do was know what it was like to experience death – at least to know what it's like to not own a body."

"I have told you this," Tom said in a forceful hiss, "I have given you all available information currently on the subject of Horcruxes, on the subject of rebirth. Why would you do that to me..."

Harry said nothing. He wasn't entirely sure what he had done to Tom. It was his own death, after all, his own adventure. "It's not as if I forced you to join me."

"Neither of us could come back if I joined you, even accidentally in my search. Why would you throw your own body away in the first place?" Tom asked. "Why would you try to leave me here alone to search for your soul? Why would you leave me at all?"

Harry didn't have a very solid answer for this. He struggled for a minute, wondering if Tom would understand. "I just wanted to follow that impulse."

Tom was annoyed, he didn't seem to think this was a good enough reason at all.

"I've just never felt that before," Harry told him.

"You murdered Emeric. You never slit your own throat for that."

"The wizard died?"

"Yes. He bled to death before it could be helped."

Harry felt an odd reaction to this, which he soon understood was disappointment. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

Tom sat up straighter for the first time, but didn't look at Harry. Inhaling deep breaths in irritation, and other emotions of the sort, he tried to steady himself. Harry watched him for a long while, understanding from the look in Tom's downcast, irritated eyes that he very much disapproved of what Harry had tried to do.

"I just wanted to carry on feeling what I felt from that, Tom."

"And why is that?"

"I've been bored," Harry explained, "it was the first thing in ages that's made me feel anything."

This did nothing to help Tom's irritation. His nostrils flared.

"I wasn't thinking about you."

"Oh, that I know, Harry."

This was said with such raging force, no response could be given. Harry was alarmed.

Tom, perhaps realising he had been too forceful, stood up. He continued to refuse looking at Harry. He walked from one side of the room to the other and back several times, as if trapped in his mind as well as in here. Harry watched him steadily, wondering why he did not relish in the fact that he had saved Harry, if he cared so much about his death.

"I cannot grasp what has changed within you," Tom said irritably. "I cannot understand what has lead you to suddenly forget all we have been through together, causing you, for no reason at all, to decide that coming into close contact with _death_ is more desirable than to be with me!"

"I'm not choosing death over you," Harry told Tom firmly. He threw the bedcovers off of him, getting up, "I'm not bored of being with you, Tom."

"Stay in bed," Tom demanded, "you're unwell."

"I'm pretty sure I don't walk with my neck. It was just a cut -"

"Won't you listen to what I say for once in your life?"

Again, Tom spoke with such ringing force that Harry was stunned into silence. He wasn't sure what he should do; he didn't want to lay down once more. Instead, he stood watching Tom in silence, waiting.

Tom was visibly angry at himself for shouting. He hesitated for a minute before doing anything more than glaring and breathing deeply. In one smooth movement, reeking heavily of previous restraint, he walked towards Harry and reached out a hand to touch his arm lightly, guiding him to sit back down.

"You must rest," Tom insisted in a lower, calmer voice. His eyes burned into Harry's. "Even if you did not do much worse than cause a severe, dangerous cut, healing the wound does not give you the energy you've lost tonight. Don't exhaust yourself further."

Harry felt better about being forced to sit down when Tom joined him. The action calmed the both of them, even if Harry's heart still raced in a need to make himself understood. Tom was thinking deeply, his eyes moving down to Harry's neck every now and then, conveying to Harry that he must still have a scar. New emotions flickered behind Tom's expression as a crease formed between his eyebrows. He brushed Harry's hair back, away from his face.

"I need to know," he said in a low voice, "that you did not do what you did tonight because your feelings for me have changed. I must have it clarified, that you did not try to escape me."

"I didn't," Harry assured him calmly. "I love you, Tom."

Tom did not look cheerful to hear it, but he understood. He nodded once, thinking.

"We have to go back home, to flee this place," he told Harry. "I shall have to put a Memory Charm on the owner of this inn so we aren't remembered by anyone; an investigation will soon go out for the man you killed tonight."

"I understand," Harry responded. The idea struck a note of excitement in him, an echo of hours before.

"For now, however," Tom said firmly, "you must rest, my love."

Harry sighed a little, his spirits dampened by the idea. "I'll try."

"We should both sleep soon," Tom commented, "it's the middle of the night. I'll be back, but I must dispose of this wizard's body before dawn. I shan't be longer than half an hour or so."

He got up, moving across the room to a dark shape that sat slumped against the wall of their room. With a wave of his wand, Tom cursed the body to rise up on two feet, hood drawn, a long cloak giving the false illusion that the dead stranger could be walking. Tom felt the room with the corpse, intent upon transfiguring his body and burying him deep in the woods beyond this town.

Harry sat where he was for the whole time Tom was gone. He wanted to tell Tom again that he loved him, and he wanted to fall asleep in him arms. But most of all, he wanted to bask in the comfort of knowing he no longer felt bored at all.

– X –

They left Italy and following day, skipping the remaining tour of Europe without stopping in any other country on their way. England was cold and dreary when they arrived, but Harry felt completely unaffected by it. Their house was warm and comfortable from the moment they returned, and it seemed to calm Tom to be back in his own house, surrounded by things that made him feel most comfortable. Harry was relieved to find that their house wasn't nearly as boring as he had previously feared.

He was surprised, a day after his return, to find that all of the books he had leant to Nott had been returned to their library. He knew that Nott must have given the books back to Tweaky, and that Tweaky had kept the promise he made to Harry to refrain from ever mentioning he had let another borrow books from Tom's private collection. Curiosity and confusion got the better of Harry before even a week had passed; as soon as he had the time, he slipped from his and Tom's house to pay Nott a visit.

Nott's small, handsome manor had smoke billowing from the chimneys and light pouring from the windows as Harry approached. He knew Nott would be the only person in the house at this hour. He wondered only if Nott did not wish to be visited by him so soon, since he had returned the books especially early. He hoped he had not alarmed him completely by trusting this responsibility upon him, and he hoped Nott didn't distrust him.

"Jonathan," Nott greeted upon opening his door. He looked close to smiling, but he couldn't quite manage it. "Come in."

They sat in their usual places in Nott's living room, getting warm near the blazing fire. Once they were comfortable, the two wizards examined each other. Nott looked tired, to say the least. His once bright eyes had become progressively darker, more forlorn than ever. He'd become unnaturally thin, and he was quiet when he spoke. His eyes wandered down to Harry's neck.

"I wasn't quite sure if you and Tom would return so soon," he began. "Did you run into trouble?"

"A bit," Harry admitted. There was no point in lying, especially as Nott would be satisfied with even this much information.

"That scar looks painful," Nott commented, "if you couldn't heal it fully with magic."

"It'll fade eventually. I've been through worse."

Nott nodded vaguely, saying no more.

"Have you been alright, these past months?" Harry asked.

"The same as always. You know how it is."

"I saw you returned the books I leant you. Tom and I weren't supposed to be back until early January, why'd you return them three weeks early?"

"I didn't return them long ago," Nott told him. "I finished them all maybe two weeks ago. I brought them back as a precaution, in case things didn't go as planned."

This was a wise choice, in truth. If Harry had succeeded in killing himself in Italy, Tom would have accused Nott of stealing his books – and he would be more angry than ever because of Harry's abandonment of his body, even if it was temporary. Nott would have suffered very, very badly for that.

"The books were helpful," Nott added, "I learnt much more about Occlumency and Legilimency than I first supposed there was to learn."

"I can see that," Harry said lightly, referring to Nott's now perfectly sealed mind. He was relieved the young Knight hadn't abandoned his request to read the books. "It'll help you a lot."

Nott attempted a smile, but it wasn't very successful. He was too distracted by a thought that bothered him. "Why did you lend me those books at all?"

"To help you. It's something you can't just learn on your own."

"It was kind of you," Nott said, as if this were confusing. "I don't know what I've done to deserve this of you."

"It would be a waste not to give you a chance to get better at that sort of magic," Harry told him. "I knew you'd learn it easily."

Nott didn't respond in a flattered or pleased way. Instead, he cut right to the point. "Are you protecting me from Tom?"

Harry almost agreed, but he stopped himself. "I'm making you a better Occlumens and Legilimens, to protect you from anyone who knows the same skills."

"I know," Nott said, sounding unsure, "but with Tom... You know he doesn't like me, it cannot be denied. You know also that I'm unsure about the Knights in general. You know I wanted to leave not a year ago..."

He was clearly scared that Harry knew he didn't want to be a Knight. "I know."

"I can never leave," Nott said bluntly, "No matter what goes on here, I can be a follower, or change identities, or die. I don't have a choice."

"You should be able to think what you like."

A crease formed between Nott's eyebrows. "And what do you think? About all of this?"

Harry tried to find an answer, but he found that the effort bored him. "I dunno, really."

Nott waited. When no more was said, he decided to talk. "I feel like... you had a better idea of what you wanted to do, before. After you found out about that boy Emeric, after you went away... I know you're going to go away with Tom again soon, you're going to learn more about the world for months at a time. But I wish it wasn't so. You keep changing, every time I meet you again."

Harry didn't know what to say to this. It made him think about the curse Tom had placed upon him. It made him want to admit to Nott that he was aware he had changed, had lost his memories, had lost every emotion within him besides anger and a desire to harm. He held his tongue. He waited.

"I know that Tom did something to you," Nott carried on, "and I know that the last time we spoke, you were scared by it. It's been three months since then and a lot has obviously changed. I just hope you know what you're doing. I hope he won't change you again, because every time I see you, you're getting worse. You're forgetting what you wanted before, and you don't want Tom to know that I realise this too."

Harry felt no emotional reaction to this, but it made him think. It was true that he had forgotten what he had ever wanted before this. He wasn't sure why he had given Nott these books, unless it was indeed in fear, like Nott suggested, or because he had wanted to protect them both from Tom. All he knew was that Nott had a point. It made him wonder more about the memories he lost, it made him desire to know what life had been life before all of this.

The thought occupied his mind for the rest of his short visit to Nott's home. He excused himself as early as he could, satisfied that Nott hadn't rejected the books, yet confused by his opinions about Harry's state of mind. Harry found himself walking longer than he truly needed to from Nott's house. He was thinking deeply, being just about able to recall how close he had been to asking Tom if it was unusual that he was losing every memory he had once known.

It can't be normal... Tom had been so angry at the idea that Harry forget their day in Hogsmeade, Harry was sure he still hadn't forgiven him for it. Could it be possible that Harry would never gain these memories back? Could it be that Tom had made a mistake in stopping Harry's emotions, and he had wiped his mind clean of everything he had ever experienced before? Harry wasn't so sure. He slowed to a stop, Apparating back home as if to leave the worry behind.

The thought could not leave him, however. He returned to his house only half an hour before Tom that night, and although by that point he could distract himself with other business, stories of the Knights, and discussions about his and Tom's work, the following day Nott's claims returned to him. Even after a week, after two, the thought never faded. Harry decided he had to do something about it.

It was nearing Christmas. Tom was sitting at a writing desk peacefully in their living room, examining a letter with deep concentration. Harry didn't want to disturb him for him work, but answering letters was the least interesting and important of all of Tom's daily work. It was the best chance Harry had.

"Tom?"

"Yes, my love?"

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to start. He couldn't gather his thoughts, couldn't make sense of how to approach the subject. "Can you change me back?" he asked bluntly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Can you put me back to how I once was?"

"They specified there were no refunds to my purchase," Tom joked, distracted.

"I'm being serious."

"What is it, exactly, that you wish to change back into?" Tom asked, turning to face him in his chair. "You haven't changed."

"I want my emotions back."

Tom was surprised. He thought this over shortly. "You still have emotions."

"It isn't enough. I don't think it's even nearly enough, I'm just not, well, sure..."

Tom shook his head, turning back to his letters. "I can't risk you feeling remorse, my love."

"Remorse?"

Tom paused, quill in hand, but didn't give in to Harry's genuine confusion. He thought it was a trick. "I'm not putting your life at risk merely because you feel as though you _might_ not be feeling enough emotion. You've been too emotional for too long, you wouldn't miss half of it if you felt that again. It has made you stronger to be this way."

"All I feel is anger. Confusion too, now, but that's hardly an emotion."

"You're making an emotional choice as we speak, my love."

"You're wrong."

Tom might not have heard him. The letter he was writing seemed to become suddenly very important, as he paid more attention to it. Harry decided to carry on talking. He felt as though he needed this to happen, to end the feeling within him.

"I lied to you."

Tom ignored him.

"You said something about how you've never had the same sort of connection with other people that you have with me, you talked about how I made you feel things you hadn't felt before. I was lying when I agreed. To be honest, I don't know if I've felt any of that before."

Tom had become very still. With one quill in hand, he stared blindly at the table before him.

"I _know_ that I love you," Harry told him clearly, calmly, "I know that I want to spend the rest of my life – the rest of forever – with you, but ever since creating a Horcrux, and even more so ever since you cursed me, I can't feel it. I want to feel it – or, at least, I think I want to – but it's gone, Tom. You've taken that away from me, amongst other things."

Harry was sure Tom heard him; getting a response didn't seem likely. Ink from the quill dripped onto the table, unnoticed.

"I think I'm losing my memories. I don't know how, or why, but it's definitely happening. If I was to bet on it, I'd say it's probably because of what happened recently, because of the curse. Any time we go away together, any time we talk, any time we spend hours together... I don't see it's appeal. I can't relate to half the things you say to me."

"Which sort of things?" Tom asked quietly.

"Well... well, most of it."

He still hadn't moved.

"Even when we touch, even when you say things to me that I know should probably be important, all I can feel is lust, if anything. That isn't an emotion, it's just a reaction. In the past, when we first met, all I felt was pain from what I had been through, but you helped me to forget – you helped me to put all of that behind me, to focus on new things that made me feel something, anything, else. I know I felt more than lust before, with you, but just I can't understand it, not anymore. I can't remember a thing about my old life, I can't even remember being at Hogwarts with you. I can't tell you what happened the first time we kissed, nor where we even were -"

The quill in Tom's hand snapped. He was shaking, badly. His eyes were burning in ire, his jaw clenched and his lips pressed together hard as he stayed in the same stiff position. Harry didn't think he had ever seen Tom this torn before (if his memory was any scale on which to judge such things, anymore).

"I feel like I may as well be dead, Tom. None of this matters, none of this makes me feel anyth-"

Tom stood up. He turned to face Harry in one swift movement, glaring. He was enraged in a way much deeper than Harry could see in this state. Even he knew by this point, however, that Tom was the only one to blame for this. He knew, also, that Tom had an impossible choice to make, and this unsettled and unhinged him like nothing else had. He could give Harry back his memories and emotions at the risk of death, or he could keep him alive forever, but his love would be lost forevermore.

"If you're exaggerating, Harry," Tom began in a warning tone, "I suggest you tell me so. Now."

"I'm not lying," Harry told him, facing him bravely from the couch he sat on. The anger inside of Tom seemed to pour out before his very eyes. "Why would I lie about something like this?"

Tom looked away from him. He began pacing the room.

"You can change me back," Harry reminded him. "The risk of me dying is still unlikely, we don't know-"

"No!" Tom interrupted through gritted teeth. He ran clawed hands over his own skull, pulling at his hair in frustration. "To risk your death is the most foolish thing I could do! It will make you mortal, it will put everything at risk. I – I'm never – never – going to... I'm never going to!"

He was shaking his head furiously, pained. The mere thought of losing Harry had him in pieces in seconds, distraught.

"How could I have overlooked this for so long?" he asked himself madly, his voice grating. "Months, we have been here together... I thought you'd clear up from this state..."

Harry thought wildly, for no good reason, of the many brave men and women who would have happily, ignorantly risked their own lives for those they loved. They were all now faceless and forgotten to him, but somehow this echo of memory played on his mind. Immortality wasn't everything.

"There has to be another way... There is always another way! I know there is, I think of it..."

"Tom, just -"

"_Let me think!_" he hissed furiously, his teeth bared.

It was like seeing some deranged animal locked in a cage for far too long, tormented by memories of being mistreated, of losing all that he loved. Tom couldn't stop fidgeting with his hands, itching his face, covering his mouth as his strained eyes did everything but meet Harry's own.

"You still love me, don't you?" Tom asked frantically.

"I know I do, yeah."

"Yet the problem," Tom said, "the problem is that you cannot feel it... We know that love for me resides within you, somewhere, so the solution has for us to bring it back... If we make a Love Potion, we could use it as it if were a medicine, to cure what you have lost. This is all you need back, it will cure what has been masked."

Tom's lack of happiness at the idea told Harry that on some level, he too could see the flaw in this plan.

"I don't think it will have any affect," Harry said bluntly. "The problem isn't that I'm not in love with you, it's that I can't feel it. Even if we managed to strengthen how I feel, all of that emotion will fall under the curse, just like all emotion."

"It's worth a try! It's the only option we have, I'm not risking your life when there are other options!"

"There are no other options, Tom. You can't fool yourself into honestly believing a Love Potion will work."

He didn't want to hear it – nor any of this at all, clearly. "Yet there's no other solution!"

"Except to take this curse off of me. Tom, whatever you're trying to do right now isn't working."

"We haven't tried a thing! We have to rule out our options before making such a decision."

"We don't have a choice."

"You can't know that!"

"The curse isn't going to lessen itself."

Tom's head snapped up, his eyes ever-watchful. "Of course..." he said in a hushed voice.

"What?"

"We lessen the curse ourselves!"

Tom was staggering towards Harry, his eyes upon him only now that he had found an answer. A wide grin was breaking across his face, his sharp, even teeth flashing before Harry's eyes.

"I can make you love me again, I can try to lessen the curse in some way, to fix you."

His pupils were dilated in the low light. He was close to Harry now.

"Can you?" Harry asked. "I didn't think it could become any less, I didn't think you had control over it."

"I can find a way," Tom promised him. "I can fix this."

"With experimental magic," Harry finished. It wasn't a question. He knew this wasn't the sort of magic that gave you a choice of how badly you affected someone. This wasn't supposed to be a cure for the victim's problems, it was used only in malice and greed for the spell-caster's gain.

"You and I have done many great things in the past, and will do many great things in the future, my love," Tom reminded him hastily. "This is manageable!"

The thought didn't trouble Harry, even if there was a chance Tom might not succeed. All he knew was that he wanted his memories back and he wanted this eerie feeling to lessen within him. He nodded to Tom in agreement, saying nothing.

"I must begin researching this, as soon as possible."

Tom was already turning in the direction of the bookshelves surrounding them as he said it. He was running his thin fingers along the spines of all the books in view, until he gave up, leaving the room entirely. He returned with a book in hand from their bedroom.

Hauling the book onto his desk, Tom opened it hurriedly, flicking past all the pages that were useless to him. Harry walked over to him calmly, weaving around to stand to the side of Tom's chair.

"Here it is," Tom said happily, pointing to a page filled with the beginning of a long section dedicated to the branch of dark magic he had used upon Harry. "The more we find out about this, the sooner we can fix you. I'm sure there must be some scrap of information, some lead in there that will tell us how!"

"Brilliant," Harry commented. "How long will it be before I'm alright?"

Tom turned to look up at him. A smile broke across his face again as he stood up, towering over Harry now. His long, spidery fingers found their way to Harry's chin; he tilted his face up. Harry was forced to look into this wide, mad eyes, but he had lost the memories depicting a 16-year-old Tom in Slughorn's office, or an older Tom shaking in hysterical laugher over the blood-covered sink in their small apartment in Diagon Alley, celebrating the death of a Muggle tramp. Worse than this, Emeric's mad eyes flashed through Harry's mind to match Tom's own.

"I want to fix you as soon as possible," Tom told him, his voice shaking in the after-shock of the night's conversation. "In a week in two... just as long as it takes me to learn how to fix you."

– X –

In four days, Tom had a theory. In six, he was confident enough that he could preform this magic without a problem. The more he spoke about it, the more he described how he had found the answer hidden behind the rough, rushed descriptions of magic, the more Harry was sure that he had indeed worked it all out. After a day or two more of pouring over his books to be sure he hadn't missed a thing, Tom told Harry it was time.

"What do I do?" Harry asked calmly.

"Sit down," Tom said, indicating the chair before him. "This won't take too long, for you."

Although Tom was confident in his own skill, knowledge, and ability, Harry sensed he was tense. Harry turned in the direction of the chair, intent upon getting this over with as soon as possible, but Tom stopped him. He had found Harry's hand with his own, and from there he pulled him closer. With one lingering kiss, Harry understood that some part of Tom was unnerved.

"Will it hurt?" he asked quietly as they parted.

"No, not for long, my love."

It didn't bother him, in truth, but Tom's behaviour did. He seemed almost guilty.

He sat down on the chair before him in silence, waiting for what was to come.

"Try not to move too much," Tom advised. "You're going to seemingly fall asleep for most of this process. When you wake up properly, I should be finished."

Harry nodded. All he wanted was for this to end. He closed his eyes.

It was almost calming, the way Tom audibly walked around him, leafing through the pages of the book in his hands. He talked to Harry over the next few minutes, explaining what he was doing, explaining what Harry should do, and somehow this was comforting. Soon, Harry knew, he would be himself again.

"Prepare yourself," Tom warned him gently. "Three, two..."

Harry took a sharp intake of breath as Tom's spell struck. The comfort he took in Tom's soft movements was being swiftly replaced by distracting thoughts of the pain. He stayed quiet about it, understanding it wouldn't be long now until he drifted away.

Several long, pain-filled minutes passed. It was as if Harry's body was alarmed by Tom playing with his mind, so it reacted with odd pulses of shooting pain. Before he could help it, Harry was breathing heavily, struggling to keep quiet.

"I'm going to bring sleep upon you now, my love."

Harry was relieved. A fog was starting. "I love you, Tom..."

He thought he heard Tom give a breath of satisfied, comforted laughter, as well as a mirrored response, but he wasn't sure. He was drifting higher and higher, away from his body...

He fell into a deep sleep, but this did little to stop him from waking up for seconds at a time during the process of breaking the curse. In these moments, he felt a searing pain starting in his head, causing him to tremble and shudder in delirious agony, muttering words of why it wouldn't stop, why he was here. Tom fixed the enchantments as calmly as he could when this happened, putting him back to sleep. The process of the magic lasted half the night.

At random, Harry found he was lying in bed, with Tom standing beside him. The pain droned on and on, but for the second time this evening, to a much stronger degree, Harry found comfort in Tom's presence. He wasn't crazed like he had been last time, he wasn't shaking Harry and talking in demented circles about how he wouldn't let him die. He was sure of himself. His expression was quizzical and wondering, and Harry was falling back in love... before falling back to sleep.

The next time Harry awoke, it was for good. Tom's looming form was the first thing he saw yet again. Reaching out a hand, Tom touched the side of his face, running a thumb across his cheek in adoration. Harry felt too warm, bothered by the sticking sheets around his body. He sat up. He tried to swallow to sooth his dry throat, but the taste of his own putrid mouth made him feel even more nauseated than the previous pain. Before he could help it, he rolled over to the edge of the bed, vomiting all over the floor.

He gasped and shuddered at the alarm his own sickness brought upon him. He clasped his hands around his pounding head, which worsened at the smell of vomit. When he reached one hand out blindly for the Elder Wand, he found it on the night table beside him. With a wave of it, the mess cleared away instantly.

"I take it this isn't a bad sign?" he managed hoarsely.

"No," Tom said softly, stroking back his hair. "It went well."

Harry signed in relief. His stomach was twisting into knots at Tom's touch. This was the first emotional change within him, after his escalating heartbeat, and it told him that things were returning back to how they once were. He felt like hell, but he embraced the pain, knowing that he was finally freed of that monotonic hell Tom had cast upon him. His emotions felt limited still, but it was as if Tom had merely kept a dam to hold back a river of his feelings, giving him sight of the sky, the sun, the trees, the stars, once more.

"How do you feel?" Tom asked curiously.

"Like vomiting again."

"And emotionally?"

"I feel great. I feel like – like I've never felt in months."

Harry was beaming, eager to describe to Tom what he remembered their lives before. He could recall all of the time they spent together at Hogwarts, all the time they were alone from the Death Eaters, longing to stay together like this for the rest of their lives. His eagerness faded, however. The moment he set his eyes upon Tom, his heart skipped several beats, and his smile faded.

It was as if Harry hadn't seen him in months, in a year. He had aged greatly; his eyes had grown more bloodshot and darker these last few months alone. It could have been the stress at almost losing Harry, but somehow it seemed far deeper than that. Something within Tom's very being had changed, something had become lost. As Harry stared back at him now, all he could see was the man who would one day murder each and every other human being he had loved.

Fear rose from so deep within Harry, all he could do was stare.

Until, eventually, he found the courage to stand up. The floor was clean. Harry had the perfect excuse to leave Tom: hid body was covered in sweat, his mouth was coated in his own sick. He needed to clean himself off.

"I'll be right back," Harry managed, turning away from Tom's unblinking stare.

He was in their bathroom in seconds, pushing the door half-closed behind him. His legs would barely hold him up, even as he staggered to the sink five feet into the room. He ran the taps in one swift movement, covering the sound of his own heavy, terrified breathing. Tom had fixed him. He was back to how he once was, more lucid than he had ever been after creating his Horcrux.

He cleared the putrid taste from his mouth with the Elder Wand, storing it back in his pocket when he was finished. His hands cooled down instantly under the cold water from the tap, so he cupping it and brought it up to his face too, soothing his sweating skin. He felt like puking again – or worse, but he wasn't quite sure what 'worse' was. He tried to steady his breathing and slow his racing heart. It was to no avail.

He was Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived. It felt strange to think about this alone. He had been wrongly deemed the only living wizard strong enough to defeat the Greatest Dark Wizard of All Time. He had been born to a family of two Sorcerers in love, but had grown up in a different house full of abuse and hatred directed at him merely for having abilities that unnerved and enraged his only living relatives. Harry had never had the opportunity to know his parents... he could remember, now, each and every moment he had agonized over this thought as a child.

Harry stared at his own reflection, unnerved by the strange face that stared back. It was such a painful sight, to see the red of his bloodshot eyes mix so sharply with the bright green of his irises. None of the people he had once known would be able to recognise him at all, he knew. As a child, Hogwarts had given him strength. His friends, his teachers, his guardians, his godfather, had all given him the care and love he needed to heal from what happened in the past. If he had them back now, could all of their love and adoration have even a chance of curing him? He wasn't so sure.

He was Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

Tom's love had cured him of the terrible memories he left behind from his old life, but somehow they had returned. It was as though the last two or three months of losing all emotion had triggered within him a desire to know about the memories he had fully lost. Now that he was beginning to recollect flashes of his life at the Dursley's, of meeting Hagrid, Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore, of living a far better life at Hogwarts, he was becoming addicted to pulling back ancient events and feelings that would have otherwise been lost. He wanted to know it all, he wanted to feel it again...

_Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived._

"Are you alright?"

Harry glanced at Tom for only a second, but it was long enough to send what felt like spears shooting through his midriff. He stared down at his hands, which felt numb from the cold of the water.

"I'm fine. I just need to wash up a bit..."

He was walking closer. Harry wished he wouldn't, even as Tom's strong hand slid down his back comfortingly. He stood to the side of Harry, encouraging him to meet his gaze with one soft movement of his finger on Harry's chin.

"You'll be perfectly fine, my love."

It was torture. Tom's touch sent Harry's heart into a flutter of high emotion, it caused a steak of desire to run through him, surrounded by torrents of soaring adoration and love, but it also sickened him down to his core. He could barely comprehend how it was possible that those dark, bloodshot eyes could be capable of harbouring a look of such care, satisfaction, and, perhaps, love.

"How do you feel?"

A rush of terror made Harry want to do several bad things at once. _He's going to curse me... If he suspects a thing, he's going to drag me back to that room to force the magic on me again..._

"I'm fine," he said, trying not to leave an odd pause, "I can definitely feel emotion again..."

"Good," Tom said softly, tilting his head to the side a little as he smiled.

Voldemort, Harry thought agonisingly. Voldemort did that before killing him, before he went to King's Cross in his mind, before he was sent to this era... It was hard to look Tom in the eyes, but looking away too much suggested guilt, suggested treachery...

"I think I'm gunna run a bath," Harry said monotonically, knowing this was an excuse to turn away.

"I could always clean you up myself," Tom commented.

"I'd rather take a bath," he said without much pause.

He began fumbling with the taps, his back turned to Tom. In seconds, he reminded himself, in a minute, Tom would be gone. In seconds, in a minute...

"It – it'll relax me," Harry added, when he realised Tom was waiting.

He knew Tom was close to adding in a light comment about how he could help him with that too, but Harry didn't look back at him, nor give any other inclination that he wanted anything but to take a bath on his own, to clear his head, to steady him.

What Harry did next took every ounce of will he had within him. Standing up straighter and turning around, he attempted a small smile, a comforting expression. "I won't be long. I'll come back out to you when I'm finished."

Tom returned his smile, far more genuinely, and nodded once in understanding. "If you wish."

Harry waited for him to leave. In seconds, in a minute... Tom walked closer to him, making Harry worry this would take longer, but Tom merely leant in to kiss him once on the forehead before turning away. In seconds, he was out the door, closing it fully behind him.

Harry breathed in deeply, filling his compressed lungs for the first time in a minute – he had been holding in his breath in agony. The struggle for breath brought on another shaky gasp, soon, and another, which rose the emotions within him as if he had plunged into a sea of his own sorrow, forcing rippling waves to erupt in all directions. The running water masked the sound of his frustration, fear, and anguish. He was Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, who would live forevermore...

Voldemort had just walked out that bedroom door. Voldemort had just kissed him on his forehead, on his scar, after smiling sweetly at him. Voldemort had held him close all those nights they spent alone, he had told Harry of the glory that erupted from his heart, of the feelings he had never known possible before meeting him – The Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived. Voldemort was the man who would suffer the same heartbreak that Harry was forcing upon himself this very moment, frozen in the horror of his situation now, the choices he had made to place himself here.

Remembering the past was the opposite of everything Harry had wanted these last six years. Recollecting the years he had spent with his two best friends was something he had forced himself to stop long ago, but tonight, for the first time, memories of Ron and Hermione weren't the worst feeling he could face. It was Tom that had helped him to forget, but Tom, now, who he had to disappoint. He had lost every single witch, wizard, Muggle, beast, and creature he had ever cared about because of the only man he had left to love. Tom did not bring him happiness. Tom had destroyed his old life, and now he was destroying his very soul.

Harry was tearing at his hair, breathing in and out so rapidly he was sure that Tom would hear him if he didn't calm himself down soon. His body was a prison, his soul was shattered and broken and it stole most of the life that lived beyond his now crushed, muddled, muffled, and limited emotions. He was no one. He was not the boy he used to be, he was a shattered, unstable young man who didn't know what he was supposed to do now. Every choice he had made, every attempt to find happiness in the only man who would take him in, had been in vain. No matter how much he loved Tom, no matter how much he was loved by him, it could not change who they were at heart.

Emeric's death had been no more terrifying than any of the other deaths Tom caused, but it was the first in which Harry had no rationality to forgive him for what he had done. Tom had hurt him again; he was always going to hurt him. It didn't matter if Harry joined him honestly, or defied him from inside out, Tom was going to hurt him as surely as Harry felt this pain. No matter how much love smeared his ability to see Tom for what he was, no matter how many terrible things Harry did to numb his inner voice, no matter how many lives he took or promises me made, he could not change who he truly was. He could not change what Tom had always been.

He was Harry James Potter... Harry wasn't sure if he could take the pain that poured through him. In his emotionless state of the last three months, he had thought of a plan. He wanted nothing more than to tear away at the skin of his forehead, to let his body breath through the prison walls that his skin sealed around him. He had betrayed every man, woman, boy, and girl he had ever felt love for in his old life, he had broken his own heart and had destroyed the lives of all who had believed in him. Now, on this freezing, snowing December night, it was time to start betraying Tom. There was nothing else he could do to stop deeper guilts from killing him first.

Harry didn't know how he made it through this night. He took his bath, he prepared his mind, and he walked back into the bedroom to face Tom in bravery. He shut down his own emotions, he gritted his teeth. Tom kissed him slowly, strongly, playing to the new emotions he knew Harry felt for the first time again. By morning, they drifted off to sleep, and when Harry awoke later that day, it was to find himself in blissful lonesomeness. He got out of bed, got himself ready, and left the house without seeing Tweaky.

December's chill was too weak an enemy to bother Harry's skin. He was headed in the direction of the only other house he seemed to visit alone these days. Emotions haunted him, burning his heart, blinding his eyes – but never yet could Harry cry. This was too important, he was too numb to dive into that sea of emotion yet. There was something of much greater worth for him to attend to, and when Nott's house came into view his thoughts slotted into place as if dancing. He ascended the steps in front of Nott's door, and knocked.

The pale, tired face of the only friend he had left appeared within minutes. Nott wasn't surprised by another visit from him, but something in Harry's expression made him pause before saying his usual greetings. Nott could read Harry's face like a map, he could make out all the places he'd been this last night, and he understood why. Harry didn't have the words to start explaining, but still Nott understood. He took in a deep breath, his eyes full of melancholy care.

"Come in, Harry..."


	69. The Ouroboros

69 – The Ouroboros

"What happened to you?" Nott asked the moment his door swung shut with a faint _click._ "Are you alright?"

Harry didn't know where he was supposed to begin. His eyes scanned the house, getting a view of Nott's large, high-ceilinged living room to the left and dark passageway to the right that lead to Nott's kitchen, before coiling further into his home.

"Are you alone?" Harry asked.

"Yes, of course. Do you want to sit down? I've just mad some tea."

"Yeah. Thanks..."

Nott headed in the direction on the living room.

"No, wait," Harry said, stopping him. "Can we go upstairs?"

Nott was hesitant, confused by Harry's paranoia.

"I don't want to be found here," Harry explained shortly.

Something about the way he said this give explanation for his odd actions. Nott nodded, the crease between his eyebrows never fading. "I understand."

As he turned for the dark wooden stairs, Harry caught sight of Nott summoning a tray from his living room. Although the staircase lead to the colder upper half of the house, Harry found that Nott's library was warm and comfortable. The fire grew larger with a wave of Nott's wand, making Harry think back to the fact that he lived with no one else. He never had any friends here, nor lovers, nor love interests. Just the Knights, his family, and Harry. There was no time for Harry to dwell upon this, however.

His body would not relax, even as he took his seat. He was so tense that he was sure Nott would notice it immediately. Nott set the tray down wordlessly, patiently, but no matter how calm he was, Harry dreaded this conversation. He couldn't gather his thoughts; the stress from this only added further pressure to the emotions he was trying very hard to keep under control. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, nor what he was truly doing by coming here at all. The more he thought about it, the more it dawned upon him that he was utterly lost.

"Here," Nott said quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

Harry took the cup of tea from Nott's hands, not meeting his eyes. He was going to have to explain all of this right, in a way that wouldn't give away any of the essential things he had to keep secret for his own safely – and in some cases, for Nott's. The only reason he was here at all was because he needed someone, anyone, to express his emotions to. If he had to hold back all of this on his own, Harry feared it would drive him mad. More mad... He had killed two men already, which was a firm reminder that he was a long way away from sane. He closed his eyes.

The scent of warm tea passed heavily through his nose, down into his lungs, calming him for the faintest second. It gave him further relief from the effects of the frozen morning air that had torn through his throat on his arrival to Nott's home, but he almost wished the icy breath outside would break through the windows of this small library. He had tensed against the pain of winter's chill earlier, but now he understood that if winter was to to take it's strong hold of him again, it would relieve him of the emotional pain that pulsed through his veins only in his comfort.

"It's happened, hasn't it?" Nott asked in a quiet voice. It seemed that he couldn't refrain from attempting to prompt this conversation, for he knew their time was limited.

The house was still. Although Harry's eyes were closed, he knew Nott was watching him. He wasn't fearful; he awaited an explanation from Harry only with hope and apprehension. Harry felt a moment of relief, upon opening his eyes, to see Nott was being patient with him. He didn't have to ask what Nott meant.

"Yes..."

A look of such sorrow, such joy, crossed Nott's face that Harry was reminded immediately of Hermione. He dropped his gaze, wishing that had never happened.

"You've realised that you're – that you changed, before?" Nott asked hurriedly, as if he was so eager for clarification that he couldn't hold in his curiosity. "You're back. I – I can see it."

All Harry could do was nod once, his jaw clenching as his eyes continued to scan the wooden floor unseeingly.

"What happened to you?"

Whatever Nott's reaction was, the only thing Harry could take from it was the eagerness and fear in his voice.

"A lot. More than I was expecting..."

His stomach leapt uncomfortably at the thought. He brought his hands up to his face, cowering at the very thought of having to relive the night's events through explanation. All the while, Nott was patient. If Harry could have found a way to, he would have thanked the Knight for this readily. Feelings raged inside of him and distracted him beyond his control. He ran his hands up to his hair, trying to steady himself.

"It feels like I –"

He stopped. The look on Nott's face reminded him only of Ron and Hermione. Somehow, in spite of everything that had gone on, Nott was waiting for him like his friends once had. Harry had to stop and watch his expression, his heart throbbing at the thought of what Nott, too, had gone through these last few years alone. Yet he was here now, waiting, as Harry's only friend...

"It feels like I've woken up," he carried on in a low voice, "from years of – of numbing myself down... Too much happened to me, too much stopped me from finding any peace even at Hogwarts. I needed something to take my mind off the past. I chose to do this, to join Tom and the Dark Arts, just to forget... It never worked, and now I know it. Now, I can't deny it..."

Harry was breathing deeply, evenly, to try and settle his aching limbs. His fists were clenched to hide his shaking hands.

"Whether I'm here in England, or out in the middle of Albania, or across however many countries I've seen with Tom, I know this isn't who I am... It's never been who I am, no matter what I've been through, no matter what I've seen or done. I – I can't do it. It's been seven years of – of hell, seven years of trying to change, and it's lead to nothing. After all these things that I've done..."

Harry wanted to say that the speed of all of this was terrifying him, while the looming future was terrorizing him in a constant hum, but he couldn't find the words. He could barely keep up with anything that was happening. His head ached and pounded as thoughts tortured and confused him beyond reason. Seven years of rationalities had fallen in one night alone, and Harry didn't know what he could do. He was trapped where he was; the only hope for him resided in the little awareness he had gained back amongst his confusion.

"I want to change who Tom is, but I think it's too late. It was too late when I met him, too late when he started Hogwarts, because he's been broken like this for so long. Because of the way he grew up, the way he was abandoned... I can't change him and he clearly can't change who I am either. The only solution seems to be to accept it, to give up..."

"Why?"

Harry shook his head, grimacing at the pain and extent of his confusion. "Because I've been here for so long... It's like I've been scared, this entire time, of being alone or having nothing and no one to turn to. I am alone... It didn't matter how many times I tried to ease my way into the Dark Arts, I could never get into it. Tom knows that it's addicting and he uses that to his advantage, but it can't change. It can't change how I feel..."

"I know," Nott said quietly. His gaze was steady, his eyes alight with honest care. "It's always been something we have in common. Trying to please someone else, to impress them, by joining all of this..." He laughed humourlessly, his expression darkening. He felt no need to hide his emotions. "It doesn't work."

"I wish it would," Harry muttered, in a voice so faint that even he wondered if perhaps he hadn't meant to say it at all.

Nott might have agreed, but if he did he wasn't eager to make it known. His mind wandered to a seemingly more troubling thought.

"It's why you gave me those books, isn't it? To hide my shared dislike of the subject?"

Harry had to think about this deeply to decide. "If that's why I did it, it was a subconscious thought. I can't remember. I was scared of Tom, I know that, but..."

"But what?"

Harry was thinking about how he had become an emotionless, horrifically hollow person when Tom had taken away his emotions. He had known, on some level, that he was going to hurt people in that state, he was going to murder, harm, and hate anyone who got in his way. He was horrified by the thought now.

"I wanted to protect you," he muttered. "From Tom, from me... from everything."

"Why?"

The question was uttered in a tone embedded with anticipation and fear. Nott could clearly sense a sinister undertone to Harry's words, even if there was no way he could guess what had happened.

"I was scared," Harry told him shortly. "After I found out about Emeric, after I told Tom about it, I was scared something might happen to you. It's good I gave you those books, anyway, because it's just another type of skill for you to -"

"What did he do to you?" Nott demanded.

Harry paused, bewildered. As far as he could remember, Nott had never cut across him like this before, least of all with such curt determination to get an answer. It reminded him – for what was now far from the first time tonight – of his lost friends.

"Tom was trying to help me," Harry explained, pained by the fear of being misunderstood, "and he succeeded. For a while, anyway... But the way I was being helped only stalled the sorrow I was meant to feel. By trying to help me, Tom risked worse side-affects, and in some ways it lead to worse things..."

This drew his mind back to the man in Italy. He still couldn't fully comprehend or remember what had happened, as if his mind had blocked out the entire event. It felt like a dream, like a dark feeling so vast and vivid that it can't have been real. Yet the scars remained, both mentally and physically. Harry never wanted to face what had happened, but he knew that he must.

"Tom never meant it to hurt me," Harry said firmly, not caring that he was almost repeating himself. "I understand he needed to do what he did to protect me. I just wish that, through everything that happened, I didn't do what I did... I care about Tom so – so much... but there's some part of me that can't, despite everything, become what he wants me to become..."

Harry watched for Nott's reactions, a look of hopelessness dawning on his own face in a need to be understood.

"He's going to keep hurting me, I can't keep lying to myself about it. As long as I can't force myself to enjoy the Dark Arts like he does, I'm going to get hurt again and again no matter how much either of us try to avoid it. I love Tom, but I – I can't -"

"You can't leave him," Nott said suddenly, clearly thinking this is where Harry was headed. "Everyone will suffer from it, you must know that. He won't be able to take it, he'll – he'll go insane, to say the least, he -"

"I'm not stupid," Harry said quietly, "I know what he'll do. I know it's too dangerous."

Nott watched him steadily for a long time. His lips were pressed together in concentration.

"What is it?" Harry asked

"It seems like you want to," he said slowly, "but I know that you love him. I've heard the way you speak about him, even when you're scared, even when you're not fully yourself. I know that he loves you too, because I've seen the way you interact, I've seen the look in both of your eyes when you're near each other... You proved you love him, too, from the fact that it took you so long to notice that you kept changing... So, why do you seem guilty? What have you done to want to walk away from him, when you know you're both in love?"

Harry felt as if a strong force was wrapped around his lungs, trying to suffocate him readily for all of this. He didn't want to give in to his guilt, to explain the betrayal he planned, but Nott would guess it anyway. In an attempt to give more rationality to his crimes, Harry admitted an earlier one.

"After – after I changed," he began unsteadily, "from finding out what Tom had done to Emeric... I did something that I regret. I wasn't myself, I was lacking some important feelings... I... I took someone's life... It wasn't planned – I didn't do it out of wrath or any personal reason, I just -"

His voice faltered. He felt the stress rise up in him, especially at Nott's bewildered expression, and he couldn't take it. He rubbed his face with his hands, breathing deeply.

"It was a mistake," he said, surprised to find he was frustrated, "I don't know why it happened, or what I was even thinking. I – I hate myself, for all of it. I hate that it's real and that all of this – everything that's happened – isn't just some terrible nightmare. I can't take it, I – I don't know what I can do..."

The feels were too much for him to easily overcome, especially as his irritation and hate was directly mostly, if not fully, at himself. He wanted to say that he wished he could stop Tom from becoming what he would one day become, but he wasn't ignorant enough to even hope this, and he wasn't foolish enough to tell Nott that he had seen Voldemort in the future. He was trapped; no longer himself. Yet he remembered, with his palms pressed hard against his eyes, what he must do.

"At this rate, Tom will rise to a huge amount of power within nothing more than a few years," he muttered through his fingers, speaking slowly, carefully, so as to avoid saying anything vital. "I can't stop that. I can't change that, because I would have to change everything he's ever been, everything he'll become... No matter what I do, he's going to be powerful..."

"I know."

Harry's vision was foggy when he looked up, his eyes were sore even as he fixed his gaze determinedly on Nott.

"I have to be there, whether I like it or not," Harry carried on, "but the way I see it, it doesn't matter what I feel. So long as I still take part in the Dark Arts, as long as I still seem the same... it doesn't matter what I think..."

Nott looked as if he had been anticipating this. He hastily tried to rearrange his expression to one that was unreadable, but Harry hadn't missed the look of awe – and even happiness – he had shown. It was a look of many thoughts within his mind slotting elegantly into place, causing fearful wonder to rise up in it's wake. On top of all of this was despair. Nott's chest rose and fell visibly, his eyes alight with a hopeless, fearful desire for this to mean what what he wanted it to.

"I know you can't take this either," Harry began, struggling to word all of this right. "You tried to run away from the Knights, from all of this, last year. You know better than I do what consequences follow it... We're stuck here, stuck like this, but we have one weapon. We have one way of protection that Tom can't stop."

"No," Nott said, his voice shaking in sudden panic, "He's a highly trained Legilimens, there's – there's no way I can defy him, there's no way I can hide my thoughts from him!"

"You're not a weak person," Harry told him firmly, "You're already more advanced in the subject of Occlumency than Tom ever wanted you to be. You're doing well."

"Not half as well as I should be. Not half as well as you."

"Yeah, well... that's different."

Nott was unsure. He waited for Harry to carry on, perhaps in defeat, perhaps in fear.

"I'll give you information about it," Harry told him. "You won't be able to borrow books often, but anyway you'll have to learn Occlumency slow enough so Tom will think you're just determined to practice the subject on your own. He barely pays attention to you, either way. He treats you as insignificant, which is the best thing you could hope for."

Nott still didn't say a word. He thought it over slowly, carefully.

"We have years," Harry assured him quietly, "you don't have to be worried about your strength yet. You'll grow more as a Knight as well as with with your own studies."

"I suppose," Nott murmured. He was still. The idea was dawning upon him with not a trace of joy or excitement now, just pained understanding. "I suppose... we have nothing to lose."

These words hung in the air in overwhelming truth. Harry wanted to say something, anything, to break the curse of it, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself agreeing: he had lost everyone he knew. He had lost his friends, his family, his loved ones, all because of one man. Nott had been left alone with no choice but to carry on being a Knight. He had lost his best friend, the man he fell in love with, and the hearts of all of his old school friends as they grew more brutal and mindless with every passing year. They were alone.

This was the only reason why Harry had gained Nott's trust. Harry was the last shine of hope for him to carry on for, because he was the only person who really spoke to him these days. He was a sad young man, and no one else knew why. They had bonded on a mutual hate of the Dark Arts in the past and now, together, they were bound by a sickening fate, by an unworldly knowledge and shared understanding that they were made for better things, that none of this was right. They had succeeded as Knights for being brilliantly skilled, but they fell, separately, for the weakness and power of feeling from their untainted hearts.

– X –

A few weeks passed before Harry saw Nott again. He brought a few books along to lend the Knight, giving valuable, illegal information on the art of Occlumency and Legilimency. Harry told Nott to return the books at a particular time and date and Nott accepted all of this with gratitude, saying he'd practice the magic on his own as soon as he could. It worked out smoothly and systematically from the very beginning, thus they got into the regular routine of meeting each other every few weeks.

Harry used any time he could to speak to Nott – after meetings, after spending a day away from Tom, after gatherings with the Knights in various places – so long as it was a stretch of a time long enough for conversation, but short enough to escape Tom's notice entirely.

"I'm not sure how often I'll be able to visit you," Harry told him at the beginning of all of this. "Maybe every few weeks or months. Tom and I are going to be travelling again by the end of the year, so it'll be even less often then. There won't be much for us to discuss, anyway."

"I understand."

Sometimes, however, Harry would visit Nott for no reason beyond a desire to talk to him, to check that he was alright, and to share stories about the good and bad parts of his life in general. The feeling of foreboding that surrounded the rise of the Knights of Walpurgis was so strong, at times, that these conversations were Harry and Nott's only relief. It was a reminder that, beyond everything, there was hope. There was someone else who shared the same fear, pain, and worry concerning all of this.

By mid-year Nott was becoming a master at Occlumency. As well as this (and perhaps because of it), he was gaining more respect from the other Knights. Harry knew it must be because Nott was learning how to shut off emotions and worrying thoughts no matter what was happening around him. It was what most of the Knights had to do just to survive – to kill any sense of resistance or 'weak' emotion inside them – except in this case, by blocking out his thoughts even to himself, Nott had the ability to protect his true soul, his true heart. Knowledge that Harry was there for him gave him the strength he needed to become stronger and to face all of this.

Harry felt safe when he saw these changes in Nott. So safe, in fact, that he felt no regret to tell him, more than halfway through the year, that a change was going to happen.

"Tom wants me to travel far with him," he said, "to carry on our research while moving almost constantly. By the end of this year, we'll be gone and we'll stay that way for a long while. You'll be able to live your life normally for a few years, but then he'll return. And so will I... and I don't know what I'll be like by then."

"You won't be different," Nott said, to his surprise. "You might have to find ways to deal with what happens, but he can't change who you are, clearly. You're still you, because your soul can't change."

Harry felt an odd, sickening feeling rising in him."I'm – I'm not the man I used to be."

"I know."

"Then how am I not different?"

"Because you returned," Nott said firmly, "and you'll return again."

True, Harry had broken through some of what had been piled on to him to survive, but the next few years were a daunting thought to him. His love for Tom couldn't protect him from the darkness that they were going to sink into in their travels. Harry wouldn't be immune to it no matter how determined he was to be as unaffected as he could. Tom had already changed his soul, he had made him a Horcrux and he would do it again, soon. Recently, Tom had mentioned it.

"Just remember what I told you, Christopher..."

– X –

August dawned dark and horrid, but with light-hearted news: Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier were getting married. Tom was amongst the first to be invited after family, soon followed by Harry, Lestrange, Avery, Nott, and many of the Knights who had attended school with Black and Rosier. This would be of absolutely no interest to Harry if it weren't for one thing; the wedding was the night before he and Tom would leave England for good, travelling far and wide without looking back for a very, very long time.

Harry thought that having Knights at the wedding might be irksome to the new bride and groom, but on the contrary Black was honoured to hear Tom would be attending it even on such an important day. Moreover, it struck a desire in the other Knights to actually show up, which was much to Druella's taste: she, apparently, adored a grand celebration with as many witches and wizards as they could afford to feed (which, due to the union of two very pure-blooded families, was an extensive amount).

The size of the wedding did many good things for various people. It allowed Tom to meet with many of his Knights without drawing attention to himself, it gave all of the Knights a chance to say goodbye without having to make up excuses to their families in the process, and it gave Harry a moment of something close to peace. The huge, grand room in which everyone gathered in for drinks, dancing, and conversation was so distracting that Harry didn't have to stand by Tom the whole night. He was left to his thought.

The walls were decorated in long, billowing drapes of silver and green, hinting of Slytherin colours due to the horribly 'pure' blood that was being united this evening. The material, however, was not to block out the high ceilings and elaborate architecture of this great hall; it only complemented it's grandness further. There were no flowers in sight, only twirling decorations of floating silver stars and dark, fine furnishing set around tables that were covered in elaborate white cloth. An entire orchestra was playing loud, tasteless music that echoed through the sound of dull conversation and shrill laughter. It was so far from the only other wizarding wedding Harry had been to that he couldn't help but stare at the cold, false people surrounding him.

Around the legs of all the standing guests, House-Elves weaved in and out of sight, carrying silver platters high above their heads. As one passed, Harry avoided half the tray laden with expensive foods and grabbed a drink instead. The goblet he took was cold and blindingly silver. It and had a thin serpent wrapped around the outer rim of it, which Harry thought was of very poor taste, especially as he saw that the staring green eyes weren't made out of coloured glass. Purebloods were very proud indeed. He drank.

Over the top of his goblet, Harry caught sight of the bride and groom stranding on the other side of the room, surrounded by many happy faces (some genuinely joyful, others with deadened eyes) of their friends and family congratulating them. He couldn't help reflect cynically that these two sorcerers were going to be the mother and father of Bellatrix Black. Harry could see it in Cygnus's dark hair and eyes, in Druella's womanly figure and fierce, proud stance. Her beauteous, blood-red lips were arched into a wonderful smile, but Harry knew her daughter would never have such a pure look upon her face.

The only comfort Harry could take in this union of the Rosier Family and Black Family was that Bellatrix's sister Andromeda was a kind woman. Narcissa may have been good and bad, but Andromeda was an honest woman. She had been a good mother and she would be an even better grandmother to the boy who was left behind after the death of his parents in the Battle of Hogwarts. Tonks and Lupin were dead, so Teddy was lone... What had happened to his godson, Harry wondered? He felt a sudden pang of regret at forgetting about him. The only living loved one...

Harry took another deep gulp from the silver goblet in his hands, his fingertips brushing against the engraved snake once more. He noticed, then, that the snake made a perfect ring; it was eating it's own tail. Immortality, he thought. The Ouroboros. It seemed as though the design was suddenly a bit more tasteful, but Harry's mind was wandering elsewhere. He thought about Tom.

Their relationship was much like a serpent eating it's own tail, but not for the Slytherin reference or promises of eternal love that Druella and Cygnus clearly wished to portray at their wedding. Harry and Tom worked in a viscous, eternal circle. Tom had destroyed Harry's old life and in return Harry was betraying him now, which would make Tom destroy his old life, which would make Harry betray him now... This, very subtly, very swiftly, made Harry think it was his fate to be here. They made each other who they were...

Harry had shown Tom love, affection, and what it's like to truly care for another human being. Tom had returned his love readily and honestly, all in an attempt to heal the pain of Harry's past, which was caused by the hate, destruction, terror, and loss Voldemort himself had shed upon him. All of that hate, all of that pain from Tom, was caused by the love Harry showed now, the love he would betray. It was caused from the fact that even though Harry couldn't change Tom, he could stay true to himself. They both knew love and hate, truth and betrayal, loss and gain, only through each other. They were in love now because Harry forgave. They would be in hate again when Tom did not...

"Hello," said a voice, interrupting Harry's deep thoughts. It was Nott. "How are you?"

"Hey," Harry said, his attention torn from the goblet, "I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm alright. I almost wasn't going to show up, but I figured, since you and Tom will be gone by tomorrow..."

Nott attempted a shrug as he trailed off, taking a sip from his drink. His eyes wandered the room after this, further telling Harry that he still desired to hide a long way away from Lestrange.

"It's so bizarre," Harry commented.

"What is?"

"All of this. The way people act here, the prejudice, the decorations – these goblets cost more than some families can afford in a month."

Nott laughed, seemingly sincerely amused. "For Purebloods, all of existence depends on worth. It's easy to distract people, that way." His brow furrowed, "But I thought you were Pureblooded?"

"I am. I just never grew up like one."

"True."

Harry was grateful for Nott's lack of rigidity at having brushed so close to the subject of orphanhood.

"Did you go see him, yet?" Nott asked quietly, looking across the room. The question was vague, so that if someone overheard their conversation, they might merely think Nott was referring to Cygnus or Tom. His tone hinted otherwise.

"No. I'm going to leave early to do it. I couldn't find any better time."

"Won't you be noticeably gone?"

Harry shook his head. "There's so many people talking to Tom here, distracting him – he'll be stuck at this party all night at this rate. He understands I don't like staying around for things like this for very long, anyway."

"I know, but even so... You said this wizard can help us. The sooner you contact him, the better. If you can't go now, it'll be months before you can see him, perhaps years."

"I'll see him tonight, no matter what."

Nott thought this over. "I'll stay here, to make sure Tom doesn't leave early."

"You don't have to," Harry told him, "there are plenty of others around. I don't want to risk you seeing Le-"

"No," he said firmly. "It's alright."

He gave Harry was was likely supposed to be a strong, comforting look, but it made Harry feel worse. He, however, couldn't argue against it. He needed to be sure he wouldn't be missed.

"Thank you..."

"Don't worry about it."

Neither of them spoke for a time.

"I'll write to you," Harry said, not caring that this was out of context. "When I'm away."

Nott watched him for a moment, his expression solemn. He struggled to find an answer. "That'd be good."

Harry nodded. He then asked, before he could help it, "Will you write back to me?"

"Of course, yes."

"Good," Harry said, trying to sound unaffected. "It'll be good for you to have a few years off from all of this, anyway. There might still be Knights around, but Tom can't command you all from that far away. You just need to remain strong."

Nott nodded. He didn't say a word.

"Who knows," Harry said, "you might be able to find someone once you have less duties under Tom's work."

"Maybe," was Nott's short response.

Harry wished Nott was more eager to bond with someone romantically. He knew it would make him happier and would heal some of the wounds that had been left behind from Lestrange. Nott had had a few girlfriends and boyfriends these last few months, but none of them had stayed for any considerable stretch of time. The truth was, Nott wasn't interested in anyone new. He might find them physically attractive, but their minds, Harry knew, their personalities and their views on life were easy to criticize. Legilimency didn't help. Nott didn't want anyone else.

"Things have been getting so dark lately," Nott murmured over his goblet, "I'm not quite sure if it's wise to settle down with anyone. Unless my family forces marriage upon me... I have no interest."

Nott took a sip of his drink slowly, savouring the taste. Then, to Harry's surprise, a smile twisted onto his face. Harry watched, until the smile grew so big that Nott began laughing. The humour broke his solemnity immediately, causing him to almost choke on his drink. He was staring at the goblet, the tone of his mirth suggesting a layer of anger somewhere.

"I'd never want this!" he exclaimed, laughing at the stupidity of it all. "These – furnishing and these – these idiotic goblets! I'd rather buy myself a ticket – a hundred thousand tickets – far away from this place than to waste my money on foul tableware. With these foul people..."

There was definite anger, and not just annoyance, in the way Nott studied the people around him. Harry was almost glad; anger was still better than sorrow.

"I hate them all," Nott murmured, his dry humour at all of this still standing, "I hate all of this."

"Well, nothing's forcing you to be here."

"My family is," Nott said. "The Knights..."

"They cann't stop you from being who you want to be."

Nott said nothing. Even his anger was fading a bit now.

"Especially not right now, especially when Tom's going away."

"I suppose..."

"And anyway -" but Harry stopped.

Four Knights were approaching, blatantly keen upon making their small group bigger. Avery, Rosier, Dolohov, and a visibly reluctant Lestrange were joining them.

"Y'alright, lads?" Avery asked boyishly, a foul grin on his hamlike face.

"We're fine," Harry answered. With an ounce of sarcasm, he asked, "I hope the wedding's been treating you all well?"

"It's been alright," Dolohov slurred with a drunken grin, "spoke to a few in'eresting bridesmaids."

"I've told you," Rosier said irritably, "stay away from my family – even my cousins."

"What? I thought you was marrying your cousins anyway!" Dolohov jeered. "That's what Purebloods do, ain't it?"

"That's what my aunt and mother-in-law told me," Avery grunted, laughing.

"I highly doubt you have anything close to marriage on your mind, Dolohov."

"Either way, it isn't as though anything short of a mountain troll would take interest in Dolohov," Lestrange commented, sounding bored as usual. "You mustn't get flustered so simply, Rosier."

Rosier glowered at him. "As if you weren't annoyed with him at your wedding."

Nott shifted uncomfortable besides Harry.

"I didn't care what he was doing," Lestrange spat, as if this were obvious, "the day was too important for me to waste time on people like Dolohov. You should have the same attitude, Rosier, and appreciate your sister's, your family's, celebration."

Rosier, who took great offence to being talked down to, puffed up at once. "I do appreciate my sister's wedding," he snapped irritably, "but how am I supposed to enjoy it if this blithering idiot is swaying drunkenly about the place? I can't just leave him, it's an embarrassment!"

"Amongst a few," Avery injected, grinning into his goblet.

"What are you giggling about now?" Rosier demanded.

"Well, come on, just look at 'em," Avery said, gesturing in the direction of Cygnus and Druella, "Who knows how soon it'll be before Cygnus starts chasing after other women. You know what he's like."

Rosier turned a shade of purple Vernon Dursley would have been proud of.

"All in the name of Purebloods!" Dolohov exclaimed at the sight.

"Let us just hope that this marriage will at least _mask_ his more adult habits for a while," Lestrange commented.

"Well," Harry said slyly, stricken with irritation, "from what I've heard, being fond of _witches_ isn't the only reason why Purebloods around here have been rushing into marriage."

The reaction was immediate; Lestrange's face flooded crimson and his bored eyes tensed into slits at once. Harry had no idea why he had said it; it was a mix of feeling Nott's discomfort and feeling a building need to protect him, on top of a willingness to be daring and to show his authority over the Knight. For a horrible second, he deeply regretted it.

"Not many people 'round here are marrying for _love_, if that's what you mean," Dolohov slurred.

His idiocy saved any question of Harry's cruel remark.

"A lot of people will say it is, but it ain't true. Every wizard has got to sleep around some time, it's just how us men work. Women know that."

A vague desire to inform Dolohov that men and women were no different gripped Harry, but he refrained from saying anything about it. If Dolohov was the type of person to seek out other witches to sleep with after marriage (if he even could), then Harry assumed his wife would soon catch on and would be, perhaps, just as keen to begin sneaking behind his back with far more success. Harry had heard something similar happening to one of the Knights at Hogwarts, he thought.

"You can't say that no Purebloods fall in love with each other, Dolohov," Rosier corrected him, his patience clearly wearing very thin. "What is more, not everyone sleeps around!"

"Come on, who doesn't do it?"

"A lot of people!"

"Like who?"

"Just because you're a disgusting half-blood who can't so much as walk into a room without scanning it for victims, doesn't mean we all are!"

"You must excuse me," Nott said quietly. He turned away before Harry could so much as stop him. In honestly, however, he felt too guilty to.

"– you and your Mudblood views, you wouldn't know a thing about what it is to be Pureblooded! You wouldn't know our honour, our pride, or the need to be true to your blood status, you –"

Lestrange gave Harry such a malicious, vindictive look when their eyes met, it was a wonder that Rosier and Dolohov didn't stop arguing to see it. It was obvious what he was thinking; his entire life, his entire identity, and his role in the wizarding world as a whole depended on the fact that he must continuously pretend to be an upstanding, proper Pureblooded husband with his upstanding, proper, Pureblooded wife. Harry couldn't help but allow himself to smile at Lestrange, his glare full of equally as much hate.

Lestrange looked away first, knowing that Harry had much more power than he did – and knowing why that was. His expression was filled with anger and disgust, which Harry soon chose to ignore, completely satisfied that he had caused such a strong reaction. Avery had joined into the argument with Rosier and Dolohov, jumping between both sides of the debate as to whether or not Dolohov was a degenerate Mudblood after all.

Harry turned away without excusing himself. There was no way Rosier, Avery, or Dolohov would hear him and he felt no need to say a word of farewell to Lestrange. He found Nott halfway across the room, standing amongst a group of Knights who were eager to talk to no one but Tom. As Harry approached the group, taking a position opposite Tom and besides an eagerly talking Gonson, he knew from one quick glance at Nott that he wasn't upset or even shaken by earlier – but he might have been hiding it well.

Tom met his eyes a second after he looked towards him and a smile crept onto his face. With a quick word to the five Knights around him, he excused himself and walked in Harry's direction.

"A must have a private word with you for a moment, Jonathan," he said, taking Harry's arm lightly, "I shan't be a minute."

The Knights behind him gave faint words of understanding, even as Tom headed forward without a backwards glance. He stopped walking once they were in a quieter part of the party, in a dark corner of the room where only an ancient witch sat, apparently snoozing even with all of the noise and music. When they faced each other, Tom appeared in good spirits.

"I'm afraid I might be here for a few more hours," Tom said without hesitation, "I hope this won't displease you?"

"I don't mind," Harry said, his heart suddenly quickening. This was it. "Though... I'm not sure I want to stick around for that long, personally. I might head home early, to get some rest and so on before tomorrow."

Tom smiled affectionately, "I hope only that I shan't test your patience too jarringly."

"It's fine," Harry told him, returning the smile from adoration of Tom's soft eyes. "How long, exactly, will you be?"

"I must speak to Black, so well past midnight."

Good, Harry thought. Even if Tom was never late, he was very rarely ever early. When he estimated a time, it was precise.

"Black has done a great amount for us," Tom mentioned, "so it would, of course, be rude for me not to congratulate him. I understand the idea bores you, however. It would be suspicious if you were to join me in such a small repayment, and you can make better use of your time back home, I'm sure."

"That's what I thought," Harry said lightly. Then, to make matters more calm, he added quietly, "I'll wait up for you."

Tom grinned. He looked as if he was a millisecond away from kissing Harry. He smiled softly for a long moment instead, his eyes rising up from Harry's lips. There were many people not far away from them, but no one else could see the look in Tom's eyes.

"I must return to the Knights," he then said. "I assume you won't be here for long?"

"No. I might leave for home now," Harry said. His heart raced more. It felt wrong, lying to Tom so simply.

"Then I shall see you in a few hours."

"I'll see you then."

At this, Tom turned away. Harry watched him go, his expression falling into one of bleak worry. He waited ten minutes or so before weaving his way through the sea of people to the exit of this large building. He Apparated home after speaking to no one. He found Tweaky waiting patiently inside for his Masters' return, but Harry excused himself to get changed before coming back downstairs to talk to the House-Elf properly.

"I'm going to be gone for an hour or two, Tweaky," Harry said very clearly, fastening the clasp on his travelling cloak, "but I don't want anyone to know where I've gone. Do you understand me?"

"Tweaky shall not tell a soul, Master."

"Not even Tom."

The Elf's eyes widened.

"If he comes back here early and I'm not here, tell him I've gone for a walk. Even if he asks you directly, Tweaky."

"Yes – yes, Master Harry," the Elf said eventually, clearly terrified at the idea of having to lie.

Harry thought, then, that he probably should have been more subtle about it, so Tweaky thought he wasn't telling a lie. An idea occurred to him.

"It's a beautiful night," he said, "there's a bunch of stars out... It'd be a waste not to go out walking, even if Tom wants me here."

Tweaky's tiny ribcage deflated it's air, telling Harry he had held his breath in worry, but breathed now in relief. "Of course, Master. 'Tis a lovely idea, Master."

Satisfied, now, that the Elf wouldn't be too terrified to pass on this lie onto Tom, Harry headed for the door. He said a sort goodbye, before heading off into the cold, starry night. He walked for five solid minutes into the countryside that surrounded his and Tom's house, to be sure that when he Apparated, Tweaky could neither see nor hear him. The sky was truly beautiful. Harry couldn't take more than a minute to stop and stare at the wondrous stars above him.

In ten seconds flat, he was at the top of the country. Scotland was cold and rainy but Harry drew his cloak closer around his neck and face, conserving warmth. He wondered for a moment if Tweaky had noticed he was dressed too warmly for a summer evening in England, but he was in no state to truly care. House-Elves rarely commented on such things either way, unless asked directly.

When Harry turned around, he saw lights looming not far away. He headed in the direction of Hogwarts, with it's few lit windows. The students were gone for the summer, gone for another two weeks, while a few teachers would be staying at the school, continuing their various forms of research before preparing for the new school year. Harry headed on through the cold, desiring to get this done as soon as possible.

The corridors of Hogwarts were colder than usual due to the lack of residents inside the school. Harry met no one as he crept through the castle: the security of the place as a whole was weak due to the fact that there seemed to be no outward threat from the world in general while so many students were away. It was easy, if you knew the type of magic Harry knew. If you gained all sorts of knowledge of rare magic from the old followers of Grindelwald who had become the more recent Knights of Walpurgis. To Harry, to Tom, and to a few of the Knights, even breaking into Hogwarts wasn't a hard challenge. Not until that would change, one day, because of Voldemort himself.

Harry was standing outside of Dumbledore's office, the fear rising in him. He knew the wizard was awake; light was pouring out from under the door and through slits and cracks in the old wood. Seeing no better way to go about it, Harry brought his hand up and knocked.

There was a pause, before a chair being moved back could be heard. Dumbledore was wearing slippers when he walked towards the door; Harry could hear it in the shuffling of feet beyond the sound of a trailing nightgown.

Would Dumbledore attack him, Harry wondered? Would he throw him out of the school, or keep him here for hours, to the point where Tom panicked and worried where he had gone? He would interrogate Tweaky, torture him, and the Knights would be next. Lestrange would be the first to rat out Nott, if a drunken Avery or Dolohov didn't do it first. Rosier might try to defend him out of pity, but Tom would know it was lies. The door opened.

Harry's expression didn't change even as Dumbledore's humming stopped, his eyes widening. The two wizards watched each other for a long moment, neither of them desiring to attack the other, but both fearing it from the other nonetheless. Finally, using his partly opened lips, Dumbledore spoke.

"Hello, Jonathan."

Harry inclined his head, as if in an act of peace. "Professor..."

Dumbledore's eyes scanned Harry's face, his expression not at all scared, but confused nonetheless. His gaze was steady, his brow furrowed.

"Come in," Dumbledore said, to Harry's surprise. "Take a seat."

Harry was hesitant. "I can't stay here for long."

"Then do make haste, for our conversion will surely be heard by anyone passing by this corridor if we continued to dawdle upon my doorstep."

His kind tone wasn't at all soothing to Harry, who worried that Dumbledore was leading him into a trap. There was no denying that he was right, however; Harry was left with no choice but to follow him inside.

Dumbledore's room was small, but it's blazing fire easily warmed and lit it up, making it homely and calm. Harry took a chair near the fireplace, facing Dumbledore and feeling uncomfortable, despite the many cushions.

He was Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Albus Dumbledore looked at him without a trace of the care and affection he had shown Harry as a growing boy. Harry no longer hated the wise wizard like he used to, and this above all lead to strange, sad feelings that originated in his chest. He tried hard to ignore this.

"Why have you come here tonight, Jonathan?" Dumbledore asked him calmly. "After what has been four months short of a year since fleeing from me, fleeing from the subjects we discussed, and fleeing with an item taken, why have you broken into this castle once more to greet me with neither malice nor ill intent?"

The calmness of his tone, of the quiet room, of these soft armchairs, sent Harry's mind into an odd state of uneasiness and nostalgia. The smell of Hogwarts, of candles, torches, parchment, dust, polished suits of armour, owls, and ancient wood and stone was so familiar to his nose, every breath was torture. The sight of crimson, Gryffindor-inspired furnishing and tall, stained glass windows showing a dark view of the grounds outside all sent odd emotions souring through Harry's entire body. He was home, but only for a very short visit...

"I needed to talk to you," Harry said. "I thought you might be able to help..."

"What is it, may I ask, that you seek help for?"

"I was wrong," Harry said in a low voice. "I realise, now, that I made a mistake. I should have listened to what you said... I've been trying to change who I am for Tom, trying to accept who he is... and it hasn't worked..."

Dumbledore was surveying him carefully. Harry waited, feeling impatience build within him, but he couldn't speed this along any faster. The impatience was embedded with unease and fear, above all.

"What brought on such a change of mind?" Dumbledore asked, his tone still light.

Harry tensed up at this, not knowing where to begin. "A lot has happened. This isn't the life I want to lead and... a friend of mine helped me to see that."

"Have you left Tom on his own, Jonathan?"

Harry shook his head, feeling like a child as sorrow gripped him. "No. It's too dangerous, even if I wanted to. He'll go made, he'll – he'll hurt a lot of people because of it. He can't deal with this sort of thing, so I have to stay. And I want to, because if things get worse... I want to be there when it happens. I want to help..."

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows were locked close together on his brow.

"The things he does," Harry carried on, unsure of himself, "the things he gets away with – it's only getting worse. I can't change him from being who he is. I can't leave and I can't change myself either. All I know is that what he's doing it wrong, it's – it's terrible..."

"What is it that he does, Jonathan?"

It was so much easier to be called that name by Dumbledore, Harry suddenly realised. It took away memories of the past, it stopped a jarring sense of horror from flooding him. He wondered if this is why Tom had changed his name too. For a new life, for a new him.

"I don't have a death wish," Harry answered, "I'm not stupid enough to tell you what sort of things Tom gets up to."

"What I mean is, has he harmed you? Abused you, in some way?"

Harry hesitated. "It's complicated."

Dumbledore said nothing. Although he tried to hide it, Harry thought he saw a faint trace of sorrow on his old headmaster's face.

"Things are going to get worse," Harry told him, trying to get to the point as soon as he could. "It's going to get worse than ever..."

"And you believe you must be there when it happens?"

"Yes. I have to be, I – I can't just sit around and do nothing. I haven't a choice... There's nothing I can do, and..."

Harry trailed off, his voice too weak by this point. He was terrified that he was doing this and even more terrified at the idea of Tom finding out about any of this. He couldn't express how much it tore at his heart to betray Tom. Harry was ruined; he was destroying the last person he loved in an attempt to put things back to how he wanted them to be, to ensure that he didn't lose even himself to Tom's unending ability to get what he wanted...

"I have a spy," he carried on shakily, "I have one other person who doesn't want to be a part of Tom's followers... When things get worse there's at least two people, now, who are willing to do more than join in. None of us can just turn away from all of this, not now..."

"What is it that you intend to do," Dumbledore asked, "beyond cautiously waiting, observing it if things become more severe?"

"I – I don't know," Harry said. "Not yet, anyway... That's, er, sort of why I'm here..."

Dumbledore's tranquillity faded a little bit after this; his expression was worn and serious. "I cannot help you to lie about your relationship with Tom, Jonathan."

"It's not about that. And I'm not lying to him," Harry said defensively, "I still love him."

"Yet you hate the things he is a part of, I am sure."

"I don't have to love the Dark Ar-" Harry stopped. "I mean, I don't have to be interested in his research to love him... He isn't his work."

"He will soon become the Dark Arts, Jonathan, if he is truly as fearful as you say."

"He isn't that powerful, yet."

"Then what help do you seek from me, my dear boy?"

"When things get worse, the wizarding world will need as much help as it can get to ward off all of this," Harry told him.

Dumbledore frowned. "What makes you think this will become a problem for the whole wizarding world?"

He was treating him like he was mad, Harry suddenly realised. It must all sound like nonsense to him – but how could it, when Dumbledore himself had experienced the wrath of Grindelwald in exactly the same way? How could Dumbledore sit there and seemingly humour him about all of this?

"He's – he's gained so much power already. You must know this – you know that we gained followers from Germany, you know most of the students involved in Tom's gang at Hogwarts are still a part of this... Half of them have murdered people already, Professor. They'll continue doing so, in a few years maybe... There's going to be a time when some sort of – of counter-force will have to be organised, and –"

"Will the Ministry not suffice?" Dumbledore inquired, watching Harry over the tips of his fingers. He was sitting forwards in his chair, his hands brought together below his chin.

"I – I don't know," Harry admitted. He wasn't sure how Tom's rise to power truly began. A few of the Knights already had Ministry jobs. "Tom intends to infiltrate the Ministry, eventually..."

"These are very serious claims," Dumbledore said, thinking deeply. "Tom was an exceptionally brilliant student at this school, I cannot deny it, and I am well aware of many mysterious happenings as of late concerning a few of Grindelwald's ex-followers and a few ex-students of this school who were close to Tom... Are your claims, however, a mere projection of fear? A mere wave of uneasiness set off by the recent realisation that Tom's sort of magic is too much for you to take?"

"No," Harry said firmly, "it's nothing like that."

"Have you any proof?"

Harry's heart sank. "Proof? You know about Grindelwald's people, you know what Tom's like."

"My dear boy, I do not mean to sound imprudent, but both of those reasons were mere opinions and guesses on my part."

"You know Avery fought some of the wizards who didn't join us," Harry carried on, refusing to let this go unnoticed, "you know what all of the students close to Tom were like at school and you know they've all mysteriously gone missing for months – years – at a time. I've changed, that should be proof enough! I've taken your advice, I've listened!"

To his utter astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.

"Ah," he said, "I do believe these facts rather escaped my notice."

Harry said nothing, watching his old Professor in disbelief.

"If things are truly as bad as you describe, and if it isn't the mere horror at having woken up," Dumbledore continued, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to think the matter over a great deal... My biggest inquiry, above all else, is whether or not Tom has taken the Elder Wand from you."

Harry shook his head. "He doesn't know it's power. And before you ask, I didn't bring it here either because, well, I was scared you'd try to take it back..."

Harry resented the fact that he had to use Emeric's wand tonight. He was glad, only, that he had no reason to use it beyond Apparition.

"A rather wise decision, might I add."

Dumbledore was smiling again, that shine of humour in his sparkling eyes. Harry didn't understand it.

"Now," Dumbledore said, returning to his business-like tone, "How reliable is this spy you mentioned?"

"Very," Harry said without hesitation, glad they were getting somewhere. "He doesn't care for anything going on. He's – he's my only friend."

"Are you entirely sure of his sincerity?"

"Definitely, yeah. He tried to leave the Kn–... Tom's group, because he couldn't take it."

"Why is it that you have chosen tonight to come visit me, and not a later date, Jonathan?"

"I -"

Harry stopped. He was too nervous to know what he wanted to say. Dumbledore watched him as he bit his lips in nerves, barely breathing.

"I need to ask you for a favour..."

"Yes?"

"When things get bad," he said slowly, "I want to be sure that – that I won't lose control... I'm going to be with Tom this whole time. There's no turning back. I need... I need to know that if the worst happens, I have someone who will stop me from giving too much power to Tom. I need someone to stop me giving him my full help, or the Elder Wand, if I lose control..."

Both of them sat very still, watching each other. The fire crackled and wind pushed against the high windows of Dumbledore's room. Nothing else could be heard for a very long time. Dumbledore's eyes were full of wonder.

"Are you asking me to prevent you from carrying on, if such a thing were to happen?"

"Yeah, I... I guess so..."

Harry felt sick. He grimaced at the thought of turning back into that emotionless, hateful being Tom had made him.

"I wanted to ask him, to tell him," he said in little over a whisper. "My – my spy... but I couldn't..."

Dumbledore didn't say a word. He was watching Harry with amazement, with horror.

"You have – you _have_ to kill me," Harry said very seriously, very clearly. His eyes were burning and blurring up, but he didn't look away; he barely even dared to blink. His voice fell to a whisper as his words broke."If things get bad. I c-care too much about Tom, I... I know too – too much..."

"What do you know, Jonathan?"

"I – I..."

Tears were welling up in Harry's eyes before he could help it, but still he stared at Dumbledore, frozen by the horror that struck him at the knowledge that all of this was real. The next thing he knew,his breath was uneven and he was shuddering like mad.

"Jonathan?"

"In – in f-five years," he said shakily, in a voice so low that it could barely be heard over the crackling fire, "Y-you're going to become the he-headmaster here... at Hogwarts... D-Dippet is going to retire, and a witch named Min-Minerva McGonagall is g-going to take over your Transfiguration post... She's going to be employed h-here for a long t-rime, but a year after she starts here, T-Tom is – Tom is going to ask for the Defence Against The D-Dark Arts job again. You're g-going to refuse the offer and – and he'll be a-angry, but... but..."

"Why are you saying these things?" Dumbledore asked him, his expression serious.

"B-bec-cause I – I know," Harry managed, shaking so violently that he could barely talk. "I – I knew you... a long time ago, f-for me... I know – I know what's going to h-happen, Professor..."

In Dumbledore had been confused before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now.

"Your f-father went to Azkaban after at-attacking t-three Muggle boys and your – your sister went m-mad. Your mother died because of her. You were left to lo- to look after your br-brother Aberforth and sister Ariana on your own. You ha-had to cancel travelling the world, you were angry and – and disappointed by it. You never t-told anyone, but when you met – met Grindelwald, that changed... Y-you still blame yourself f-for her death..."

For the first time in all of Harry's memory, Dumbledore was looking at him with fear.

"- but it was his fault, Professor. It was Grindelwald, and – and you should know that."

Dumbledore looks like a ghost. Harry had never seen him so pale in all his life.

"Other things w-will keep happening," Harry carried on, guilty that he had shaken his old Professor. "There – there will be s-students you'll t-t-teach wh-who aren't even born yet. Remus L-Lupin, a student who is g-going to be attacked b-by a were-werewolf as a child... J-J-James P-Potter, who... Who will be a Gryffindor and w-who... who..."

Harry couldn't carry on. The look on Dumbledore's face was too much to take, as well as the sound of these familiar names never once spoken of in this era...

"I'm s-s-sorry," he croaked. He stood up shakily, barely finding his balance through the violent trembling of his limbs. "I – I have to go... I'll... I won't be around for a long while..."

Dumbledore never said a word. He continued watching Harry with a look of pale, gaunt dismay. That stare burned into Harry's mind, his heavy heart, and his panicked eyes as he sped out of Dumbledore's room, on the corridor beyond at once. Harry had made a huge mistake in crumbling, yet again, because of a discussion with Dumbledore. He threw an Invisibility Charm over himself as he nearly ran towards the exit of the school, hoping that no one would be around to hear his quick, uneven breathing.

Harry had to take ten solid minutes outside of Hogwarts just to calm himself down. He needed to get home as soon as possible, before Tom returned from Black's wedding. He fixed his crying eyes and blocked up nose, steadying his breathing slowly but surely, clutching at his skull. He had succeeded in telling Dumbledore what must be done if the worse came to be, if Harry himself became unreachable, inseparable from Tom due to love or force. All he had to do now was calm down and remain strong. Many troublesome, difficult years lay ahead of him...


	70. Reawakening

70 - Reawakening

The day dawned grey and rainy, but this did little to take beauty away from the quiet world outside. Dark, misty forests and rocky mountains stretched out for miles beyond the thin windows, accompanied by the sound of soft winds. Harry and Tom had rented a place from a wizard who owned a lot of property in this small, admittedly quite creepy village in northern India. The odd stillness of the world outside and the lack of sunlight didn't bother Harry, however. He was resting in Tom's arms, gazing through the tall windows and feeling so calm, none of it felt real.

Harry wished he could stay this way forever. Tom must have been awake too, for he moved ever few minutes to get closer to Harry, whose arm was wrapped around his waist protectively, his face nuzzling Tom's neck every now and then. Harry watched as the breezed swayed the dark trees, a distant, unidentifiable bird looming high above the scene, scoping activity of the quiet lands below. They watched as the world moved on, feeling ageless.

There was no way to tell how much time passed before Tom showed he was awake. He turned on the bed, facing Harry and greeting him with a tired, content smile. He kissed Harry once, his hand gliding along his bare chest, up around to his back to hold him gently. Tom continued watching Harry with half-closed eyes from this angle, smiling gently any time their gaze met.

It had been four months since Harry and Tom left England. The more time that passed, the more often days would begin like this, with both of them facing no troubles beyond a desire to stay close to each other. Harry's heart was in a flutter, his head felt light from the beauty of the world and of Tom on this dark, rainy morning. He reached up a hand to touch Tom's handsome, angular face. After all the time that went on, after all the magic they took part in, Harry found Tom as handsome now as he had found him the moment they met.

A lot of time had passed since then, Harry reflected. A lot had gone on, a lot had changed. Beyond all of this, however, his heart remained true. He still found himself lost in admiration for Tom, captivated by the tone of his voice, enthralled by every movement, every sign of affection. Tom's determination and ambition was admirable to say the least. His subtle acts of romance furthered Harry's love for him, while a need to see him happy, a need to share all of life's experience with him made Harry bound to him. It saddened him to know what he must do...

"Are you alright?" Tom asked him quietly.

Harry re-focused his eyes, tearing his gaze away from the hand on Tom's neck. He tried to arrange his expression into one that was tired and happy, if not completely unreadable. All he could do was nod reassuringly.

"I dreamt about you," Tom then told him softly.

"Did you?"

"Yes." His smile broadened at the thought. "It wasn't much different to waking life, in honesty... yet this is what's most charming about it. Every minute, every hour with you is like a dream, to me..."

This made Harry smile too. He moved a little closer to Tom.

"What did you dream of?" Tom asked.

Harry tried hard to hold onto his smile, but his heart was sinking. He realised he couldn't tell Tom what he had dreamt of. There were times when he would wake up panicked and terrified in the dead of night, unable to breathe, unable to so much as lay there shakily, hoping to not wake Tom up. His throat would burn with suppressed sorrow, his lungs aching for more breath that he denied them air in terror of letting his feelings free. Tonight hadn't been one of those nights, but he had dreamt badly nonetheless. He had dreamt of his old friends.

"I don't really remember..."

Harry knew that Tom would be comforting if he heard that Harry hadn't slept well, but Harry didn't want any comfort. He couldn't explain the extent of the guilt, the loss, and the sorrow that followed him everywhere. He couldn't explain how it felt when his mind reconstructed the faces of the boy and girl he had grown up with at Hogwarts, the friends that tried to heal him from the affects of living with the Dursleys for ten solid years of his life. He couldn't describe the horror of what he knew Tom would one day be...

"I'm just glad I'm with you," he added quietly.

Nothing was said for a moment. It was clear that Tom knew Harry wasn't being fully honest; confusion and compassion was building up behind his dark eyes. Harry was too stressed by this to hold his gaze. As a last resort, he pretended nothing was bothering him.

"It's beautiful here," he said, his eyes on the windows past Tom.

"I knew you'd like it," Tom said, turning to look back at the view. Harry was glad that this stopped his determined assessment of what Harry's expression could mean.

Harry closed the cold gap between them, taking his chance to keep Tom looking at the beautiful scenery before them. He turned more on the bed, getting comfortable with Harry's arms wrapped around him. He gave a hum of laughter as Harry's chin rested close to his shoulder. Sunlight was breaking through the thick clouds, shedding a golden hue upon the high mountains. The forest stayed dark, but it's radiant, magical beauty remained nonetheless.

"It's odd, being awake at this time of day," Harry mentioned, seeing clouds curl and expand slowly in the distance. "We'd always sleep through the day, in Albania... It's like it never stopped being night, back then."

"I know."

A lot of years felt like that to Harry, in truth. Hogwarts had been a monotonic blur, a year in Diagon Alley with Tom had been pleasant and almost normal, but after the murder of Hepzibah Smith it had all changed. Albania had been bad, but Emeric's murder made that seem like nothing. The only time this had worsened was under Tom's curse. He couldn't remember a thing. Those five months had been a living hell and Harry didn't like to think about it much.

They sat watching the day dawn for what felt like no time at all, but the mist above the forest was fading and the sun was getting higher. Tom stretched, sitting up and turning to Harry.

"We should get up," he suggested.

"It's cold," Harry responded, stretching too.

Tom smiled. "All the more reason to get dressed."

Harry didn't want to hear it. Smiling, he sat up in bed, lunging at Tom to kiss him.

"All the more reason to say in bed," he mumbled.

Tom couldn't resist when Harry pulled him back into bed, holding him closely and laughing.

A few more days passed in peace within this small, warm house. Cold winds howled against the windows as quills scratched parchment, pages turned every few minutes under the sound of conversation between Harry and Tom. They took daily trips to the vast, empty mountains nearby, venturing across rocky plains, examining the Magical Creatures that dwelt here, searching for rare magical herbs, enjoying the beauty of nature, and finding odd signs of hidden magic from wizards long since gone from this land.

One morning Harry was awoken by the sound of loud, persistent tapping on their bedroom window. He opened his eyes to a ruffled silhouette of an owl, puffed up against the cold of winter. Tom was downstairs making breakfast, unaware of the owl's presence. Harry got out of bed and headed to the window hastily, wishing to stop the jarring sound.

When his hand was on the latch of the window, he paused. Before him stood a snowy owl, handsome yet flustered by the fact that Harry wasn't hurrying to let him inside anymore. Harry continued opening the window, slowly now, as his tired mind processed memories from the far past. The owl didn't look exactly like Hedwig (Harry could see this even after eight or nine years since he last was her), but there was definitely a resemblance. It made Harry feel oddly lonely.

Tied to the owl's foot with a string was a letter. After recognising the thin handwriting at once as Nott's, Harry began untying the string more eagerly, distracted from the snowy owl. The letter wasn't very long, but it was written calmly, giving Harry only his third instalment of news from Nott since he had left England with Tom five months ago. Harry read it where he stood.

_Dear Jonathan, _

_Thank you for your last letter, your advice was both extremely helpful and wise beyond all solutions I could find in my previous state. Things are better now – I'm currently travelling with my great aunt and uncle across northern England and I expect I should be leaving my house, seeing new people, and visiting new places far more often from this point on. _

_As for all of this talk concerning the letters our Lord has received, giving further examples of the others' desires for our work to continue, I have to say first and foremost that I don't support this persistent attempt to force our Lord to come back. I don't care to list the names of those who joined into these dramatic displays of magic to catch our Lord's attention (as I'm sure you don't care to hear it, either), but I will say that it's all calmed down a bit now. Av and Dol have stopped trying to recruit all of us into a group, so I expect their enthusiasm will fade away soon enough. They'll then get on with their normal lives until our Lord changes that (if he indeed wants to)._

_Even as February grows nearer, there are no signs that winter will stop, to progress, finally, into another spring. Because of this, please excuse the owl I have chosen if he has been too noticeable wherever you are now. From what I have seen lately, there has been quite a few complaints about owls flying around England. Rubicon blends in; it's easier._

_-Christopher_

The letter was simple enough. There was no real news beyond the fact that Nott was travelling, and Avery and Dolohov had stopped bothering him (amongst quite a few others) to take part in illegal magic to alert and impress Tom (after failing almost entirely in both respects). The only part of the letter that truly interested Harry was the last paragraph. It was clear that Nott was telling him to be cautious when they exchanged letters from this point on, but Harry didn't know if this was because of the Ministry or the other Knights, or even just where Nott was travelling with his aunt and uncle.

What was more, Harry wasn't sure if Nott had mentioned the ongoing winter just to explain why his owl, Rubicon, was so snowy and noticeable beyond snow, or if he meant it as a sort of subtle, perhaps even subconscious, worry that the winter (sorrow) would not end soon. Harry knew he might be over-thinking it, but he wasn't so sure. He began reading the letter again when footsteps interrupted his concentration.

"Good morning," Tom said softly as he approached.

"You're up early," Harry commented, lowering the letter in his hands.

"I thought I might have an early start." Tom smiled before his eyes wandering to the to the snowy owl, then the letter. "It's clear you were awoken in a rather different way than I."

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely, wishing Tom hadn't seen the owl and note.

"Who's your letter from?" Tom asked.

"Nott. He wanted to tell me that he wasn't a part of all the attacks Avery started in England."

Harry tried to sound casual when he said this, but he wasn't sure how well he succeeded, until Tom made a faint gesture that might have been the beginning of him shaking his head in confusion.

"Yet we knew this already," he said.

"I know, but he was just trying to make sure we knew. It's not important."

"Well, you certainly made haste to read the letter, despite it being 'not important'."

Harry realised, then, that he was neither dressed nor at all ready for the day.

"What is more," Tom said, "if he is so cautious as to make an effort to inform both of us that he is, so he claims, entirely uninvolved in the recent events back in England, I wonder only why he addressed a letter to you, and not to I, or to both of us."

"You know what he's like," Harry said hasitily, "he doesn't want to bother you and he knows I'll tell you about any news he's brought up. Plus, he needed some advice from me."

Tom was not entirely convinced. Harry decided to carry on talking before he became more paranoid.

"He has no one to turn to. I know that his life is his own problem and you don't care what happens to the Knights unless it'll affect the work they do for you, but this _will_ affect his work for you, Tom. If this was Avery or Rosier or any of the others, they'd be able to sort it out on their own, but you know he's different."

"I do not praise my friends for distracting you with their problems like this," Tom snapped. "I cannot fathom how far away you must be before Nott will leave you alone, to me and our research, but I feel no reluctance to take you a great distance away to find out."

He was very annoyed by all of this. His eyes were burning, his teeth visible as he spoke every forceful word. Harry could tell, however, that he was grasping for excuses to be mad at Nott. He was worried and angry and he was avoiding the points Harry had made.

"He doesn't bother me – and there's no reason for you to be so bothered either. He's not a Knight we can just replace overnight; he's been with you all throughout Hogwarts, he's one of the only people who has learnt directly from you for longer than his last year or two of school, or last few years since Albania. You can't throw him away just because you're paranoid, Tom."

"I don't desire to get rid of him," Tom told him, "I desire only to stop him from contacting you so often."

"He's sent me three letters since we went away, Tom."

Tom's face twitched in annoyance.

"Look, can you just stop this?" Harry asked him. "Nothing's going on, he's not threatening anything by writing me three letters telling me about his life. He's just lonely, and I care to hear what's happening in his life. He's too valuable for us to just completely ignore."

Tom was thinking this over carefully, his nostrils flaring. "He's weaker than any of the others. He's still caught up in sentiment."

"And yet he works the hardest. He learns the fastest, Tom, and he has more skill than almost any other follower we have. We can't afford to lose him."

The only quick response Harry got from this was a long, calculating stare from Tom. He then looked away in what appeared to be distaste; a look he so often gave when his followers annoyed him, displeased him, and failed to impress him.

"I cannot object," he said in a low voice, "if you truly believe he is valuable enough for all this bother. He is not, however, worthy of my personal time. Perhaps it is best that he doesn't send letters directly to me... Take on his problems, if you must, but do not allow them to affect you."

With that, Tom turned away, his expression dour in his determination to get away. They didn't mention the issue for the rest of the day, nor for a great deal of time after this. Harry wrote back to Nott, but he didn't correspond with him very often as months passed. Spring arrived, by which time Harry and Tom had travelled to many different parts of the world together. Nothing of particular interest (beyond a few enthralling discoveries in their research) happened to them in this time. That is, until the summer arrived.

– X –

They spent four solid months in Bulgaria, which was the longest amount of time they'd stayed in one place since leaving England. Because of this, they had unpacked their luggage here more than they had in any other inn or house they rented. They had packed extremely lightly for their travels, leaving their entire collection of books back in England with a few trusted Knights, as well as a huge amount of plans, writing, research, and other forms of documentation. They sold every piece of furniture, every useless item in their house, and they travelled with four important things: broomsticks, research, clothes, and Horcruxes.

Harry was packing his trunk when he was distracted, for a minute or two by, a smaller case nestled between a few stacks of parchment and robes. The case was very long and thin, and was held together with a large number of locking charms. Within it was the Sword of Gryffindor, which Harry hadn't bad a proper look at for months now. An odd feeling of foreboding is what made him pause.

He decided to open it, after some deliberation. The sword was just like he had always remembered it: shining, powerful, and impressive, with a ruby-studded hilt and the name of Godric Gryffindor engraved on the edge of the blade. Harry didn't think any Gryffindor could be less deserving of this Sword than him. He was so distracted by this thought, he almost didn't have time to notice that something was a little off. The Sword was very still. The Sword was quiet. Harry took a moment to think about this, before he convinced himself his guilt was playing odd tricks on him – on his mind, on his senses, on his emotions.

Even when he and Tom moved the next day, however, thoughts of the Sword stuck in Harry's mind. The Sword, as his Horcrux, was a constant reminder to him of the choices he had made and the choices he was going to have to make in the near future. After seeing his Horcrux again with his own eyes, he couldn't keep his mind clear of it no matter what he tried. It reminded him that he wasn't whole. He was far from a Gryffindor. He had murdered two innocent men.

He rolled over in his bed, distressed by the very thought. The movement put a small distance between him and Tom, which he didn't close; he was too stressed for Tom's comforting touch. He wanted to forget all about his troubles, but he was unwilling to use magic, either, to fall asleep. There was something, some little nagging problem, that kept him awake. He had been thinking about Emeric's death on and off these last few months, but not one night had been as bad as when Tom first took away his Curse...

Was Harry perhaps getting used to the idea of his first murder? He didn't think so, somehow. The guilt of murder was still fresh, even now, it just didn't hurt as much. Tom wanted him to block out every thought of Emeric's death if it still caused him any pain, but Harry wasn't taking his advice, or his demands, very seriously. It no longer hurt _as _badly, which was as good as it could be, in his opinion. Yet it was curious.

Tom wasn't only scared of Harry's death, he must have been scared that by neglecting his Horcrux, Harry wouldn't be as keen to join in the Dark Arts as he had once been. The thought made Harry's stomach clench uncomfortably. If he no longer felt that overwhelming, terrifying sense of remorse and if he had indeed begun growing a conscience again, disliking the Dark Arts more and more, what had triggered it? Tom's Curse had been strong, very strong, but it can't have broken a year's worth of the Dark Arts that followed Harry's Horcrux...

Harry thought he knew the answer to all of this. As he lay awake on his side, staring into the darkness and listening to Tom's slow, deep breathing, his mind wandered to the Sword of Gryffindor. As soon as he was sure enough that he wouldn't wake Tom, he got out of bed, lighting his wand. His soft footsteps led the way. He saw that his trunk was already out, so he knelt beside it, taking out the Elder Wand to unlock it quietly.

When the case surrounding the Sword was out, Harry placed it on his knees. He paused here, holding his breath to listen for sounds of Tom awakening. When nothing could be heard beyond the sound of breathing, Harry continued. The Sword shone in the faint light as soon as the case creaked open, it's silver blade reflecting the ceiling and Harry's paused, hovering hand. Inspired by the sight, Harry touched the Sword briefly, holding his breath. It wasn't cold. It wasn't connecting to him. It wasn't _speaking_ to him.

Harry wanted to look away to deny that this was happening. His head was spinning, nauseating him on top of the thin lines of blinding light the Sword cast over his eyes. His wandlight rebounded off the sword in all directions, shaking with every small movement Harry made. He closed the case on impulse, annoyed by the distraction. He brought his hands up to his face. The Sword was dead to him. His Horcrux was gone. There was silence.

He may as well have been asleep at this point, he felt. Except his heart was pounding painfully and his hands were refusing to un-claw themselves from his scalp. He felt as if an internal organ had been coughed up through his mouth: it was useless, now, and risking his death. He felt unprotected, as if he was going to be in grave danger at any given moment. More than this, he was terrified – of his sudden mortality as well as what he was going to do to stop Tom from punishing him.

He had to stand up. He returned the case, closing the trunk and locking it hurriedly as if to distance himself from his non-Horcrux. He was stumbling towards his bed in the darkness, trying to be as quiet as he could. Where had his piece of soul gone, he wondered? Had it returned to him? Or had it drifted on into a world of nothingness, abandoning him, never again to work like a Horcrux? This was never something that Tom, or any of the Dark Arts books he knew, covered. Anyone willing to make a Horcrux, after all, wouldn't care to know what happened to their soul if the action was reversed. They wanted only to know how to avoid redemption.

He felt his way along the sheets until warm bedcovers were at arm's reach. Tom didn't stir when Harry clambered into bed next to him. He lay still with the covers drawn over him. He was caught up in thought. Was his missing shred of soul waiting in the land of nothingness to part with him only in death? He didn't feel any more whole now than he felt after the creation of his Horcrux, even if he was doubtlessly a lot more sane. A part of him, usually hidden deep within, was missing. Lost forever.

A shiver seemed to travel through Harry, unrelated entirely to his cold upper body. He moved towards Tom without thinking twice about it, placing his arm around Tom's chest until he was holding him closely. He realised now that he was shaking in fright; he hoped beyond belief that Tom wouldn't awaken to feel this. He didn't want to have to explain himself. His eyes were shut tight and he focused hard on Tom's familiar smell, on the way his heart beat for Tom's touch.

Tom's presence wasn't enough to block out Harry's thoughts, but it lightened the impact. Tom was a comfort – to feel him close by stopped that terrible, seemingly endless state of despair and unreality Harry would otherwise feel. He tried to think back to when he had last risked his own death. They hadn't done anything particularly dangerous since Italy, but things were going to get worse. Tom had plans to experiment with stranger, darker pieces of magic and Harry would have to follow. It would be risking his life, risking everything...

Tom wasn't careless, he wasn't willing to just let the two of them die at any given moment because of their Horcruxes, but death was less fearful when they couldn't die properly. Being immortal enabled them to experiment with magic that no witch or wizard had ever dared to try before. To a greater extent, they would be able to continuously experiment with the same magic again and again to understand it, without risking any permanent affects on themselves.

So the question Harry had to ask himself was: would he tell Tom about his broken Horcrux, or would he take this chance to be free from it all?

Harry would have agreed immediately to getting a new Horcrux if it weren't for two things: he feared Tom's wrath, and he had a clear memory of what making a Horcrux had done to him. Tom's Curse had been worse, of course, but his Horcrux had still left him as a lifeless, cheerless being, lacking a noticeable amount of emotion. Harry wasn't whole now and he feared what might happen if he meddled further with his shattered soul...

He wanted to escape ever having a Horcrux to preserve what little sanity he had left. Horcruxes shook him, they destroyed who he truly was. They warped his view on the world and blinded him of the thing that mattered. He hated this – and feared it – more than he feared death itself. It made him want to find other solutions, but he had only one: the Deathly Hallows.

He understood that the Hallows didn't make him immortal, but they nevertheless made him a Master of Death. The Elder Wand would guide him through any duel, the Invisibility Cloak would hide him from death itself, and the Resurrection Stone was meant to keep him sane. Sword, Shield, and Sanity. It would stop him from meeting an early death – as long as he was smart about it.

It was the Stone, especially, that caught his attention on this cold, dark night He wasn't sure if it actually brought people back to life (he thought it was more likely that it was his own projection of his dead friends that appeared before him, and nothing more), but he didn't think this was the purpose of the Stone. Death could taunt him as much as it wanted to, but with the Stone, Harry was safe. Not because he had the power to bring anyone back, but because he could remember every detail, every feeling of love and longing for those he had lost. They never left him.

Tom stirred in Harry's arms, interrupting his thoughts. Harry was tired and calmer now. He dreaded what the morning might bring, if he was to tell Tom about his discovery. He wanted to be honest, for once, to wake Tom up even now to explain what had happened, but he couldn't. He couldn't go back to Horcruxes, if it was going to take away his sanity. His mind was too important, now more than ever.

Tom protected his life to save his own intelligence: it's was a huge reason behind his craving for immortality. He lived for his research, because nothing gave him a deeper sense of satisfaction than to learn more magic than any living witch and wizard he knew. Nothing gave him more pleasure than to soar high above Muggles, above any Sorcerers with purer blood, above the terrible life he had been thrown into at birth. He loved immortality, too, to numb the pain of his dead mother. It was in spite and anger than he made himself more powerful. It made Harry wonder, often, if he thought love was a weakness, because of her.

How long would Harry be safe for with the Deathly Hallows alone? In day-to-day life, he was protected. In the paperwork and the work they did with the Knights of Walpurgis, he would be fine as long as he fought and defended himself well. But before they'd do work with the Knights again, Tom was going to experiment with a lot of new magic they'd learn in the next few years. If something went wrong, Harry could get badly hurt or die from it. If they quarrelled with other dark wizards, or were attacked by people just the same, Harry could get caught up in a bad fight...

Tom had stalled years of his research in fear that Harry would get hurt beyond repair. He had been as patient as he could be, and even if he had lost it a few times, he had succeeded, in the end, in convincing Harry to make a Horcrux. All of this was so they could be safe and work together forever. An immense wave of guild was gripping Harry, swaying his opinion back in favour of making a new Horcrux. He was beginning to realise that the idea of replacing his Horcrux took away a huge weight of fear from his shoulders. He was going to tell Tom in the morning, he decided. He was drifting off to sleep...

– X –

When he awoke, it was to find Tom laying close to him, stroking his hair behind his ear. He couldn't remember his dreams, but he didn't spare it much thought when he saw Tom's dark eyes watching him in the morning light, a smile playing on his face. He was sitting up in bed, his upper body out of the blanket. Harry moved closer to him, catching the sound of a hum of laughter.

"I must apologise for waking you, if that is not to your tastes," Tom said. "I merely couldn't refrain from seeing your face."

"S'alright," Harry mumbled, resting his head against Tom's chest. "What time is it?"

"Ten O'clock," Tom answered. "I hope you slept enough?"

In truth, Harry had only slept for four hours, but he decided not to mention that. "Yeah."

Tom didn't seem to believe him – likely because he was already falling back to sleep. It amused him. "You're still tired."

Harry opened his eyes, turning his head up to Tom once more. He remembered, in his attempt to be more awake, why he had stayed up so late. His broken Horcrux had kept him up. "I'm alright."

To his discomfort, Tom's smile faltered. Harry's voice had been unconvincing, and on top of that his expression was easily shown in his tiredness.

"Are you?" Tom asked, seriousness catching him.

Harry's stomach lurched. He propped himself up on his elbow, distancing himself from Tom. "Yeah, I'm fine. Maybe – maybe I am tired."

Tom watched him, his silence telling Harry he had seen something that unnerved him greatly. The truth.

"Did you not sleep well?"

"I – I dunno," Harry stammered lamely. His mouth was suddenly very dry.

"What did you dream of? Was it another nightmare?"

"I don't – I –"

"You should have woken me," Tom said, sounding almost offended, "You shouldn't have suffered that on your own."

Harry was too discomforted by all of this to correct Tom. Instead, he went along with it, feeling only more guilty as he did so. "I was going to wake you..."

"What stopped you?"

Before Harry could answer, an idea seemed to catch hold of Tom's attention.

"You dreamt of Emeric, didn't you?" he asked, worry back at full force. "I can see it in your expression, you're fearful!"

Harry's head felt light. "Tom -"

"That was more reason than ever to wake me!" Tom exclaimed, fuelled by Harry's clear anxiousness. "You know what you're risking! You know I'm here, I can stop that!"

"I know," Harry told him, trying hard to keep him from getting angrier still, "but I couldn't, Tom, it wasn't that important – and anyway, you have work to get done. You needed the sleep. I didn't want to worry you."

Tom was dubious. Pressure felt as if it was building up behind Harry's lungs and he tensed. Tom seemed to be determining whether or not he should cease his irritation at all of this. Eventually he did, dropping his gaze as he attempted to overrule his anger.

"It is important," he said in a low voice. "Emeric will be the death of you, if this carries on... Don't think for one moment that he's worth that much."

Harry's heart sank. It no longer mattered how much he thought about Emeric, because he had already done exactly what Tom had warned him not to do. He worried that Tom was going to place that Curse upon him again if he knew what had happened. He was caught between fearing death and fearing Tom...

To his surprise, Tom moved close to him. Instead of keeping his anger close to him, he was attempting to be gentle with Harry.

"Awaken me," he said quietly, "the second this happens again..."

He had caught Harry up in an embrace, his lips brushing the side of his neck as he pushed him back. Harry was guilty once more and it stalled his enjoyment for any of this. He soon found himself kissing Tom instead, not wanting to be comforted by him. He wanted to show Tom love, past all the lies and betrayal. Tom smiled into the kiss, pulling him closer still. They forgot about everything for a while.

– X –

The summer passed dry and scorching hot, yellowing the landscape of every country Harry and Tom passed through over the next three months. It was beginning to turn autumn when they found themselves in Provence, France, watching the trees swell and return to their green state in the downpour of constant rain. After a month or so, a slow decline into brown was seen. Golden sunlight shone through deadening trees, reflected in every hanging drop of water while it warmed the earth with what little heat it had left to give.

They remained quietly settled in another small town, this time visiting a morose couple Tom knew through lighter connections. They were quiet and liked to keep to themselves, asking very few questions about Harry and Tom and their work. Tom was only interested in speaking to the wise old father of the woman who owned this house. He did so for the next week, talking in pleasant, quick French. Eventually Tom gained the information he needed. They left the next morning, breaking in and stealing books from a house down the street the same evening.

The books contained information on magic that was very dark indeed, magic on the warping and manipulation of someone's conscious mind. Tom had read many books on the same subject, possession, but this particular information caught his attention for the sole fact that it discussed the possibility of a witch or wizard controlling mass amounts of people.

It was different than the Imperius Curse in the sense that you could only change the tendencies and atmosphere of the mind, rather than the actions of a single human being. This, of course, made it far less useful in emergancies, but placed for a long stretch of time on a mass number of people, this would have a greater chance of repression than a thousand Dementors. Spreading fear is the most efficient way of control, and Tom was willing to use this power to his full advantage.

They celebrated their success at finding these books by settling into a deserted house in the middle of a magical forest. It was a cabin further south that was used only in the summertime by a rich relative of Rosier. Tom saw no problem in breaking entry to stay the night, seeing as they didn't have their mind set on any other location in France. Rosier had let the information slip too easily, after all, and it was a good distance from the town they had fled from.

They made themselves comfortable in the small cottage, conjuring their own food and starting a roaring fire in the previously cold stone fireplace. By morning, Tom liked the place so much that he suggested they stay at least a week or two. Harry agreed honestly, but his his heart sank when Tom next mentioned that he'd like them to try out different types of magic here, so far away from curious eyes. With no excuse, Harry had to agree.

They made their usual preparations that same day. By nightfall, Tom wanted to begin experimenting on Harry's mind. The magic was slow to begin with, so they spoke to each other normally for the first hour or two while Harry felt no effect. But gradually, his spirit began to decline. He responses became slower and clouded, his mind wandering to thoughts he'd normally prefer to avoid. Thoughts of his old friends again...

"Are you alright?" Tom asked when Harry closed his eyes tightly, his palm pressed hard against his forehead.

"I'm fine," he said, "it's – it's just a headache."

"It could be psychological," Tom mused. "While the possession takes affect, while a state of depression seeps in, mere thoughts can trigger a response so strong that the mind begins to expect sickness where there would normally be none at-"

"Ginny..."

Tom's voice had fallen. The name hung in the air, spreading total stillness once Harry's eyes had opened. He was shocked at himself. Saying Ginny's name had been an immediate reaction to thinking about possession and Tom, which lead to direct thoughts about her.

"-all..." Tom finished slowly, his eyes narrowing.

Harry avoided his stare. He wasn't angry, but his curiosity was enough to inspire fear in Harry – stronger than usual due to the morphing of his perception.

"Ginny..." Tom said quietly. "If I am not mistaken, she was a girl you once dated?"

"Yeah... Yeah, she was..."

Tom couldn't hide his confusion as his eyes narrowed a little more. "What made you think about her?"

"She – well, she got possessed. It was – it's not something I've forgotten..."

Tom mulled this over, his curiosity fading. Perhaps he remembered that Harry had lost her long ago, for his expression became dark. The thought made Harry feel a surging pain.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked again, noticing him grimace.

"Yeah."

"You can fight the magic, that's the point of this lesson," Tom reminded him.

"I know..."

When had Ginny died in the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry wondered? He had wondered this numerous times, but it resurfaced in his mind still because it was an unsolvable mystery. He couldn't know the answer until he saw or heard about it...

"Try not to focus too much on subjects that torment you," Tom advised him, his tone a little less business-like than his previous instructions had been. "Even if, to others, this is the entire point of the magic. What I am more interested in seeing is the mere extent to which my alteration can reach."

Harry closed his eyes, nodding, trying to relax. Tom was obsessed with magic concerning the mind. Memory Charms, enchantments for alteration, possession, potions to bring back the past – anything that could torment those who were 'weak' – fascinated Tom like no gore, no torture, no bodily alteration could. To control mass amounts of people was even more interesting still.

"What I am most curious about is the extent to which negative emotions – depression, in short – can reach. If I were able to convince a mass number of people to throw away their lives, for example, for positively no reason at all beyond an inability to stop their minds filtering the world for negativity, I would have power over a great deal of things. I could be responsible for killing off any human beings – common Muggles, threatening enemies, workers at the Ministry – with absolutely no evidence left behind."

Harry's brow furrowed, a sinking sensation gripping him. "So, this experiment... what you're trying to determine is whether I'll try to kill myself just from you changing my perception?"

"Yes, in short," Tom said, sounding indifferent. Seeing Harry's widened eyes, he added, "I shan't let you succeed. It's for the mere sake of understanding this magic, since we're low on other wizards to practice on currently -"

"What if I succeed?" Harry asked abruptly. "You'll just let that happen?"

"In suicide? I shan't let it happen, my love."

"But this is experimental magic," Harry pointed out in disbelief, "You can't know what I'll do or – or even if I'll be able to shake this off once you're done experimenting -"

"Don't allow yourself to be so panicked, my dear."

"How can't I?" Harry demanded, his heart beating madly in his chest, as if it was just catching onto the idea that this might be the end. "That's the point of this! And if I can't shake it off then you can't fix it!"

Harry was thinking of Ginny, of his other friends again. He was never going to know what happened to them if he died now. He would join them in death after fixing nothing, changing nothing, all in the name of helping the dark wizard who killed them.

"That's why being immortal is vital. We shan't have to go looking for others to risk the lives of so soon."

"What about my life?" Harry asked, his hands shaking violently. "You didn't tell me any of this!"

"The chances of you suffering any permanent damage from this magic is slim -"

"But it's possible! You said there was a chance!"

"You're immortal, my love, you cannot d-"

"Take this off of me," Harry warned him in a low, shaking voice, jumping up from the bed he was sitting on.

"Harry -"

"You can't do this!" he exclaimed shrilly. "You can't just risk my life like it means nothing to you!"

Tom stood up too, bewilderment taking over his face. "I'm not going to let anything happen -"

"I don't care what you say! Just take this off!"

Harry's head was spinning; it felt as if the whole room was closing in on him, as if every breath he took was poison. He had to stop this magic; that's all he knew. He was panicked and cowering, gasping for breath. He was fading away – he knew he was. He was going to die.

"Harry-"

"TAKE THIS OFF OF ME!"

For the first time in a long while, Tom looked close to fearful. Harry could sense it when the magic began to loosen, seeping away from him. His paranoia subsided, his horror, agitation, and fear fell away. He was left staring at Tom across the room, breathing heavily, thinking quickly. Neither of them moved.

"Do you not trust me?" Tom asked him. His eyebrows were creased.

"I – I was too scared to."

Tom was not amused by this. He seemed to think it was an excuse, until a thought struck him. "The magic is strong, evidently."

Harry still felt shaken, his voice strained. "Yeah..."

Tom examined the way he stood several feet across the room, trying to recover. An odd look crossed his face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have explained the magic to you more clearly..."

Harry tried to shrug it off. "It's over now..."

"Yes."

They stood there for a time, doing nothing more than watching each other. Harry had come to the realisation that sooner or later he was going to have to make a new Horcrux, or he'd disappear without being any use at all in life. He suddenly shared a desire with Tom to say bound to earth for the sake of his work, but their reasons for it were very, very different indeed.

Tom was surprisingly understanding about the situation. This may have been because of guilt, or because Tom knew how terrifying the risk of death was, or because Tom believed the magic was so strong that it could easily have caused a reaction on Harry like this – seeing as he knew the cause of his terrible thoughts. Harry didn't care to know why Tom was kind about it; he was too busy trying to feel relief while his thoughts wandered to darker subjects.

He knew, now, that he would never have died from the magic Tom had attempted on him tonight, but this didn't make him regret that he had forced Tom to cease the experiment. It might have gone too far – even to the point where Harry told Tom about some secrets he had sworn to keep forever. It was safer to avoid it. What is more, Harry had learnt a valuable lesson from all of this.

He wasn't ready to die. He wasn't ready to risk his life, because there was a reason for him to carry on living. He had the chance to change what had happened in his past. He could spare hundreds, even thousands, of lives if he carried on living his life fully with Tom. If he did not, he meant nothing. If he died so soon, he would never know whether he could change the future...

For the next few days Harry did a lot of deep thinking. Tom was busy with his work, writing down his opinions on the experiment before he wrote theories on what greater uses he could see for the magic as a whole. He then got to his favourite part: listing ideas for how he might manipulate the magic in different ways to not only expand its use, but to discover new concepts that no other witch or wizard had succeeded in finding before.

Harry helped on and off by giving his opinions and pointing out any mistakes or misunderstandings in Tom's writing itself, but he hadn't given the new magic much thought and his concentration was weakened. Tom didn't seem to notice it very much, he was too enthralled by his new discoveries. He wrote down future plans for how he might introduce this new magic to his Knights. Harry couldn't help but enjoy his enthusiasm.

One evening, however, Harry couldn't stand keeping his terrible secret from Tom. He he spent much of the day outside, admiring the huge pine trees that grew for miles, creating a vast home for an endless amount of creatures. It was cold and raining lightly outside. When Harry returned to the cottage Tom was waiting for him, having finished his work early.

"Come," Tom beckoned, "let us warm up by the fire."

Harry followed him through the open bottom floor of the cottage. In the centre of the house there was a chimney, facing one room – the living room – but giving off enough heat to warm the kitchen, entrance hall, and the rooms upstairs too.

Tom made the fire more roaring with a wave of his wand. He then took a seat beside Harry, wrapping an arm around him as they sat close, gazing into the flames. All of this subtle kindness might have been Tom's attempt at an apology for practising that magic on him, Harry thought. Tom's long fingers entwined themselves in his own. He leant his head on Tom's shoulder, as if in forgiveness.

Tom spoke to him about the work he had finished today, discussing plans for their next project as well as suggesting where they might move to after their short stay here. Harry listened as best he could, but again his mind wandered elsewhere. For over an hour they sat like this, until the right kind of silence fell for Harry. In that moment, he knew he had to tell the truth.

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

It was as if Tom had been waiting for him to talk.

"There's something I have to tell you..."

Tom's attention was fixed on him, his patience endless tonight. Harry almost didn't want to tell him, but he knew he had to. He took a deep breath.

"I think... Well, I know that something's happened..."

"What is it?" Tom asked, his expression serious.

"It's just..."

Harry didn't know where he was supposed to begin, or what he was supposed to stay to stop Tom from slipping into a state of fury the moment he heard about all of this. He wanted to avoid Tom's anger by just suggesting he should make a second Horcrux, but he couldn't stand to lie again, this time. He needed the truth.

"Emeric won..." Harry told him in little over a whisper, staring into Tom's dark, confused eyes. "I'm – I'm mortal..."

There was a long, stunned silence. Tom didn't seem to move a muscle as he watched Harry, but his eyes showed all signs of anger, terror, confusion, and hurt.

"Since when?" Tom asked him in a deadly voice.

"Since – since our last few days in Bulgaria. But it must have happened a long time before that, maybe as soon as you broke your curse in me. Tom, don't think I lied, I just – just couldn't tell -"

Tom stood up, stricken by all of this too intensely. He seemed to want to distance himself from Harry, to give his thoughts room to grow behind his pained, furious eyes.

"It's al-alright," Harry stammered, "I'm still alive, aren't I? I'm still -"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tom hissed through his teeth, pacing the room in delirium.

"I'm telling you now," Harry said, "Nothing's happened, I – I wasn't sure I'd need to fix this so soon -"

"You thought you'd be fine walking around as a mortal without telling me?" Tom asked in disbelief. "How could you think such a think for a _second_? You know how dangerous the work we do is! You know of the risks we face every single day as we travel like this across the world, meeting who knows what at every turn!"

"I know," Harry said, "I just-"

"You just what?" Tom demanded. "I beg you to tell me what could possibly have gone through your mind, beyond a morbid desire to run the risk of choosing death over me – even in spite!"

"It isn't my fault that the Horcrux broke," Harry reminded him forcibly, "You know how complicated all of this is."

Tom's anger deepened. His paranoia then seemed to follow. "It would not surprise me if you had done all of this on purpose. "

"What do you mean?"

"Have you perhaps told Nott of our most secretive work in the letters the two of you so confidently share? I would not be surprised if it were that you and he had destroyed your Horcrux to spite me. This would be a mere rise of guilt for a betrayal you cannot undo."

Harry was bewildered, lost for words to understand how Tom had created such a mad theory. "Why would I tell him – or anyone – that I'm immortal with you? You think I don't want to be with you? You don't think I want to live forever too, to keep both of us alive for as long as possible?"

"I don't know what desires you share with Nott, but I'm sure my immortality means little to you now."

"And what, you think I'd risk both of our lives for Nott? Tom, all I talk to him about is his work and his life! We have the Sword upstairs, you can see it hasn't been destroyed. There's no way I could have done all of this just to betray you – don't you understand what this is about?"

"What?" Tom spat, "What is this about?"

"I never killed Emeric for the right reasons," Harry explained. He had to raise his voice when he said, "How else could a Horcrux be destroyed without you knowing?"

Tom was breathing heavily, trying to take control of his own anger.

"Your life is too valuable!" he said aggressively, "You should have warned me the moment you even _suspected_ you might be mortal! Everything we're working for – everything we've ever existed for in our entire lives – depends on your remaining immortal with me!"

"I know that, Tom. Of course I know."

"Do you not love me? Do you not care to be with me forever? This is vital to everything, as I have so clearly informed you on countless fucking occasions!"

"I was scared," Harry told him, desperately trying to make him undersand.

"Of what?"

"Of that Curse... I didn't want you to put it back on me, I didn't want to become that – that person again... but you won't have to use that again."

"You're mistaken," Tom hissed, "you clearly cannot live without it."

"Not with a Horcrux from Emeric, I couldn't. But since that Horcrux is broken anyway, we don't have to worry about my soul trying to repair itself for him. I think I should make a new one instead... I don't know if I'll ever be able to make one from Emeric's death, but he isn't the only person I killed, remember? I can make a better Horcrux."

Tom's eyes had widened. He was watching Harry steadily, thinking all of this over, his anger put to the side. He was disbelieving, calculating.

"You'll make a Horcrux?"

"Yes," Harry said. His voice was calm.

"It would certainly solve a few problems," he mused. "You shan't break it with any remorse for you most recent murder, and -"

Very swiftly, very sharply, a mad grin fell across his face.

"You may remorse over Emeric, but a new Horcrux will use use a different section of soul entirely!"

"So, it'll work then?"

"Yes," Tom beamed, "yes, I think it will!"

Tom's voice was quivering in happiness. The next thing Harry knew, he advanced towards the couch, sitting down besides Harry in haste. His pupils had dilated visibly, his breath held in awe and disbelief.

"This will be better than ever," he whispered, "this shall fix all of the complications we previously faced with Emeric's murder!"

This expression of happiness was so overpowering that it unnerved Harry; he hadn't seen Tom so overjoyed since the first time he said he'd make a Horcrux. Just like last time, Tom's first response seemed to be to reward him in idolisation.

He kissed him once, and again, grinning as he cupped Harry's face in his hands. His eyes were still mad a few inches from Harry's, a breath of laughter escaping his lips.

"It's perfect," he said in a hushed voice, watching Harry as if he were some great treasure, "a new Horcrux will be perfect..."

Harry was almost proud that he had struck such happiness, wonderment, and admiration in Tom. Even in his state of joy, however, an odd form of sorrow seemed to hit Tom. He seemed to wince.

"I risked your life," he said. So delicately, he held Harry.

Harry could see pain within Tom that he had never seen in his life. His chest rose and fell, his hand still cupped over Harry's jaw as they sat close.

"I'm alive," Harry reminded him, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. "I'm still with you."

Tom seemed to want to say something, but he couldn't find the words. Instead, he urged Harry into an embrace. It was as if he felt that by wrapping his arms around Harry, having him hold him, and pressing his lips to his forehead, he might be able to protect the soul within him. Harry realised then that Tom was shaking.

"We shall make your new Horcrux as soon as possible... by tomorrow night..."

Harry closed his eyes, his ear pressed against Tom's chest. He listened to his heart beating for a long while, glad, at the very least, to find that the truth was sometimes better to tell.

– X –

After little thought, Harry decided to reawaken a Horcrux in the Sword of Gryffindor. It would be a waste of other interesting magical artefacts if he were to choose a different object, after all, and he wanted very badly to avoid using the Ring as his own. Tom kept pushing the idea, but not only did Harry not was to disrupt history, he also wanted to avoid tampering with the Resurrection Stone. So the Sword it was.

They made his Horcrux here, in this comfortable cottage alone in France. Harry had to admit that once they had preformed such a dark piece of magic, the place didn't feel the same again. He was aware of the fact that it might be his own perception that was warped by a lesser soul, but he wasn't entirely sure. The place felt cursed.

The process of making a Horcrux itself had gone almost exactly like last time. They spent three more days in France to allow Harry to heal and they planned to move down to Spain for the first time after this. Since he knew what to expect, Harry felt as if creating a Horcrux this time wasn't so bad. He was sure, however, that the sound of his agonised voice still rang in Tom's ears as clearly as it rang in his own.

Harry wasn't sure how much of himself he lost in the months that passed. He found himself agreeing to take part in pieces of Dark Magic with far more ease than before and he felt more confident in the work he took part in, but still, when he lay awake at night, he thought of his friends. He loved Tom, no matter how mutated his soul became, but his friends were his main reason for living onwards. They would need him more than Tom ever would.

Harry often daydreamed of the future, of the past. The idea of using a time-turner to skip twenty-six years into the future, to watch Voldemort's downfall, had crossed his mind a few times, but even if he had access to the Ministry of Magic, had knew that the chances of obtaining a strong enough time-turner to go that far into the future were slim. The only time-turners Harry had ever actually seen changed a few hours of time at most. It was a difficult type of magic.

Instead, Harry lived life the best he could with Tom. He was not opposed to this. Six months after leaving the cottage in France, Harry and Tom were in South America, exploring the lands there to settle much of their curiosity and interest. They were moving up higher on the earth before a piece of news from home pulled them both to a steady, contemplative stop. Armando Dippet had retired from his post as Headmaster of Hogwarts School, to be replaced by no one other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore must be enthralled," Tom commented through gritted teeth, still clutching the letter from Lestrange in his hands, "Headmaster of Hogwarts School... Why Dippet decided to resign this year, I have no idea."

Harry couldn't help but laugh a little. "He's ancient. You can hardly expect much else."

"You would think that, being over three hundred years old already, staying a mere few more years at the school wouldn't be an impossible task."

"Dumbledore has pretty much been running Hogwarts for him though, hasn't he? Honestly Tom, this isn't something worth getting mad about."

"It's definitely worth getting mad about! The chances of me becomong a teacher at Hogwarts now are close to impossible," Tom said. He was very irritated indeed. "I had a chance of convincing Dippet to let me teach once I aged a few years, but that's gone now..."

"Dumbledore would have found a way to stop you, you know he could have. He would have just made up other excuses."

Tom's nostrils flared. He must have known Harry was right.

"I must write back to Lestrange..."

The subject was dropped from this point on.

Tom's irritation towards Dumbledore faded over the next few months, or he at least made a habit of ignoring the subject completely any time it was touched. While Dumbledore was surely busy running Hogwarts on his own, Harry and Tom were back in Europe. They spend the spring and summer moving further east, but when the leaves began to wilt once more, Tom wanted – in secret – to return to the UK. They were going to begin hiding Horcruxes.

Tom wanted to visit a cave he had had a particularly gruesome and important history with, a cave he had visited as a boy with his old orphanage. They stayed in a quiet inn under fake names, as usual, but Tom was in no rush to even begin visiting the cave. Harry had a suspicion that Tom was returning to the United Kingdom for more reason than he had so far admitted, but he hadn't pushed the subject. He had other questions he wanted to ask first, about the cave.

"If you visited this place with your orphanage," Harry began, "why is it somewhere you're happy to keep a Horcrux safe in?"

"I thought the answer might be obvious."

They were making their way across a vast landscape, the sea visible far ahead of them.

"It was proof," Tom explained, "that I had greater skill than anyone had ever admitted to me... The cave should have been impossible to get to. I should have died trying, had I not had the ability to use magic, even then."

"But you knew the cave was there," Harry pointed out. "How?"

"I went exploring," Tom said, looking out at the soft, wild grass and wheat that bowed in the harsh wind.

Sunlight shone on the distant sea, but thick clouds loomed above them, giving the land an odd lighting. The dark forests behind them only heightened the affect.

"I found a snake – or I should say, she found me. I was so enthralled to find another one, I left the rest of the orphans to follow her, to talk to her. Only, I too was being followed, by two of the others."

"And the snake led you to the cave?"

"She led me towards the sea. From the edge of this cliff, I could see the cave down below. I was so inspired by my power to understand snakes, I decided to test my abilities further. I was even able to allow the two Muggles to join me, all in my determination to be sure that others saw my greatness..."

Harry and Tom had reached the cliff's edge. They could indeed see the cave looming far below, a darker slit in the rough, distant surface of rock. The tide was low, but still there was a hint of salt carried up in the harsh winds. It must have been at least a fifty foot drop to the sea itself.

"I never questioned my abilities from that day on," Tom finished. "This cave led me to the discovery that one day, in spite or everything, I would be great..."

Waves crashed against the dark surface of the rock, audible even past the sound of cold wind and Tom's soft voice. The sun was setting.

"What happened to those two Muggles?" Harry asked him quietly.

Tom was silent for a long time. Harry knew what answer he'd give before he even gave it.

"I'd rather not say."

One look at Tom's face dissolved Harry's curiosity. Tom's attention lingered on the cave far ahead of them, his expression too blank to be sane. They went down the side of the cliff soon after this, examining the structure of it and deciding what they might do with it over the next few months. Harry couldn't shake off a feeling of uneasiness until they were back at the inn, a long way away from the strange place Tom was so powerfully drawn to.

It was a month after being back in England when Harry realised why Tom had decided to stay here for a short while. He was not (despite previous suggestions), at all over the fact that Dumbledore had become Headmaster of Hogwarts. In fact, he was still so furious about the change of staff that he himself wanted to make another small change to the school. He wanted to curse the Defence Against the Dark Arts job for as long as it would take before Dumbledore accepted him.

"It is a flawless plan," Tom assured him joyously the night he admitted all of this. "Professor Merrythought retired only three years ago, but with ease I shall force her replacement to give up his post as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher by Christmas. Dumbledore will have no choice but to consider my offer on such short notice."

"So you want the job?" Harry asked, wanting to make this all very clear. "And what am I supposed to do when you're off at Hogwarts teaching the Dark Arts for ten months a year?"

"Join me," Tom suggested playfully, "I can Curse another job until it's yours."

Harry smiled a little. "Dumbledore isn't stupid. He's too suspicious of you, Tom."

"I know he is. But obtaining a teaching post at Hogwarts isn't my only reason for doing all of this."

"How so?"

"I wish to hide a Horcrux there, up at the school," Tom told him. "Not only is Hogwarts an incredibly safe location, but I have a hiding place in mind. To keep a piece of my soul there, within the heart of the castle... well, that's better than any teaching post could be."

"That's brilliant," Harry said, his mind wandering to other things.

"Until Dumbledore resigns – perhaps for a more seemingly admirable job – I shall have to remain patient. I shall continue to focus on our more important work if I cannot get this job soon... but Dumbledore will not win. I'll be waiting for the right time to strike."

"How long do you think it'll take before you get another chance like this?"

Tom sneered happily. "Since the job will be cursed, every year from this point on will be another chance for me to join that school. Dumbledore is vain, and power-hungry at heart; he will likely take up the next offer he's given to become the Minister for Magic. After defeating Grindelwald, this is only the next logical step. An attempt at modesty is what keeps him bound to Hogwarts; his loyalty to the school is nothing more than a stunt to ensure more people will vote for him."

Harry knew Tom was entirely wrong about this, but he never said a word.

They finally met some of the Knights again after another month. Tom had finished cursing the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. The current teacher was due to send in his resignation papers at the end of November, to quit the school by the time the Christmas holidays starting in December. Tom received a letter from Lestrange informing him about the new post open up at the school and, after a few days of waiting, Tom sent a letter back pretending he was only just returning to England for it.

Tom parted with Harry to stay at Lestrange's house for the next two weeks, but Harry met up with him again, as well as all the other Knights, at a celebration Lestrange held for Tom's return. None of the others suspected that Harry had been travelling with Tom, because a lot of the Knights hadn't seen each other since Rosier's wedding.

"To the Knights of Walpurgis!" Tom toasted happily, causing grins to spread across the faces of the sea of followers before him.

"To the Death Eaters!" a second voice cried out, a jeering laugh following.

Harry turned in bewilderment to see that Avery had proposed a toast to this.

"Death Eaters?" Gonson repeated in confusion.

"You didn't hear about the group Avery lead in dedication to Tom these last few years?" Rosier asked. "While the Knights waited, the Death Eaters were impatient."

"And now Voldemort's back, things'll carry on better than ever!" Dolohov added thickly, clearly satisfied by all of the recent events.

"So you made an entirely new group?" Gonson asked. "Why?"

"For those most loyal!" Avery grinned. "We had some great times waiting for Voldemort's return, I can tell you that much..."

As Avery began to explain what had happened over the last three years (backed up harmoniously by an eager Dolohov and Mulciber), Harry stopped listening. He had no interest in the crude, immature going-ons of the Knights too loyal to carry on with their own lives. Tom was in deep conversation with some of the more respected Knights, catching up with them as best he could in such a short amount of time.

Tom explained to them where he had been and where he planned to go next, all in the name of his work and research. Many of the Knights wanted only to know if he would stay here to continue leading their group. Tom gave an indefinite answer. When word got around that Tom was about to go for an interview to become a teacher at Hogwarts, many of the Knights volunteered and insisted upon joining him – at least to Hogsmeade.

That was the first night Harry spoke to Nott again. He, as well as Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov, and others, had been chosen to follow Tom up to Scotland, to protect him if all else failed. Lestrange, perhaps to Nott's relief, felt it would be wiser if he avoided even distant contact with Dumbledore, to ensure that Tom would always have a safe place to return to. The Knights were very protective of Tom (and Lestrange was very protective of his own name and reputation).

Nott was pale and thinner than before when Harry saw him, but he didn't seem to be at his very worst. He was, at the very least, comforted by Harry's presence. They didn't speak immediately; they waited for some of the other Knights to begin talking amongst themselves before they engaged in any sort of proper conversation.

"You've come from a long way away, I'm sure," Nott commented.

"Not too far, recently," Harry admitted.

"Still, it has to mean a lot for you to come here just for a teaching post."

He meant 'you' as in both he and Tom, Harry was sure. "It means a lot to him."

Harry wasn't even sure what the Knights thought of Tom's enthusiasm for this job. They seemed to understand it on some level – at least enough to follow him as loyally as ever – but it must have been a slight surprise. They wanted him to be the leader of a great gang, not to spend his time intellectualizing the education of young witches and wizards.

Through the falling snow, Nott was watching him. Harry could see himself more clearly in the faces of the Knights than in any mirror he knew. It was the expressions of surprise and shock, of wonder, curiosity, fear, confusion, and uneasiness that told Harry he had changed a lot more than he once thought. Nott knew Occlumency too well to leave his mind open, and he was rarely so judgemental, but the time he spent watching Harry spoke for itself.

"Have you been alright?" Nott asked him.

His voice was low, but casual. If the Knights had noticed him speaking, his tone would have dulled their hearing. Harry had a sudden moment of guilt: he had changed and Nott would see that. It was only to be expected from being away for so long, but it made him more determined to act like he had always acted.

"I've been fine," he said. "Things have been alright."

Nott smiled a little, but got distracted when the other Knights called his name. They were heading further into town.

"We're all going to go visit the Hog's Head," Nott explained, "if you want to join us."

Harry gave it a moment's thought, but decided it was too risky. He shook his head.

"Thanks, but I'd rather go wait outside Hogwarts."

Nott nodded. "I understand. Well, I'll see you around then."

"Yeah..."

Without hesitating for too long, Nott turned away. Harry was left standing alone in the snow, thinking about the events going on at Hogwarts. He turned in the direction of the great castle, fading into the shadowy, snowy night.


	71. In Momentum

71 – In Momentum

Harry ran. He staggered and stumbled, keeping his eyes fixed determinedly on the darkness before him. It was all he could do as danger approached. There was no turning back. Shadows were engulfing him, confusing him, as he held his lit wand high up in a fist. It did nothing to light up the dry, hard ground beneath his feet. The earth shook and echoed like the beat of a drum at every heavy step, adding to the sound of panicked breath tearing through his lungs.

His determination was faltering. Panic must have caught up with him: it expressed itself in the terrified glance he cast over his shoulder. Grindelwald was close. He was advancing quickly, his followers' voices rising up as one as they charged. Harry was terribly outnumbered.

"_CONFRINGO!_" he shouted, throwing a spell back at them blindly. "_EXPULSO! AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

Grindelwald's people were shouting in panic now. Flames had erupted around them, spreading quickly over the dead, dry grass. This encouraged Harry greatly and inspired him; he stopped running for the first time tonight. He faced the advancing wizards bravely, a smile spreading across his face. Raising his wand, he began to use the last curse he'd need to win – Fiendfyre.

The cursed fire spread so quickly, it was an amazing sight to behold. Dragons and Lions of flames ate up wizards in seconds, growing tremendously large and intimidating all those who cowered near. It had put enough distance between Harry and Grindelwald to give him time to run. Only, the fire spread his way too. It hissed through the grass, roaring up towards the heavens as it greedily took in all it could for further fuel and strength.

Harry was running again, terrified yet bearing a grin at his own creation, which awed and amused him still. He fled from the scene, running faster than he'd ever ran before as the fire drew nearer, taking over total darkness, meeting his heals and cloak and robes and -

Tom's eyes flew open. He lay on his back in bed, sweating lightly, caught up in the sheets that surrounded him. His heart was bearing fast. He turned to his left and reached for Harry, but he found no one was there. This was no real surprise, seeing as Tom was currently staying alone at Lestrange's house, but he felt disappointed nonetheless. He yearned for Harry to be close. The dream he had awoken from filled him with both fear and admiration. Admiration for Harry's bravery, for his willingness to fight, and fear for the Fiendfyre he was surely unable to control...

Tom's hand grasped the empty sheets, pulling the cold material to his warm palm. Amusement reached his lips; Lestrange had doubtlessly given him the finest bedcovers available to any guest. He might, even, have reserved these fine sheets just for Tom. He wished only that he had Harry to share them with. To calm his vague sense of worry, he reminded himself that Harry, in the dream, could have Apparated away. Harry was smarter than to die from his own fire, after all. He was more cunning, more intelligent...

Slowed in his tired state, Tom's thoughts were disorganised. He breathed out heavily, running a hand over his face as he wondered what time it was. Morning hadn't yet broken. Tom wasn't tired; he had gone to bed early to wake up before dawn, to get his work in order before leaving Lestrange's home. It was the end of his second week away from Harry and although they would be meeting up tonight, Tom was distracted by a desire for him to be close now. The dream made him fear that something was wrong. He was tempted to slip away from the house to go pay Harry a visit.

He glanced at a clock sitting on a table nearby. It was five O'clock in the morning. He wouldn't have to be up until at least seven, and the inn was only minutes away, via Apparition. Tom enjoyed the idea of meeting Harry in these early hours, seen by no one on his way to that quiet place. He knew he would be distracted by this thought, distracted by the need to hold Harry in his arms all day if he did not do something about it now.

So he got out of bed and changed into simple robes. Casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself, he slipped out of Lestrange's house without notice.

The inn was locked when Tom arrived there, but the locks were so simple to break, he wondered if the innkeeper had even tried. The sun hadn't even begun to rise yet. Theories of murders played on Tom's mind as he closed the door of the inn behind him, passing quietly through the narrow passageway. He made his way to the staircase. He knew which room was Harry's.

The locks on Harry's room were harder to break, but at first Tom didn't bother; there was light behind the door. He smiled. Knocking lightly, he waited for an answer. When he got none, his smile fell. He unlocked the door, stepping inside, apprehension finding him. Harry was asleep in bed, but he had left the lights on. It occurred to Tom that Harry didn't want to be surrounded by darkness. The thought made him pause. He knew Harry must have been sleeping badly lately.

Tom was glad he had shown up here. He wondered how he could have known something was wrong as he made his way towards Harry's bed, sitting down on one side of it. He reached out a hand to brush hair from Harry's face. He stirred a little.

"Good morning," Tom said softly.

Harry's eyes opened slowly, peacefully. When he saw Tom, a smile reached his lips. The sight sent adoration soaring through Tom's very chest.

"'Morning," Harry mumbled tiredly. "What're you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," Tom said. "I dreamt of you."

Harry seemed glad to hear it. His beautiful eyes were shielded when he stretched. Tom watched when they opened again; Harry gazed at him with a tired, satisfied look. He reached out a hand to stroke the side of Harry's face.

"Are you alright?"

"Of course, yeah," Harry answered. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"The lights were on."

Harry shot a glance at the lantern on the table next to him, rubbing his tired face when the light him. "Must have forgot to put it out."

Tom wasn't convinced, in honesty. He wanted to know what had happened. "Did you not sleep well?"

"I slept fine," Harry said. His voice was too monotonic. Tom took this as a conformation that he hadn't.

He decided not to push the subject, lest that should annoy Harry. "It's been days since I saw you properly," he commented.

"I know."

"I've missed you."

The claim seemed to lighten Harry's mood. He sat up in bed, put his hands around Tom's waist, and gazed at him happily, unable to remove a smile from his face. "It's good you're here," he said. "I've missed you as well..."

Tom gave a hum of laughter, which he was sure Harry felt when they kissed. Harry was already blissfully unclothed. Tom was tempted to join him in this immediately, but there was no need; it was early, so they may as well enjoy the precious time they had together on this cold winter morning. Tom looked down at Harry fondly, running one hand through his hair and another down his back. Harry craved his touch, moving into it, the bedsheets covering the lower half of his body.

"You have that interview with Dumbledore later," he mentioned with eyes closed.

"Yes," Tom said, "later in the evening... Bring me good luck, won't you?"

He kissed Harry's neck, pulling him in closer.

"I'll try," Harry murmured.

Tom didn't think twice about this claim. He slid both of his hands to Harry's back, lost in desire.

"It must have been a good dream," Harry mumbled, smirking.

Tom looked at him. The sight of his green eyes full of such desire was too much to take. He cupped Harry's face again, breathing deeply.

"It was nothing sexual," he admitted, his voice slowed by desire. "You were merely fighting. You fought powerfully..."

An odd look crossed Harry's face. It stayed for only the faintest second. Tom couldn't place it, since Harry knew Occlumency too well, but if he had to guess, he'd say it was a look of disappointment, of regret. Or something... Had he wished for a less dull dream?

Tom learnt in, kissing Harry fully and moving closer until, without knowing which one of them encouraged it, Harry fell back on the bed. Tom ran a hand down his chest, gazing at him as he hovered above, very pleased with his choice to come here at all.

Stroking Harry's hair back, Tom took in the sight of his handsome face. "You're beautiful, you know..."

A smile overrode all other expressions on Harry. "So are you..."

They didn't say much more past this. All Tom wanted was for them to lay close, to enjoy this quiet meeting. Harry agreed with this unspoken plan; they spent a long while after this caught up in each other's desire, sharing a connection beyond words. When both of them were satisfied enough, they spent thirty, forty minutes laying in a close embrace, halfway between sleeping and waking. They spoke of how they cared, how they adored one another, basking in the overpowering glory of it. By the time Tom left, he was intoxicated by the love he felt for Harry. His soul mate...

By half past six, Tom was back in Lestrange's house getting ready for the day. He hadn't been missed so early; barely anyone was awake. After changing into proper robes and preparing for the important day ahead of him, Tom spent another hour drafting letters and fixing some notes he had written down the night before. There was a knock on his door at eight O'clock. A servant informed Tom that he was invited to join Lestrange and his wife Galatea for breakfast – an offer that he took with politeness and without hesitation.

They spoke of pleasant, meaningless subjects Purebloods were fond of discussing during any event involving guests in fine manors like this one. Tom found amusement in his acquaintance with Galatea. She hated having him in her home. During Lestrange's wedding, she had shown an extent of distaste for him that made Lestrange visibly panicked for three quarters of the day. She had thought, initially, that his stress was caused not by her behaviour, but by the extravagance and pressure from their wedding as a whole.

When Tom had proven himself worthily informed and connected to the most Pureblooded families in Britain – as well as many further countries – her behaviour towards him had changed. After all, Lestrange, as well as many guests, treated Tom with the utmost respect. Galatea realised all of this with caution and dubiousness. Her snobbishness turned to intimidation and respect. Tom had spent every interaction pleasantly ignoring her existence ever since.

He was sure she feared him now, like Raphael. She held her seven- and five-year-old sons Rabastan and Rodolphus close to her when he was near, shooing them away to the servants and tutors when she could. Tom was glad of this, for the presence of small children irked him greatly. Neither Galatea nor Raphael seemed particularly sympathetic to their children – at least not around guests. It made Tom wonder if it was for the mere sake of keeping a Pureblooded line that people bred at all.

He wondered idly if his appearance scared the Lestranges. He had changed a great deal since he had first met Galatea almost seven years ago, after all. She was put off by his changed, higher voice, his bloodshot eyes and his almost burnt skin, even if she had never liked him for his good looks in the past. His fading face alarmed people. It made them suspicious of where he had been.

"You must travel far for your research, I am sure?" Galatea suggested knavishly in the first week of Tom's stay. "Raphael has of course spoken highly of you these last few years."

"Has he?" Tom asked calmly, giving Lestrange a politely quizzical look that he was sure unnerved him greatly. It was easy to evade her question. "I was under the impression that he spoke very little of me these last few years. My story is, after all, a boring one, full of much research and dire tales of the work I aid."

"You don't work alone then?" she asked, pushing the subject with full force, it seemed. "If you are a mere aid in a field of work and research, that is."

Tom forced a convincing smile. Her persistence irked him; he knew it was result of Raphel letting too much information slip.

"I do not believe that any occupation could be anything more than a mere contribution to a preexisting field of work," he said. "Knowledge is, after all, the result of enthusiasm being struck in new minds as dying professors, artists, masterminds, philosophers, and general witches and wizards begin to fade..."

Which, by the same note, was why immortality was so important to Tom. If a single mind were to comprehend an infinite number of years, an infinite escalation and development of thoughts and ideas, researches and studies, history and theories to explore, that single mind would be more powerful than any preceding it.

"I must say, you have a fine way with words," Galatea said, subtly noting his ability to avoid direct answers. "I must assume, then, that your truly enjoy your research, even if it is not simple enough to be spoken of during a light meal. Few are so fortunate as to take part in work they're truly enthusiastic about."

Tom was unsure what her thoughts on this were. She wasn't a talentless witch; she had gained a certain amount of skill even in the art of Occlumency, which did impress Tom quite a bit. She knew the magic either because of Lestrange's encouragement or because she had realised on her own that Lestrange was slowly learning how to read her mind. If the latter, Tom wondered if she may be of some use to the Knights in the future.

Tom didn't have much time to think about such things now, however. Tonight was a very important night and he needed to make sure everything was in order. It was a dark winters day and the clouds looming above England drooped and dragged with the weight of awaiting snow. By the time night fell, Tom had gotten all of his work in order and was ready to gather a few chosen Knights to accompany him as far as Hogsmeade.

It pleased Tom greatly that, in their dedication, his friends insisted upon joining him on his way to this interview with Dumbledore. Spending three years away from them seemed to have made them all determined to stay in his favour, to get close to him again, and to watch out for him even when he did not truly need their help. As much as Tom would never admit it, this (as well as the formation of the _Death Eaters_ in his absence), won his approval easily. It was all he expected.

"It is my belief that this shan't be a particularly long interview," he informed the Knights as they made their way down a quiet street in Hogsmeade. "Dumbledore is, after all, not one for dawdling on a subject unless he desires to take part in some subtle form of mockery."

"I s'pose we'll just wait in Hogsmeade then," Dolohov commented, clearly keen upon the idea.

"I assume you won't be join us in drinking before you go?" Rosier asked. A note of strong humour attached to his voice when he added, "It's all any of us would do if we had to face Dumbledore like that again."

Tom could see Harry suppressing a smile for the first time this evening. The idea of Tom showing up drunk to his interview with Dumbledore amused him greatly; he couldn't hide it very well. Tom was glad that his mood was light, at the very least.

"I shan't be taking part in such an activity the evening," Tom said. "Unless, of course, I find a way to tempt Dumbledore up at the castle, or if tonight ends with a reason for celebration."

"I wish you luck then!" Dolohov said heartily.

Mulciber snickered.

"Even if these two drunkards are blind with intoxication, you may leave your faith in us, my Lord," Rosier said silkily.

"Oi!" Dolohov called, not quite able to wipe that smirk off his face.

"Well keep an eye out for signs of danger," Nott added.

Tom smiled mechanically, saying nothing. He was distracted momentarily by a dislike at the idea of Harry spending time talking to Nott while he was being interviewed. He would be distracted by this thought dully all night, he knew. He decided to do something about it.

"Jonathan, a word please?"

"Of course," Harry answered.

The Knights fell away as if a series of strings had been cut from Tom. They were in the habit of doing this when he asked to speak to a Knight in private. He continued pacing down the street as Harry followed.

"Is something bothering you?" Harry asked.

He could always tell, Tom mused. "I wish only to ask you if you would accompany me up to the castle."

"I'd love to," Harry said. "I don't want Dumbledore attacking you that far away – we know he's stronger than even Grindelwald."

Tom wondered if Harry feared Dumbledore like he did. They had never really discussed it.

"Are we leaving now?" Harry asked.

"No." Tom stopped walking. They were far enough away from the Knights to be neither heard nor seen. "I want you to take this."

From his pocket he withdrew the Diadem. It felt cold in his hand – colder than any normal item should be even in such low temperature. Harry stared. He didn't take it immediately.

"I am aware that it suits my eyes better," Tom joked in a low voice, "but I want you to hold onto it for me."

"Why'd you bring this here?" Harry asked, taking it from him, finally. He didn't give it a second glance before storing it in his robes.

"I wish to hide it," Tom told him, "up at the castle."

Harry nodded once at this, perhaps remembering now that they had discussed this before.

"When I leave for the castle, I advise you stay here until the Knights ask if you wish to join them in the local pub. They won't be suspicious if you say you'll stay out near the gates of Hogwarts."

"Right. I'll meet you on the corridor outside Dumbledore's office afterwards," Harry said.

"Yes. I shall speak to you more then."

"Alright."

Tom almost wanted to show him deeper signs of affection before his interview, but he didn't need to. In a single look, they could convey a humble agreement they had reached long ago; they loved each other more than words could express.

Tom felt encouraged by this even as he and Harry returned to the Knights, even as he said goodbye to set off in the direction of the castle. It softened his paranoia to think about that look in Harry's eyes. He was sure that Harry might speak to Nott in the next few minutes, catching up after three long years of connecting only through letters, but they wouldn't have much time. He pushed these troublesome distractions to the back of his mind to pay attention to a more important thing: the awaiting interview with Dumbledore.

When Tom reached the gates of Hogwarts, he paused to greet a surge of old emotions he had forgotten about in his belief that they were lost. The great castle was as he had always remembered it. Fires from within sent flickering light out into the vast darkness of night, showing the patterns of glass windows as well as giving an inclination of how high the towers and turrets of Hogwarts twisted up towards the snowy heavens. A silhouette of the school could be seen set faintly against the slightly lighter clouds behind it, showing the magnificence of this place proudly to Tom's eager eyes.

Each roof was covered in thick coats of snow and each window was obscured partially by formations of ice and snowflakes when Tom passed through the school. It was lit warmly when he entered it; he gazed at the many portraits in the entrance hall, making his way up the marble staircase that he knew so well. The Christmas Holidays had always been a strange time for Tom during his years here. Once he got over the initial irritation at the existence of Christmas as a whole, he enjoyed having the school almost entirely to himself. He would enjoy it again soon, if things went as planned.

An odd sensation followed him on his way to Dumbledore's office. It wasn't this new route to Dumbledore nor his apprehension for this meeting that made him feel this way. It was something about this school, about being here again, that made him feel like he had never felt before. He came to the conclusion, many staircases and corridors later, that he had missed this place dearly. Not only that, he missed the age he had been here, he missed the classes he had taken – he missed that time. It was nostalgia, he realised. How very strange it felt...

He approached Dumbledore's office. He was not nervous, but he took a moment to wonder how the evening might end. He thought of what it would be like teaching at Hogwarts, manipulating the minds of hundreds of students right under Dumbledore's nose. Curiosity then caught him. He wondered what it would be like seeing Dumbledore as headmaster of Hogwarts. Standing up straighter and preparing himself and his mind the best he could, he knocked.

"Enter," Dumbledore's voice called calmly.

Tom did so without hesitation, nor much haste. He had visited the Headmaster's office only a few times in his life, always to ask Dippet if he could stay at Hogwarts for longer. The first thing he noticed upon entering it now was that there were many recognisable items from Dumbledore's old office here, to no surprise. Dumbledore had done well in decorating the place, gathering many new spindle-legged tables to display interesting antiques and artefacts on. A few items were rare and valuable, others were mere curiosities. There was a Phoenix slumbering on a perch nearby.

"Good evening, Tom," greeted Dumbledore. He was sitting at his desk, gazing at Tom across the room with a look of tranquillity. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Tom said, moving forwards to take the seat Dumbledore indicated.

How bizarre it felt to be under Dumbledore's gaze once more, after all these years. He knew it was best to remain as polite as he could with his Professor during the course of this meeting. How successful he might be of this, he was as of yet unsure. He tried his best.

"I heard that you had become Headmaster," be began. "A worthy choice."

"I am glad you approve," said Dumbledore, smiling. "May I offer you a drink?"

"That would be welcome. I have come a long way."

Dumbledore stood up, making his way to a cupboard on the other side of the office. Even when Dumbledore returned with two goblets of wine, Tom wondered what Harry might think of them indeed drinking throughout this meeting.

"So, Tom," Dumbledore began pleasantly, straightening up in his seat, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

'Tom'... Dumbledore was using this name deliberately. Tom could hear it in each waver of his voice, upon the very pronouncement. He sipped his wine, wondering how drunk he would have to be to be fine with this.

"They do not call me 'Tom' any more," he said calmly, holding back the anger from his voice. "These days, I am known as -"

"I know what you are known as," Dumbledore interrupted, smiling. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers, I am afraid, that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."

Dumbledore rose his glass as if to toast Tom, heightening his mockery to the highest degree. Tom watched him unblinkingly, shielding the irritation that gripped him beneath the surface. Dumbledore knew that he regretted their first meeting, at the orphanage. He was reminding Tom that no matter what he did, no matter how he presented himself to new people, under different names, different lies, Dumbledore could not be fooled. It wasn't that Dumbledore felt Tom couldn't change for the better, it was that he knew he hadn't.

This entire meeting was a joke to Dumbledore; Tom could see this now. He was refusing to use his proper name, refusing to even let it be spoken in his office. Tom had absolutely no power over this conversation and this irked him beyond all else. He tried very hard to push all of this anger and hatred away.

"I am surprised you have remained here for so long," he said. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."

"Well," Dumbledore said, clearly taking deep enjoyment from all of this, "to a wizard such as myself, there could be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."

"I see it still. I merely wondered why you – who is so often asked for advice by the Ministry, who has twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister -"

"Three times by the last count, actually. But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."

Tom inclined his head, saying nothing. He took no interest in the Ministry only because it was so much easier, so much better, to send his friends in there instead, to gather information and spy for him while he spent his efforts on his work and research, exploring the wonders of magic. He sipped from his goblet. Working at the Ministry was a mindless job, one that gave a good name to wizards, but did little else. He was sure Dumbledore knew this, but he was showing off – his correction of being offered the post as Minister _three_ times suggested it openly.

Every time Dumbledore interrupted him, he became more and more convinced that he would not be able to obtain this job. This infuriated him, as he knew Dumbledore intended it to. He took his time allowing a silence to drag on, thinking privately that Dumbledore couldn't possibly know what power he had risen to. Dumbledore couldn't possibly know that if he didn't get this job tonight, he would move onto great things that would shake the wizarding world more than anyone else in history – more than Gellert Grindelwald's himself – ever had before...

"I have returned," he began calmly, " later, perhaps, than Dipper expected... but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."

Dumbledore considered this for a time, watching Tom over the top of his goblet. Tom didn't feel as though his chances were good even before Dumbledore spoke, barely moving.

"Yes," he said quietly, "I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us. Rumours of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."

This did not panic Tom. Nothing could be proved, at the very least. "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."

"You call it 'greatness', what you have been doing, do you?"

"Certainly," Tom agreed, more vexed now than he could hide. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed - "

"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore cut across him coolly. "Of some. Of others, you remain... forgive me... woefully ignorant."

All Tom could do was laugh coldly to soften his rage; he knew where this was headed.

"The old argument," he said. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncement that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."

"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," Dumbledore suggested.

Was Dumbledore, perhaps, suggesting Harry was the wrong place? Tom was in no state to think it over. When Dumbledore spoke of love he meant the vague, simplistic context of it, not the love Harry and Tom took part in. They were beyond love itself. They were soul mates. The thought felt so perfect to Tom, it filled him with such a deep sense of calmness, understanding, and satisfaction, there was no need to prove himself to Dumbledore by explaining it. Fury lead him onwards.

"Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts? Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."

"And what will become of those whom _you_ command?" Dumbledore asked, his scepticism clear in his eyebrows as they rose. "What will happen to those who call themselves – or so rumour has it – the Death Eaters?"

For the first time, Tom was stunned. How on earth could Dumbledore know this name, when Tom himself had only heard it spoken aloud two weeks ago? The Death Eaters, unlike the Knights, were a very recent, very small group. Tom immediately attempted to pull himself back together, refusing Dumbledore the satisfaction.

"My friends," he said quietly, "will carry on without me, I am sure."

"I'm glad to hear you consider them friends," Dumbledore commented. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."

"You are mistaken."

"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight I would not find a group of them – Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov – awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this fear with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."

Someone had informed Dumbledore on the happenings of the Knights of Walpurgis. There was a rat amongst his friends... Tom couldn't keep the maliciousness from his voice when he said, "You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."

"Oh, no, merely friendly with the local barmen. Now, Tom..."

Dumbledore put down his empty goblet, bringing the tips of his fingers together as he sat up, gazing at Tom steadily. Tom could have warped that old, wizened face without regret just to wipe away the satisfied, patronising look Dumbledore gave him.

"... let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"

"A job I do not want?" Tom repeated, bemused by the claim. "On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."

"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said confidently, "but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"

Tom bared his teeth once more. "If you do not want to give me the job -"

"Of course I don't," Dumbledore cut across him, astounded, "and I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."

Tom stood up. He was full of such rage that he felt he couldn't be here for a moment longer. Someone had tipped Dumbledore off. Someone had ruined the possibility of Tom ever teaching at Hogwarts so long as Dumbledore was here. This enraged Tom very, very much.

"Is this your final word?"

"It is."

"Then we have nothing more to say to each other."

"No, nothing," said Dumbledore. He was standing too, a sudden look of great sorrow crossing his face. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom... I wish I could..."

He could have killed Dumbledore in that moment.

A wave of hatred unmatched by any previous one filled him. Hearing a direct reminder of his childhood was too much – was he meant to share Dumbledore's sentiment, he wondered? Did Dumbledore truly think he was the same as he had been before? Did he think he had ever made a difference in Tom's willingness to rise to power?

With all the willpower he had, Tom turned away from Dumbledore. He stormed out of his office without so much as uttering a single word, lest it should come out in the form of a deadly curse. He could have smashed the entire office. He could have destroyed the stone gargoyle outside, or shattered the tall glass windows lining the corridors, but he resisted. He would not give Dumbledore the satisfaction of knowing he enraged Tom so. He had not won such a privilege.

"Tom?"Harry's voice called out.

Even hearing this name from Harry's lips agitated Tom further. He swore that from this moment onward if another wizard spoke that name besides Harry, he would murder them where they stood. Harry was emerging from underneath an Invisibility Cloak, watching Tom. He wore a look of understanding.

"What did he do?"

Tom was too terribly angry to give a proper response to this. "That loathsome old fool," he hissed through his teeth, "that cowardly, patronizing bastard!"

Harry was folding up the Cloak, storing it in his pocket. "We both knew he'd be like this, Tom."

"I expected to reach some sort of understanding, at the very least!" Tom snarled. He wanted something to fight, someone to relieve his anger on. "Dumbledore has taken me as another malleable fool upon whom he can practice his subtle, delicately mastered mockery, putting his all-knowing mind on exhibition for the fullest opportunity to flex the muscle of his bitterly condescending, dour disapproval and disfavour!"

Harry was unaffected, as if he had expected all of this to happen. "So, basically he just spent the whole interview taking the piss?"

"To the fullest degree, yes!"

All Tom could do was pace the corridor, watched by Harry, who was calmly compassionate. Dumbledore had wished to scare him, but Tom would not allow that to become true. If Dumbledore was going to watch over him in caution, he was going to do everything he could to avoid detection.

He couldn't keep the rage from his voice when he said in a deadly hiss: "We have a traitor amongst our Knights..."

For the first time, Harry's tranquillity faltered. He stared at Tom. "What makes you think that?"

"Someone informed Dumbledore of the things we get up to – I am sure of it! Dumbledore has been occupied by his responsibilities as Headmaster of Hogwarts for months, it is highly unlikely that he could have stayed so watchful all these years, stayed so ready for my return! He knows of the research I have done, he disapproves of the exploration of my kind of magic – how could he have know about this, if not from a traitor?"

"You know what Dumbledore's like. He's been suspicious of you from the start, hasn't he?"

"He has had more than enough to worry about; I was meant to go unnoticed by his ever-judging eye! Someone direly close to us has refreshed his judgement and his caution. Someone has shaken him, causing him to stay watchful in that tower for any sign of my approach – I know it!"

Tom ground his teeth to stop his own ranting. He was flicking through a list of all his Knights, through the family members and friends closest to those most likely to share secrets.

Madly, he mulled over the possibility of one of Grindelwald's people talking to Dumbledore about their war. Yet even if someone else close to the school had spoken to a follower, even if a single teacher here had merely overheard a conversation about Grindelwald's following, Dumbledore could have caught word of it. But then, where would this lead him? How could this lead him to knowing Tom had formed a Dark Arts group? How could he know what the Knights and Death Eaters were doing?

Harry could see he was brooding and fuming. He didn't bother to try soothing Tom's paranoia because he knew it had to happen. "Come on," he said, gesturing towards the heart of the school. "There's no point staying around here."

Tom saw no reason to object, after a moment. He stopped pacing to face Harry.

"Which way are we going?" Harry asked. "You must have a place in mind."

He was referring to the Horcrux they were going to hide. Tom had almost forgotten about this. A sickening pleasure filled him when he realised how much this would spite Dumbledore. To keep a piece of soul here, to curse the job – it was the perfect revenge! Harry seemed almost alarmed when enthralment showed itself sharply on Tom face.

"This way!" he said, fuelled by determination. "I already have the perfect place chosen..."

They were far from Dumbledore's office now, heading up a spiral staircase towards the highest floors of the castle. On the seventh floor, they stopped down a quiet corridor covered in tapestries and other charming and odd pieces of art. Tom slowed to an abrupt stop in front of a tapestry of trolls attempting to learn the ballet and felt Harry slow in the same moment. A prominent look of confusion crossed Harry's face.

"Wait here," Tom said quietly.

Harry did so, not interrupting when Tom began walk. '_I need a place to hide my Diadem...' _he thought three times, pacing past the blank stretch of wall. When a door appeared, Harry stared for a moment before catching Tom's eye.

"What's in there?"

"Take a look for yourself, if you wish."

Tom watched eagerly and stood nearby as Harry stepped forth, through the door. Inside, they met a seemingly endless hall, full of forgotten, hidden items that created clumsy towers and piles as far as the eye could see. A thousand years of regret and secrecy had created this masterpiece. Seven years of creating the Death Eaters and sinking into the wonders of the Dark Arts had led Tom here.

"What is this place?" Harry asked.

"An ancient piece of magic," Tom said in a low voice, "the Come and Go Room. I discovered it when I was fourteen years old, when several belongings were stolen from the Gryffindor Common Room and I had no one at hand to deal with it for me. Stealing the items was a rather important event amongst the Knights here, of course; something to do with Quidditch – a long story – but something of great importance derived from it for me."

"This place is completely hidden," Harry finished, understanding. "No one knows about it."

"Yes." Tom smiled. "For centuries, this has remained a place that hardly any student explored the full power of, even if many, clearly, have stepped foot in this particular room when in need to hide an object. Any student who had discovered this hiding place rarely knew how to return to it. You must have a true need for the room to get here, you see. This is a place that Dumbledore himself would not know of if you asked him about it."

"This is brilliant," Harry said.

They began walking onwards, making their way through pathways that wove through piles of hidden objects.

"So," Harry said slowly, "if you were in need of a place to hide, this place would hide you?"

"Yes," Tom said. "It would hide you with all the power it has. It might even protect you, if you were to ask for it."

"The safest place in Hogwarts," Harry said quietly.

"Indeed..."

Harry turned back when he heard Tom's vague, contemplating tone. He began rummaging in his cloak pocket.

"Here," he said, "you better hold onto this."

"Yes. Of course." Tom took the Diadem carefully, feeling the cold metal beneath his palm and fingers. He examined it for a time, taking in the last moments of it he'd see before it was placed here for years on end.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

He knew Tom too well.

"It occurs to me," Tom began, suppressing a smile, "that since this is indeed the safest place in Hogwarts – the safest place, perhaps, in any wizarding dwellings you and I have ever stepped foot in – would it not indeed be a fine place for you to hide your Horcrux too?"

"Oh," Harry said. He was surprised. He said nothing more than this.

"It would be perfect for your Horcrux to stay within such close proximity to my own," Tom added, not at all discouraged. "I want our souls to be close. Hogwarts is what brought us together, after all. The Sword of Gryffindor belongs here, in the castle, so if you were to keep it hid-"

"No," said Harry sharply.

Tom stopped. He stood very still, a moment of anger arising in him at being interrupted yet again tonight. This was not because of Harry specifically; echoes of Dumbledore still haunted him.

"No?" he repeated softly.

Harry knew he had made a mistake at this. He looked away, his shoulders brought up in one swift, subtle movement. He was tense and paranoid. Of the Horcrux being found here?

"No one would find the Sword here," Tom commented.

"Well, it does have Gryffindor's name on it."

"No one comes here in search of rare items. Almost everything in here is ruined."

"I know, but..."

Tom waited for him to speak, knowing he would.

"I'm a bit – concerned about the Sword..."

Dread rose within Tom so intensely that he couldn't keep the petulance from his voice. "Do not honestly tell me that it has been broken once more?"

"What? Oh, no – no it isn't that," Harry told him quickly. "I just want to be sure nothing happens to the Sword."

"Why would anything happen to the Sword?"

"It rightfully belongs to a true Gryffindor. I wasn't even in that House."

"Why does this worry you?" Tom demanded.

"If an actual Gryffindor is in need of it, what if it disappears to them instead?"

Tom thought about this. "That was mere legend and myth, surely?"

"I dunno, it might be. But either way, I want to be sure."

Was this a ruse, Tom wondered? He didn't think so. Harry had no reason to lie about this.

"Maybe – maybe I should make another one," Harry said slowly. "I mean, then I can hide that one here, at Hogwarts, keeping the Sword close to me..."

Tom stared. Surely he hadn't heard him right. "Another Horcrux?"

"Yeah."

"As well as keeping the Sword as a Horcrux?"

"Yeah, of course. I can't risk being mortal again, it's too danger-"

Tom had stepped forwards before he could help himself, his eyes widening. His heart swelled in unexpected rejoice and he grasped Harry's shoulders, the Diadem still in one hand. A large grin spreading across his face. "This would be perfect!"

"You're shocked," Harry commented, his voice wavering in shared happiness.

"I'm amazed!" Tom told him, looking for that same joy in his eyes. He kissed Harry once, then again, laughing. "I'm thrilled!"

"Well, I'm glad." Harry grinned too.

"If you should make another Horcrux, what item might you choose for it?"

"I dunno," Harry said. Then, quite suddenly, he smirked. "Maybe a crown."

"Not Gryffindor's, surely?" Tom asked, holding Harry closer now. His free hand fit so well on the small of Harry's back. "That would be far too much into bad taste to be allowed."

"Didn't Slytherin have a crown once?"

Tom shook his head. "Centuries ago, it was lost."

"It's not in here, I suppose?" Harry mused.

Tom was amused by his. "I'm afraid that, as legend tells, it is more likely that Slytherin took his crown away from this castle. Not a soul knows where it has been lost."

"I guess this room doesn't have everything, then."

There was something unusual about Harry's voice. It was cheery, but something was off. Tom could tell he was thinking deeply about something.

"Where should we hide this, anyway?" Harry asked, gesturing to the Diadem. His odd tone had faded; perhaps he realised it had sounded unusual.

Tom took in a deep breath, looking around. "That, I am not sure about... there are very many places in which to hide a Horcrux, after all."

Harry turned to his left to where Tom was looking. A battered old cupboard that looked as if acid had been poured over it stood behind a cage containing the skeleton of a deformed, five-legged creature.

"Maybe deeper in the room?" Harry suggested slowly, turning back.

"No," Tom said. "We haven't much time."

Harry watched him closely, but Tom merely smiled.

"You chose this spot, after all," he said quietly.

Conjuring a fine cushion out of nowhere, Tom placed the Diadem on top of it. This, of course, wasn't his most securely placed Horcrux, but so few people knew about this room, they were so far nestled into it, and there were so many other objects around here that there was no safer place.

Tom turned back to Harry, who's attention had been focused on the bust of an ugly old warlock nearby, sitting near a wig. Tom couldn't guess what he was thinking.

"You never had any meetings here," Harry observed. He was clearly trying to make this idea sound new and curious, but Tom knew he had thought it over in his mind; his tone was overdone. "It would have turned into the perfect place, since you had a real need for it."

"Our headquarters in the dungeons had already been formed at the time," Tom told him. "I saw no reason to change locations; it was always a perfectly hidden base to which we could run. Even at fourteen years old, I knew it would be wasteful to share my knowledge of the Come and Go Room with my friends."

"And me?" Harry asked. He was looking steadily at Tom now. "For months, you and I wanted somewhere to go together. You never told me about this place."

To this, Tom had no answer – not one he was willing to give, anyway. He couldn't spot any anger in Harry, but nonetheless he caught a demanding look in his eyes. Did he know why Tom had kept quiet about this room? Was he, perhaps, asking this just to hear it from Tom's lips? No, he was too calm. There was a chance he knew the answer already and was being understanding – unlikely. There was a greater chance that this was curiosity and old desires speaking. Tom acted on the latest guess.

"This was a part of Hogwarts I often forgot about," Tom lied. "In my mind, I thought of it only in reference to Ravenclaw's lost Diadem. What with NEWTs, the Death Eaters, and my future to worry about, it wasn't somewhere I thought about being with you in. I'd never used it for that in the past."

"Right," Harry responded. A crease formed between his eyebrows. Tom watched him closely. "I sort of thought you might have just avoided telling me about it because it was such a perfect place to hide Horcruxes."

He had guessed correctly. Tom had to find away around it. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, the less people who know about this room, the better," Harry reasoned. Catching Tom's eye, a smile formed on his lips. "We did only know each other for a few months, after all. And I mean, you wanted a proper relationship, not just one that lasted until the end of the year. You knew we'd have privacy later on."

Tom felt a moment of pride that Harry understood him, then a low emotion after lying to him, then fear that Harry knew him so well. The emotions wove in and out of each other. Fear was the first to fade: Tom hadn't felt that emotion from Harry's guesses in years. Tom wondered what that negative emotion was as he focused on the love he felt for Harry. He felt that unusual, low feeling a lot when he made a mistake in lying to Harry.

"I suppose that might have been a contributing factor," Tom agreed slowly. "I desired to use this place for the Diadem very much."

"More than you desired sex?" Harry teased. He was in good spirits now. Because he learnt the truth.

"You know it wasn't like that."

"I know," he grinned. "I understand, anyway."

Tom inclined his head wordlessly. He knew Harry hadn't trusted him at the beginning either. His suspicions had been something that drew Tom to him; he was never frightened, but he was also never ignorantly willing to follow without question like Tom's other friends had. It had set him apart from the others. It had been the subject of curiosity that drew Tom to Harry so powerfully, giving him the excuse to almost constantly think about the other boy...

"Let us return to our Knights," Tom said calmly.

It felt so good to spite Dumbledore, to accomplish the final touch to the completion of his Horcrux. To know that Harry desired to create another Horcrux too overrode Tom's negative feelings so much, his chest burned with the happiness he felt. He was so angry and so happy all at once, there was only one thing he wanted to do.

"I suggest we should drink with the other in celebration," Tom said with a grin, "to relish in the accomplishment of spiting Dumbledore more than he will ever know possible..."

Harry agreed to this idea and followed him out of the Come and Go Room. Tom wondered, on their way, whether Harry was still thinking about his lie, whether he regretted they never came here in the past, and whether he knew that Tom still had a problem with trusting him fully...

It wasn't that Tom had never trusted him, not at all. This was something that had happened only in recent years. Tom had mistrusted Harry as much as anyone else around him when they first met (and that distrust had deepened with Harry's ability to see through his manipulations with precautions vigilance), but as soon as they had gotten close to each other outside of Hogwarts, Tom had trusted him with every plan he had, every emotion he felt, ever thought he had.

Through Scotland, England, and Albania, through catching Dragons and through Harry being captured by Grindelwald's people, through forming the Knights and beginning more complex research, Tom had trusted Harry. This had only changed when Harry decided to change. The moment he gave up Emeric's wand to forget him, to fall into the Dark Arts wholly, to create his first Horcrux, things were different than Tom first supposed.

Harry had always had an alarming brilliance in the subject of the Dark Arts – this could not be denied. The Knights had been fearful and jealous of him while Tom was impressed and captivated wholly. What Tom hadn't noticed was that Harry was holding back. It was a moral conflict, Tom knew, if not a unwillingness to let him know they were, perhaps, equally as powerful. Tom was especially wary of the latter idea. Harry, surely, knew how much power he truly had, but there was no telling when he'd stop holding back...

Tom openly showed Harry how much making Horcruxes and practising stronger magic enthralled him, but behind all of this, he was mentally keeping Harry at a distance. He was terrified that something unexpected might happen, that Harry might turn on him and use his power for a very different cause – or worse, he would fight Tom over the Knights. Tom loved Harry very, very much, and he knew that Harry loved him like no one else possibly could, but his power worried Tom. His power was too great.

They fled from Scotland that night, taking shelter in an inn lower in England while the Knights separated from them (thoroughly drunk) to their respective homes. Tom didn't remember that night too well; all he knew was that he and Harry had had their own private celebration with much energy and vigour. For the next few months, Tom was fuelled by hatred for Dumbledore to begin bringing the Knights of Walpurgis back together with all the power he had.

The Knight had all reunited to him readily. They were keen to start work and this pleased Tom; there was no better time than now for them to act so willingly upon his command. He had no job, he had completed most of his work abroad, and to have an army of Knights at his command was the best possible honour he could ask for. If Dumbledore was determined to keep a keen eye on Tom's followers, Tom was prepared to test just how subtle a detail had to be to slip beneath his notice.

The first thing Harry and Tom needed in England was a place to stay. Tom thought about about getting a new place – perhaps even getting their old house back – but since Dumbledore, for one, knew of the criminal activities they all might take part in and since Tom was unwilling to take on a job to hide his real intentions in England, he decided to keep his whereabouts entirely secret. Black presented a spare piece of property of his own for Tom to take and from that point on it was used as his residence with Harry as well as headquarters for _die Ritter von Walpurgis._

By the time spring was at it's fullest, all of the Knights had returned to Tom to become reconnected with him once more. Those who had taken on jobs at the Ministry as a part of Tom's plans began acting on casual orders from him. They gave him information he was eager to have and made sure that the criminal activities of other Knights were overlooked by Ministry workers – at the Auror Office especially. Those who were dedicated fighters, in the interest of anything brutal and gory, were working very different operations.

By the summer, Tom began focusing again on his Horcruxes. The Diadem was safely hidden at Hogwarts while the Diary, the Locket, the Cup, and the Ring were kept with him at his new house. The Ring was the only item Tom hadn't made into a Horcrux yet. He had planned, initially, to create a Horcrux with it as soon as he left Hogwarts, as he had done with the Locket and Cup, but one thing had stopped him. He had wanted Harry to have it instead, and this desire was still yet to be met. Harry was putting up a strong argument.

"You're the one who found the Ring," he said. "It's directly connected to your Uncle, and even if it isn't a family heirloom from Purebloods after all, it's still really important to you. I don't want want to make a Horcrux from it, but I know you do."

"And what of your next Horcrux?" Tom asked. "It has more of a legitimate connection to you, being related to Grindelwald. What is more, to give this item to you, to know that I have brought this Horcrux upon you, is a great honour to me."

"Well, how about this," Harry said, turning to Tom fully for his attention. They were lying in bed, waking up as the sun began to set slowly, casting golden light through their bedroom window. "You make a Horcrux out of it, but I keep it for myself – at least for a few years. That makes more sense, doesn't it? You gave me this Ring the first year we met, but I never intended to keep it to myself as a Horcrux. I want to keep this close to me – and if you're soul is connected to it, it's all the better to me."

Tom felt this was a rational solution. He had thought over the possibility of hiding this Horcrux in the Gaunt House, but he was still unsure as to whether that ugly old house would stay where it was now that Morfin was rotting in a cell in Azkaban.

"If that is what you desire, I cannot refuse. But what are you going to use for your next Horcrux?"

"I dunno really... I'm pretty sure something will show up some time soon. I just want to wait until then, for now."

Tom didn't like this idea. He was sure Harry noticed it from his silence.

"It won't take long," Harry assured him. "There's no rush, anyway, since we have the Sword right here. I still have to kill someone else to even start making a second Horcrux."

"Our lives are only going to get more dangerous."

"I know, but I still have the Sword. I made a promise to make a new Horcrux. I won't disappoint you."

Tom put the thought to the back of his mind with effort, putting his trust in Harry. There was much to distract him from this concern even as months passed, for an entire network of crime under his control was forming before Tom's very eyes. He began making connections with all of the witches and wizards throughout London involved in the Dark Arts. Through the Knights, he traded goods with other Sorcerers, selling Dragon Eggs from their hidden sanctuary in Scotland, to begin, in exchange for items and gold that would fund the developmental of the Knights.

Gonson, Weiß, Rowle, and any other wizard who wanted to go unnoticed by the Ministry without any darker lawbreaking got involved with trading for Tom. Those who took interest only in Ministry work, like Rosier, Lestrange, Black, and Nott, took no actual part in such a crime. The "Death Eaters" – Avery, Dolohov, Mulciber, Random, Gibbon, etc, – preferred much darker, much dirtier work with glee. By the time the year ended, Tom was reaching a little bit of a problem hiding murders his Knights had committed.

Early one evening, Rosier and Black showed up at Tom's house asking if they could speak to him urgently. Mulciber and Avery were dragged along, prepared to explain the most recent murder they had committed.

"The Ministry is starting to get suspicious, my Lord," Black informed Tom without hesitation. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement are already sending out Aurors to begin a full investigation on the matter at hand. We've made a huge mistake in killing Bones; I don't think the Ministry is going to cease their inquiry until the problem is resolved."

"What is it that you fear the will the Ministry do, Cygnus?" Tom asked him calmly. "There are tens of wizards between that crime scene and the Knights of Walpurgis. We shan't be affected."

"But there were are two eye-witnesses who saw Mulciber murder Bones, my Lord," Rosier told him. "We haven't got any assurance that his secret is safe when neither of those wizards care about Mulciber nor have any reason to defend him at all."

"Well," Tom said, turning a critical eye upon his most brutal Knight, "I dare say Mulciber has committed enough crimes in secret to give any Ministry reason to imprison him for a great number of years... If things go badly and if the two wizards do indeed admit that Mulciber murdered Bones, there are ways to soften the affect of this. We could convince the Ministry, after a certain amount of bribing witnesses, that Mulciber was not wholly responsible."

"And what if it's more complicated than that?"

Tom pretended to think this over, sitting up straighter and placing his hands together in a gesture that subtly mocked Dumbledore. "What we should hope for most is that a mere few months in prison is the worst Mulciber gets. After all that has happened, this might do well to lessen his blood-thirst for a while..."

Rosier, Black, and Avery turned a concerned, awaiting gaze to Mulciber, who was suddenly gaping at Tom with a look of outrage.

"What, so you're just gunna let the Ministry take care of me, then?"

"A few months away from crime would do you well, Mulciber."

"Then give me a holiday, not a trip to Azkaban!"

"Do you honestly feel as if you deserve to be rewarded, after failing to follow direct orders on a job yet again?" Tom asked. His gaze was unkind, his words cold and calm. "No, I do not believe even you could think that."

Dumbfound by his cold remark, Mulciber turned to the three other Knights for a clarification that he wasn't in the wrong. Rosier and Black avoided Mulciber's eyes and Avery gave him a hopeless shrug that said "there's nothing we can do".

"Fine," Mulciber said brutally, turning back to Tom. "If that's what you want, then fine..."

"Now," said Tom, ignoring him, "let us discuss how we might influence this problem so that Mulciber will not be lost to us forever..."

The others may have not been so keen, in honesty, to ensure Mulciber's return, but they nevertheless put their best efforts into their ideas of what should happen next. Tom decided to begin bribing the two eye-witnesses, a task that seemed simple enough at first. He put the problem to the back of his mind as a few months passed, until another problem arose. One of the two wizards, Frederic Moore, was refusing to take bribery and was prepared to drag Black and Rosier into this for even attempting to keep him quiet.

"Moore is a friend of Bones," Black explained drably, brushing rain off of his cloak as he stood before Harry and Tom. "He doesn't want any money, all he wants is for Mulciber to be executed for this crime as well, my Lord."

"This crime as well?" Tom repeated. "You mean to say he has caught word of Mulciber's earlier crimes?"

Rosier shot Black a worried glance. Slowly, Black said, "Yes, my Lord. It would seem as if... well, he's keen to seek revenge at the loss of his friend."

Tom's nostrils flared as he thought this over, watching his two Knights closely for further signs of guilt. There was none, for now. Tom had no patience for this problem of Mulciber's. Worse than that, he had no patience for petty wizards who caused him such inconveniences. If the situation permitted it, Tom would have happily silenced Moore for good.

"We must strengthen our determination," Tom said, "and find a new tactic to ensure that Moore loses interest in fighting for this. The question is, how should we approach the subject..."

"He's rich," Rosier mentioned. "It's possible that we could threaten to damage his wealth in some way."

"If he is not so avaricious as to take the sum of money we've offered, it is doubtful that he would bow down to any loss of his current fortune," Tom said. "It would, perhaps, merely encourage him to look deeper into the sort of people behind Mulciber."

"If not his wealth," Black began, "perhaps his reputation is a weak point? It'd at least be safer to push this type of pressure on him."

"Blackmail is hardly safe," Harry commented.

"In this situation, it's better than bribery," Black said bluntly.

"How is it better than bribery?" Harry asked. "Our problem isn't that Moore has enough money to not want any more, it's that he's refusing to stop being loyal to Bones, even after death."

"I'm talking about reputation, not money."

"It counts as the same thing here. Moore knows that if we're willing to bribe him with that much money, we'll go after anything just to shut him up. It doesn't matter how much money we take or how else we try to ruin him. He's too emotionally wrecked to care."

Mulciber looked positively bored of this. For the first time tonight, he spoke, pulling his attention to the four wizards with effort. "I dunno why he cares. Must have cared about Bones a lot, eh? We could just put 'em right next to each other, down in two graves."

Tom acted as if he may not have heard Mulciber at all, resisted the urge to shout at him.

"So, what do we do?" Rosier asked, bringing them back to the point.

"We might have to take Mulciber's advice," Black said slowly. "We haven't any other weapons..."

"The resulting problems would be more severe than what we currently have to deal with," Tom said, feeling irked to say it. "We would have neither enough time nor enough resources to keep the Ministry from suspecting Mulciber murdered Moore too..."

"So, that's it then?" Rosier asked.

Tom stood up straighter, breathing in heavily. "I'm afraid so."

"What? You can't!" Mulciber exclaimed, far from untroubled now. "You can't just get me chucked in Azkaban for the rest of my life!"

"True," Tom said slyly, "I cannot 'chuck you in Azkaban'... yet I'm afraid, Mulciber, you have already done it all yourself."

He couldn't keep the hate and enjoyment out of his voice. Letting Mulciber go to Azkaban was the only solution to the problem and Tom felt less and less reluctance to let it happen the more he thought it over. Rosier and Black must have known it too; they cast furtive glances at Mulciber, turning away from him when Tom did.

"Wait," Harry's voice called before Tom could draw to a verbal conclusion for this meeting. "I have an idea. I'm not sure it'll work, but I think it's worth a shot."

"Do tell us?" Tom encouraged him.

"It's just, if Moore won't take bribery because of his loyalty for Bones... what if we threatened Bone's reputation instead? We'd be set, wouldn't we?"

The three Knights and Tom stared at Harry, astounded.

"We'd be threatening his loyalty, instead of anything else," Black said slowly, facing Tom. "It might actually work."

"It's perfect!" Rosier declared.

Mulciber became alert with hope at Rosier's tone. "What, so I ain't going to Azkaban then?"

"Probably not," Harry told him, saving Tom from having to speak to him at all. "If we can pull this off."

"Brilliant!"

Quite suddenly, a smile broke across Tom's face. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Harry. In a hushed voice, he said, "To ruin the life of a dead man... I would never have suspected something so wicked of you, Jonathan."

A look of soft pride seemed to pass across Harry's face, even as the Knight's eyes fell upon him. Tom admired it for only a second, before stepping into a quick, musing pace.

"We could plant evidence in his home suggesting he had stolen a very valuable, very treasured item," Tom said. It was a simple plan, a common one. He was elated with the pleasure of Harry having found a solution to the problem – a solution of interest, what was more. "If I were to lead this small operation, I could break into Bones' home without so much as a trace left behind."

"You, my Lord?" Black repeated, surprised. "Would that not needlessly risk you getting caught in England?"

"Do you question my ability, Cygnus?" Tom asked, annoyed. "There have been enough inconveniences concerning this entire situation as it is. Since you are all evidently incapable of adapting even to the least troublesome situations at best, I have no choice but to step in myself."

"Alone?" Rosier asked.

"Yes. This would be best."

"My Lord, let us accompany you to his house, at the very least," Black said, clearly desperate to make up for his and Rosier's incompetence in some way. "It would be the most safe approach – the most sure approach – for breaking entry into a dead man's home."

"If you insist," Tom answered shortly. "If, however, I find that you have, in some way, wrecked even this simple duty, on your head be it..."

Tom began crafting a plan immediately. Rosier was eager to begin tracking down Bone's home and family history, while Black was given the task of searching through Ministry reports of valuables stolen at least a month or two before Bone's death. While Black could have taken the role of the victim of Bone's staged thievery, Tom decided that filing a report for a stolen item now would be too suspicious to the Ministry's ever-watchful eyes.

Instead, they chose to look at ten or fifteen different reports sent into the Ministry asking for the return of stolen items, and (starting with the most expensive, most missed items), Tom sent a team of his Death Eaters to begin searching every corner of London for crooked witches and wizards who had heard whispers of recent thieveries. In a fortnight, they had tracked down a stolen item – a polished, jewelled candlestick worth a fortune – doing the Ministry of Magic a great deed to mask a much deeper, much more serious felony.

"Hideous thing, ain't it?" Avery commented as he retrieved shining gold candlestick from a bag. "I can't see why they'd want it back, to be honest."

Mulciber snickered, an action that caused strong, sour looks from his fellow Knights, who were clearly irked by the last few months of covering up his crimes for him. Mulciber had been called back from any operation involving Tom's Knights or Death Eaters these last few months, lest he should put himself in even deeper trouble.

"Here you go, m'Lord," Avery said thickly, handing over the precious item. He smelt strongly of alcohol, likely as a result of the heavy sum of money he knew he would get from Tom for this. The yellow-teethed, disgracefully satisfied smile he gave Tom next suggested he planned on spending more money on the same cause.

"Take this," Tom said softly, giving Rosier a nod to hand three bags of money over to the awaiting Death Eaters. "You have not failed me, despite prior doubt..."

Deaf to Tom's critical remark, Avery, Dolohov, and Gibbon took their money greedily. Tom then sent them away, having lost interest entirely in what else they might have to say. Examining the golden candlestick, he mused how the night might end. It was a simple enough plan, with simple enough results if things went well. Calling Black, Lestrange, and Rosier into action, they rose from their seats to accompany Tom out of the headquarters, ready to approach Bones' house.

Bones lived alone – unsurprising for a man who was not yet married at thirty-eight. He might have had a large extended family, but if he did, Tom had not bothered to listen to Rosier's description of them. When he entered the house, making his way along the narrow corridor, Tom saw no portraits of other witches and wizards who were not famous or very ancient. The staircase leading both upstairs and down creaked underfoot, but Tom had no need to stifle the sound. This thin, tall house was not difficult to navigate. In two minutes, he was in Bone's bedroom.

It was dark in here, for Tom did not bother to turn on the two lamps on Bones' bedside tables. He held his wand high up instead, navigating his way through the tidy room. The expensive candlestick didn't look out of place in here, but Tom turned to Bones' wardrobe still where, amongst many pairs of robes, cloaks, boots, belts, and socks that would never be worn again, there was a perfect hiding place for this rare, stolen item. When the Ministry searched the house, they would most certainly find the gold candlestick nestled suspiciously here, waiting to ruin Bones' reputation forever.

Tom stood up straight, drawing away from the wardrobe as he closed it gently. He was pleased by how simple this mission was and he was keen to get back to Harry at their house, to forget about the trouble Mulciber had caused him with all of this. Tom was already taking quick steps over the rich red carpet, leaving it as spotless as he had found it, when something caught his eye. Another piece of gold, equally as polished as the candlestick had been, glistened in the wandlight as he passed.

Normally, Tom would not pay any attention to a distraction like this when he was doing important work for his Knights, but the task of framing Bones was so easy and Tom felt so relaxed, he took a moment to pause and turn to the source of glimmering light. A gold pocketwatch stood on one of Bones' beside tables, abandoned. It was placed in a fine velvet case, kept close to Bones' bed, which was the most peculiar thing of all to Tom.

It wasn't uncommon to find watches like this one in wizards' homes. They were often given as presents, traditionally when a wizard turned seventeen, old enough to use magic legally. What caught Tom's interest and made him pause was that Bones hadn't died with this watch on him. He clearly cared about it a lot – the box said as much – but if he treated it with caution, it should not be on display at all. It can't have been something Bones wore on special occasions, for that wasn't fashionable. The only answer left was that Bones never wore it. He examined it, either because it had sentimental significance or because it was an heirloom.

Tom felt as if it was the latter. He drew towards the night table, examining the plain, shining surface of the watch. After his work in Borgin and Burkes' shop, he could spot valuable items with skill and ease. He knew this pocketwatch had significance, despite being engraved with a simple design, seemingly plain and average. Tom could sense great magic within it, he could see the faint touches of a skilled horologist, perhaps aided by someone else renown for their skill in working with gold. It might be worth the risk to take this watch.

This was an old habit of Tom's. He couldn't resist finding a trophy of his own every time be committed a successful crime. This was a mediocre crime at best, but if the watch was important, Tom couldn't leave it here. If the watch turned out to be an Heirloom of a wizarding family, he wanted to keep it close... No one would know it was gone. Since Bones lived alone, there would be no one who could say whether he had kept the watch here at all.

Taking the velvet case along with it, Tom slipped the golden watch into his pocket. Feeling more accomplished than ever, he slipped out of Bone's house without so much as a backwards glance. Rosier and Black emerged from the shadows when Tom strode through the wizarding town Bones lived in. They were calmed by Tom's confidence and eager to see his happiness.

"Bones and Moore shan't cause us a single problem from this point on," Tom assured them quietly, angry and pleased at the same time. "Let us flee from this village, lest we should be caught..."

They Apparated back home with three loud bursts of noise, unnoticed by the humble witches and wizards in nearby houses.

Black and Rosier left Tom before so much as returning to his house. Tom was glad of this. He wanted to speak to Harry, which he only ever liked doing properly when they were alone. Entering the house, Tom turned immediately to the living-room, where he knew Harry might be.

"How did it go?" Harry asked him the moment he appeared, putting down a book in his hands.

"There were no complications," Tom informed him, taking a seat beside him on the couch. "In fact, it went better than I first assumed it might."

"I'm just glad this is almost over, to be honest. Mulciber causes a lot more trouble than it's worth."

Tom merely smiled, reluctant to discuss again how Mulciber was important as their personal assassin. Another more important, more pleasing, thought was distracting him. "I brought you something."

Harry looked up, surprised. "From Bones' house? But I thought you said-"

His words were cut short when he caught sight of the golden pocketwatch handing from a chain in Tom's hand. Tom assumed at first moment that he was surprised by the look of the watch, but when a moment passed, there was a much stronger, much more fearsome look in his eyes.

He must have feared that the Ministry would see the watch was gone, Tom thought.

"The circumstance suggested that to take this watch would be no cause of future trouble," Tom assured him, wanting to take away his clear unease. "You needn't be troubled by my decision."

"Right," Harry agreed faintly, distracted.

"Besides," Tom said softly, "I rather thought it might suit you."

Harry took his eyes away from the watch for the first time.

"Thank you," he said.

He seemed to be searching for something in Tom's expression. What he might be looking for, Tom had no idea, but he studied Harry's cautious, confused, determined eyes for a moment. Then, perhaps deciding that Tom knew what he was doing, Harry calmed somewhat. He reached out a hand to take the pocketwatch from Tom's light grasp.

"It really is beautiful," Harry commented, opening it to examine it more closely. Stars spun around the face of the clock in circular motions, in replacement for hands.

"What is more," Tom said, "it is an Heirloom, or at least an ancient artefact passed on through generations. Though admittedly a rather plain outward design, this is the work of a fine horologist."

Harry watched the time slipping by for a little while longer, clearly thinking. Then, as if distracted previously, he closed the pocketwatch, collecting up the chain and taking the box from Tom's hands to hide it away in his own pocket.

"We should have a look at it later on, together," Harry said. "Maybe to see where it comes from or, I dunno, just to see how rare it is."

Tom smiled, pleased at Harry's interest. "I would like that."

"How was it tonight, anyway?" Harry asked again, wanting to get the full story.

"Insipid to say the least," Tom answered. "I should be happy only when this entire tiresome event comes to an end. Which, admittedly, may not happen any time soon while Mulciber roams free..."

"He'll know not to kill someone like that again," Harry reasoned. "He's going to get time in Azkaban for this, without question."

"Yet even if he spends a few months away, we have yet to mask all of the crime he's committed so far. What we are supposed to do with the rising number of bodies Mulciber piles up, I have no idea."

Harry said nothing for a moment, looking down at his hands with creased eyebrows. Tom waited for him to speak.

"We could put those corpses to some use," he said slowly.

"It becomes too difficult to keep Inferi in control throughout the streets of London," Tom responded. "You know this well."

"I know, but what if they weren't here in London?"

"What use would that be?"

"Well, you've been wanting for hide Horcruxes, haven't you? What if we just, I dunno, brought them to the Cave we've been looking at... That way, we can hide all those bodies there instead of just transfiguring them and hiding them in chosen spots constantly."

Tom was surprised, enthralled. Before he knew it, a grin spread across his face. "This is a brilliant idea!"

"You think?"

"Yes!" Tom stared at Harry joyously, wanting nothing more than for him to know the brilliance of the suggestion. "It would not only solve that small problem, but turn it into the perfect protection for our Horcruxes!"

Harry seemed pleased at Tom's enthusiasm. Tom was already planning how best to get the Knights to move their dead, keeping the Cave secret whilst also attracting no attention from the Ministry or anyone else. No one could know it was a hiding place for a Horcrux, not even the Knights themselves...

"We could have the Inferi waiting for our commands there," Tom said, thinking aloud. "Even if we are far away from the Cave, from England itself, they would do their duty. It's a mistake Grindelwald made when he was in power; he did not think of the possibility of keeping Inferi enchanted in one place, as a personal army of the dead. His followers barely knew how to control Inferi... but with this, we will have them always at our command..."

Harry calmly began discussing this possibility of all of this with Tom, bringing up ideas on how the Inferi might be useful in the future. By storing bodies in the Cave and bewitching them, they were creating as much of a plan to fall back on as their Dragons in Scotland and clan of Giants in Albania. Tom was building up an army with success and surprising ease, working away from the eye of the Ministry and planning solutions for every possibly inconvenience that might come his way.

By the time six months passed, Mulciber was serving a year in Azkaban and Tom was getting several selected Knights to move the corpses of their victims. They were under the illusion that this Cave was merely an insignificant hiding place for bodies. Tom made sure that none of them truly knew where this place was, they were merely following his directions, unaware that he planned to make an army of Inferi here. Harry and Tom stood by and watched while bodies were being dumped into the cold, clear water of this hidden Cave.

The Knights complained of the smell and the low temperature, clearly not pleased to be dealing with corpses several months or years old, even with the aid of magic. Tom was silent as he watched the useless bodies of the soon-to-be Inferi floating on the surface of the silent water, sinking slowly into darkness, like the process of death itself again. They cave was already enchanted with powerful spells. No witch or wizard could enter the place without first drawing blood and weakening themselves. If they dared to come here, they would rest amongst Inferi forevermore.

Tom had magic surrounding the Cave to stop it from detection, to stop Muggles from coming near, to stop the screams of the Inferi and their victims from ever penetrating beyond these walls. He was going to fashion a boat that only one wizard could take and he was going to create a small island amongst the lake of Inferi. Upon that island would be a potion, a maddening potion, that must be consumed. This was all to hide his Locket safely, to catch whoever dared try and take it from him...

When the Knights were done with their work, Tom sent them away, giving them short instructions to return to their houses before they were missed. He stood alone with Harry after this, doing nothing more than looking out at the dark, smooth surface of water. Tom was annoyed by the deaths of these people, by how easy it was to kill so many. Before he allowed this anger to reach him fully, he turned to Harry, who was watching him closely, and suggested they seal this place up again and leave.

Out on the vast, open edge of cliff, high above the crashing waves, Tom was distracted by the warm colours of the setting sun. Harry had barely said a word since they arrived here; he must have known Tom was deeply vexed. Tom tried to calm himself by thinking about how well-protected his Locket was going to be. The only thing that stopped his anger, however, was the knowledge that he had become so much more powerful than any Muggle could have dreamed...

"Summertime is such a strange change of earth," Tom commented quietly, in a moment beside himself. They stood upon the edge of the cliff, looking out across the sea. "I cannot honestly say that it reminds me of much more than being forced to returned to the orphanage... or of the night I murdered my father, my grandparents..."

His scathing tone told Harry of the anger he felt, as much as he might have preferred avoiding any sign of emotion. He wished he could dig up the corpses of his family to bring them all here too, to make a mockery of death and use them to murder other Muggles, to terrify anyone that met Tom's wrath. He wanted to let his victims serve him in death forever, to take power over all of Britain, all of the wizarding world, all of magic...

Tom's thoughts were stopped, however. Harry had taken his hand. Without a word, without a glance, they stood together on this windy, salty cliff, and Tom knew Harry understood.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Let's go home..."

If Tom had been with anyone else, he would have been too proud to agree. He would have fled from here to find those corpses no matter how much attention this might attract from the Ministry, or the Muggle police. He followed Harry, however. He couldn't shake his anger off back at their house, but he wasn't so cruel as to let it affect Harry. It carried on for so long that when a month passed, Tom was ready for the arrival of difficulties concerning his Knights. He was ready to silence any dark witch or wizard in London who dared cause him trouble.

"These ones are from that Dark Arts group that reckons we shouldn't be getting so much attention," Dolohov slurred brutally as he gripped the shoulders of a struggling wizard. "They've been causing us a right bit of trouble, haven't they?"

"It would appear as if they've gained a little more knowledge about us than you might be comfortable with, my Lord," Lestrange told Tom formally, unable to keep the bored tone from his voice as usual. "We brought them here due to a lack of knowing what else to do."

"A wise decision," Tom remarked softly, his eyes burning in anger as he examined the young witch and two wizards before him. Their minds were easy to read. "Yes, I think these are indeed a few of the many young Sorcerers who have caused a great deal of problems for us in recent months..."

"I reckon they're at least a part of 'em, my Lord," Dolohov said.

"What do you suggest we do with them, my Lord?" Nott asked.

"Well, I cannot safely say that bribery might work upon them, despite their evident lack of fortune in both money and intelligence." A few of the Knights snickered along at the sight of Tom's sneer. "No, I suggest we teach them a little lesson... Let us enrich their deprived minds and show them the importance of pride, loyalty, and respect for stronger groups dedicated to the Dark Arts..."

"Who should be taking care of it, my Lord?" Dolohov asked.

Tom was tempted to call Harry forth to torture these Sorcerers for him, but he knew this wasn't the correct time. Harry's murders had to be more meaningful, they had to be for something he would never end up regretting... Instead, Tom desired to settle his own anger with this. He stepped forwards gracefully, examining the brave, the snarling, and the terrified expressions of the three strangers facing him.

The snarling, cursing wizard caught Tom's attention first. The wizard was not yet thirty, but was clearly dedicated solely to the Dark Arts and wished to make a name of himself. Tom watched him struggle, his hands tied and Avery's strong grip on his shoulders. Tom steadied the wizards face with one hand, staring down into his mind. It would be easy to break this wizard, to horrify the others.

"Stand him up," Tom ordered, a smile curling onto his face. "Allow me to demonstrate what happens to those foolish enough to pry into Lord Voldemort's concerns..."

It was so easy to watch the wizard's mind, to learn precisely what would terrify, hurt, and break him the most efficiently. Tom was so eager in his anger, he had but a few short minutes before the wizard was screaming in agony at the memories Tom tampered with, shaking and vomiting with the weight of physical pain. Before long enough, the wizard passed out, useless now.

"The girl," Tom ordered sharply, "bring her forth!"

He was surprised at the bravery the witch attained after watching the first wizard shatter before her eyes. Bravery was a harder emotion to break, it worked on ignorance and firm belief rather than hiding other emotions, like anger. These Sorcerers were weak, however, and she broke after only a few minutes longer than the first.

The third Sorcerer had already vomited once by the time he was thrown forth. He shook badly and pleaded for mercy before any magic at all was used upon him. The Death Eaters laughed at the sight, too used to weak wizards like this to remember what if felt like to once be like this. Tom was so eager to torture this wizard, he pushed it too far. He was too engrained in the wizard's mind to notice it when he was losing blood, losing air. When Tom noticed he was dying, he watched the wizard's mind for every thought, every emotion that began to slip away.

But Tom learnt nothing of death. He learnt nothing about what happened to a person's soul when their bodies became useless, for a barrier seemed to place itself between living thoughts and the afterlife. The soul slipped from the wizard's mind as if through a drain, a tiny hole, and Tom could not follow it. Conscious, suddenly, of the quiet Knights around him and the blankness in the dead wizard's eyes, Tom let go of the wizard's throat, allowing him to slip away and crumple to the floor. That was it. That was the wizard's entire existence – gone.

Tom did not say a word about it.

He stood up straighter, turning to his Knights. The witch and wizard previously tortured seemed to be conscious again, screaming for their dead friend to wake up. Tom turned his back on the scene, barking out orders to his Knights.

"Take those two back to where you found them," he said. "Or, if more convenient, to a different common slum in London... Take care of the dead one in the usual way. They shan't be a problem for us anymore."

The Knights followed his orders without reluctance. When they were finished and the house was quiet once more, Harry found Tom upstairs, brooding over many things. He wanted to talk about why Tom had decided to murder that man. Tom explained it was an accident and after a certain amount of reassurance, Harry stopped bringing it up. Even as time went on, however, Tom was distracted by those last few seconds of life he saw in peoples' eyes.

As months passed, more people had to be killed by Tom's Knights. Often, he would allow others to be killed by the Knights while he watched their minds for death as it approached. He grew agitated when he could not find out anything new. The Knights were soon rising to so much power that murder was less common due to widespread fear. Tom began losing interest. Anyone who did not have information to give him immediately were useless to him. He allowed his Knights to kill without question. It was how things worked.

Soon, Tom's obsession with watching people die turned into his obsession with Necromancy. The Inferi were strong, but they slept beneath the surface of the lake in his Cave. The enchantments protecting the Locket were complete, the Cave was sealed off and secured, and Tom's attention was turning towards another Horcrux he wanted to make. Harry's Horcrux.

"I haven't had my soul split for it yet," Harry said calmly again one morning. Tom had brought the subject up hopefully, thinking Harry might have been mulling over the idea of Horcruxes since they finished hiding the Locket. "I still need to kill first."

"We can have that arranged," Tom told him. "There are hundreds of people out there the world would not miss. Moreover, you can silence another troublemaker for our Knights."

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to kill some random person. I want to kill someone important, if I have to."

As much as Tom didn't want this to be true, he understood Harry's choice. He wished only that an important kill would show up some time soon. The breakable Sword worried Tom. He was so worried, in fact, that he had enchanted his Ring to give Harry extra protection – even if, in truth, Harry was more than strong enough to defend himself. Harry wore his Ring often, now. It gave Tom a sense of pride that his soul was upon his very hand. He didn't care what his old schoolmates might think.

Waiting for the right kill to come around, Tom put the matter of Horcruxes to the back of his mind the best he could yet again. Although he would never admit it, he was scared. The idea of Harry slipping away from him like mortals did, so easily, so boringly, terrified him more deeply than he could ever feel comfortable saying. It kept him awake to think of it at night, it tempted him to bother Harry about Horcruxes often. If Harry slipped away from him, into nothingness, as if he had never existed at all, Tom would be lost forever...

So he waited and protected Harry now like he had for so many years in the past. His fear of Harry's brilliant power was put on hold, because the love he felt for him caused further hatred of death. Harry was the only person that had ever mattered, truly. Tom couldn't, Tom wouldn't, let him die like his parents had, like his enemies had, all in weakness. Harry's worth, alongside Tom's, was so great that to lose their place on earth would be to lose the entire point of existence, the entire point of anything.

Together, they were rising to great power, and Tom hoped to keep it this way. The whole of London feared Tom now. The whole of England knew of his bloodthirsty Death Eaters and the things they got up too. No one knew exactly who was a part of Tom's group, but the name _Lord Voldemort_ and _the Death Eaters_ was being whispered within every dark corner of pubs across the country, every shadowed alley and trusted household. Tom wondered how Dumbledore thought of him now. He wondered whether Grindelwald too had heard whispered of where his wayward followers had gone and who they were serving now under the secret name _the Knights of Walpurgis._

Tom wondered too how the Ministry would handle the attacks he had planned for the future. How easy – how gloriously simple – it was to have a nation crumple before his greatness... Attacking the Ministry would be his greatest challenge yet, greater even than defeating the followers of Gellert Grindelwald and leading on from where he had left off. Tom was patient. He was biding his time while all of England froze in apprehension. They waited for the moment, the year, in which Lord Voldemort would strike.


	72. Connections

72 – Connections

Time was a strange thing. The thought kept replaying itself again and again in Harry's mind as he stood alone in his bedroom, his back to the door. His attention was fixed entirely on a delicate item he held within his hands: a pocketwatch. It was normally kept within a cupboard he and Tom stored their most precious items in, such as Horcruxes, ancient artefacts, and treasures found in their dealings through the Death Eaters, but quite often, lately, Harry removed it just to look at it. It drew him in and distracted him when he was away, no matter how many times he held it within his hands...

The shining gold surface of the watch appeared to be completely smooth, but when Harry looked closely, he could see faint circles and lines etched skilfully into it. It was a beautiful item to behold, but the emotions Harry felt from it dampened it's beauty slowly. It reminded him of his past. It reminded him of the passing of time itself. It became more curious and eerie the more he examined it, because there had been a strong sense of recognition attached it the moment Tom brought it home. Harry had no idea how that could be possible...

They had taken it to a specialist in northern England, who had owed Tom a favour after a few Ministry Officials conveniently turned a blind eye to unlawful dealings done within his small, humble shop. The specialist told Tom, after a moment of paused yearning, that the watch was indeed very rare. More rare, he said, than any archaist would be willing to admit before buying it himself. As Tom had suspected, it was an Heirloom.

So why, Harry wondered, was this item recognisable to him? Why did it fill him with a feeling of sorrow and nostalgia? Wizards owned watches like this often, but he couldn't recall seeing even a similar design to this in the hands of anyone he knew. Someone insignificant could have owned one similar, yes, but then why should Harry not remember the owner?

His first theory (and his first fear) was that he had forgotten the owner due to his damaged memory. After the recreation of the Sword Horcrux, his mind had become a strange place; it was broken and twisted in many ways. More often than ignorable, Harry forgot how things happened and when, but Tom assured him this was normal for now. Harry's second theory (thought of with as much reluctance as the first) was that his memories of the watch might have been older than he was willing to recall... Maybe -

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He looked up calmly, lowering the watch. The chain holding it was delicate; it wove between his fingers easily. Tom seemed surprised when he entered the room, slowing to a stop.

"Again?" he asked quietly, smiling. "I rather thought you might have memorised the watch entirely, by this point."

Harry let the chain drop from one hand. It landed in the other. "I doubt you brought me a present so I could hide it in a cupboard all it's life. Especially not one this historical."

Tom made his way closer to Harry, amused. "No, I suppose not... I'm glad you like it."

Harry turned away from Tom to place the pocketwatch back in it's case, finding Tom's dark eyes watching him when he turned back.

"Is there news?" Harry asked. "I thought you were working downstairs."

"Yes," Tom responded softly, "there are a few visitors who have requested that we should meet them in a matter of minutes. I would have declined the offer, initially, but Lestrange insisted this group could be of great use to us in the future..."

"Who are they?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"Come," Tom said, taking his hand. "I'll show you."

They made their way out of the bedroom, through the empty house.

The place was comfortable and perfectly suiting to their needs; a grand gift from Cygnus Black. Harry was sure Tom knew this and would remember it well. It was safe from the Ministry, safe from crime. The only real complaint Harry had was that it was decorated in a way the stunk of Pureblooded wealth. It reminded him of the Malfoy Manor, which wasn't something he could openly discuss. Tom enjoyed having the house and treated it with casual liking that many would mistake for comfort; they would assume and believe that Tom had been raised in a place like this. He would not correct them.

Downstairs, Tom released Harry's hand, telling Tweaky, the House-Elf, to expect their visitors' arrival any moment. Tom had let Tweaky return to his new house to serve him, never once thinking how this could be dangerous. Over the years, the Elf had heard many conversations between and about the Knights of Walpurgis – he might have heard enough by this point to understand Tom's entire organisation. The idea amused Harry slightly. He kept an eye out for signs of a betrayal in Tweaky, saying nothing that might offend Tom.

Within five minutes, the guests arrived. Lestrange, Black, and Dolohov were the only wizards Harry recognised at first, with six or seven new others lingered behind them. Harry tried to get a better look of the strangers' faces in his attempt to work out who they were. They were eyeing Tom with looks of awe and curiosity, eyeing Harry with only the latter. Harry met eyes with a tall, brutal-looking man and with a jolt of horrid fear, he realised he knew that face.

The man's attention turned away a second later. He smiled at a few whispered words his friend spoke, his sharp, pointed teeth bared in the movement. This added no light to his dark eyes, but suggesting genuine amusement nonetheless. His large hands supported chipped, yellow fingernails that seemed to have reddish-brown dirt dug into them. His face was rough and was in need of a shave, but he didn't appear to enjoy maintaining his appearance much. He was muscular and more handsome than Harry expected possible for a young Fenrir Greyback – not that that was saying much.

"Is this your entire group?" Tom asked the stranger standing closest to him.

"No," the stranger answered. He was clearly the leader of this small group; he was the most brave and brutal-looking of all seven men. He spoke slowly and clearly, despite his heavy London accent. It made his words sound sinister. "A lot the others... well, they didn't reckon it was worth coming all the way up 'ere to meet you, knowing you might not have seen us at all."

"And why is it that you have requested to see me?" Tom asked.

"We wanted to talk to you," the stranger said. "We've heard some rumours, see."

"Rumours?"

"About this here group. People have been sayin' youse are getting stronger than anyone first supposed possible. With rumours like tha', it was only a matter of time before we'd start getting curious."

"What is it that you're curious about?" Tom asked. His words were soft, thoughtful. It unnerved the new wizards, who had expected great force from someone of such stature, someone of such a dark appearance. "I assume you must be requesting to follow me, in some way."

"Yeah," the wizard responded, "we were thinkin' summat like tha'."

"What have you to offer me?"

"What?"

"In return," Tom said. "What use might you be to me?"

The wizard turned to his six companions, grinning. "I reckon you already know the answer to tha', m'Lord."

Tom gave a hum of laughter, one that wasn't quite a lie to humour his guests. "I'm not quite sure what service Werewolves might be to me."

"What we can offer you is our help any time you need it. If you've got a problem with any witch or wizard and need 'em to be punished, we'd happily be of service... We're in need of some good victims, see. Not to mention Ministry protection."

"What is your name?" Tom asked curiously.

"Gavin McDarline."

"Well, McDarline," Tom began, "your offer is both very bold and very straightforward. How am I to know, however, that you are sincere in your dedication to my group?"

"You can rely on us whenever we might be of use," McDarline swore. "We'll come and help youse out. We don't need to follow you properly, we just wanna an alliance, for both of our sakes."

"I see," Tom said, inclining his head slowly as he thought. "That is indeed a promising offer and I imagine it might be of some use in the future... The least I can say is, I expect successful results from you."

McDarline was satisfied, grinning. "So we're 'ired, then?"

"Yes, you are hired. I shall send some of my Death Eaters to contact you, should the occasion call for your help... Expect to hear from us soon."

He then turned to Black and Lestrange.

"You may now escort our guests to the door."

"Yes, my Lord."

Led by the two Knights, McDarline, Greyback, and the five other werewolves turned away, making their way out of the room. Harry's eyes were on Greyback, who may or may not have noticed being stared at for the whole of that short meeting. It surprised him immensely that Greyback had stuck by the Death Eaters for so long.

Black and Lestrange returned to Tom when the werewolves left. They looked at him with serious expressions, trained so well under his reign.

"Your suspicions were correct, my Lord," Black began, seemingly comforted in his trust for Tom. "Werewolves are eager to stand by our side, likely a result solely from your preparations."

"Yes," Tom agreed calmly. He surveyed his two Knights with satisfaction. "They shall be of great use to us, especially as the Ministry is their largest enemy... You have not disappointed me."

Although they did not comment on this, Harry could see the relief and joy in both Black and Lestrange's posture now.

"Your work here has come to an end," Tom told them. "I shall begin giving orders to another pair of Knights to start a stronger communication between us and them, to-"

"Which Knights?" Lestrange interrupted.

Tom's eyes snapped to his with a look of surprise. Although he did not say it nor show it in any prominent way, Harry knew he was annoyed. He was sure both Knights knew it too; the atmosphere in the room had changed.

"You dare to question me about my plans?" Tom asked softly.

Colour rose in Lestrange's cheeks at once. "No, of course not, but-"

Tom averted his attention, bored by the weakness. He spoke over Lestrange. "I suggest the two of you leave here at once. I have plans to begin."

"Of course, my lord," Black said, bowing. Lestrange soon followed his lead, still angry and embarrassed.

Tom turned away from his Knights silently. Harry, however, had locked eyes with Lestrange as he straightened up. Harry was not outwardly gleeful, but something in his stare still offended and irritated Lestrange deeply. He glowered for a moment, before turning away with a twirl of his cloak in defeat and an attempt at pride. In seconds, he and Black were out of the house, gone for the night.

Harry turned to Tom, who was pacing the room. There was a smile on his face.

"Werewolves are now on our side," Tom said in a hushed voice, as if the idea stunned him. "How brilliant – how terribly easy it was!"

Harry was surprised by his happiness. "You really think they'll be important, then?"

"Of course!" Tom exclaimed. "They have always been massively feared creatures. They would send the Minister of Magic himself into a recoiling panic if ever he had to deal with an uprising from them. How brilliant it will be to have them under our power! We could make an army of them – we will have every bloodthirsty Werewolf in England following our commands in a matter of months!"

"By offering them victims," Harry added, understanding. "Everyone will be terrified when the Werewolves start attacking more often, but even when rumours about us being a part of it all start popping up, there'll be no way to really prove it. No way to stop it, anyway. Especially because if the Ministry starts looking into it -"

"Several Knights will confuse the Ministry from within, as always!"

"That's why you don't want Black or Rosier involved in talking to the Werewolves, isn't it?" Harry asked, taking a seat. "You don't want anyone close to the Ministry knowing who's doing what."

"Yes," Tom grinned, "I want to cause confusion even amongst the Knights. Only you and I shall know who runs separate aspects of our plans!"

Harry tried his best to be enthralled by the idea of all this, and eventually he succeeded. Tom was joyous for the whole night, drawing up plans and discussing important ideas with Harry, who never once had to fake his interest.

That night, Tom again brought up a subject Harry had been thinking about on and off for months. His next murder. Harry hadn't decided who he wanted to kill yet, even if he knew he had to do it soon. He wanted it to be an important kill. He told Tom this and watched him struggle to understand it for a while. They spoke of possible victims, possible people Harry could go after, and although they came to no conclusions that night, it lead Harry to some very important thoughts.

He had begun to realise, as time went on, that more than a few murders and attacks through the Death Eaters directly connected individuals who would one day put a lot of effort into resisting Voldemort through the Order of the Phoenix. After Mulciber murdered Bones, Harry first suspected this. Edgar Bones, a relative of the man Mulciber killed, was going to join the Order and was going to fight for this war with strength and vigour. Then there was Harold McKinnon, related to Marlene McKinnon, who had been murdered not a month ago by Avery.

As winter began to creep over England a few months on, Harry stood alone in the streets of London, waiting. Snow fell thickly and steadily past him, piling up as muddy, dark slush that would freeze into ice by dawn. Muggles would find this troublesome, Harry thought. All except the one wizarding dwelling on this cold, lonely road; the family he had been watching. The family he had been closely examining to see the workings of...

The sun had completely set, sending Harry into shadows. When the lampposts turned on, they cast spots of horrid orange light on the rest of the street. Harry was not put off by the cold temperature, even when the family he spied on were twenty minutes later than usual. Tom was not here. He was busy with the Knights, too busy to even witness the crime Harry planned to do tonight. Neither of them were sure if it would be now or later in the future when he went through with this. Harry had been watching his house for a while...

When the family finally arrived, they walked quickly through the streets to resist the cold. The youngest child was running gleefully ahead, red hair flowing behind her. A tall man, who must have been her father, talked merrily of things Harry didn't listen to, things his second daughter seemed deaf to as well. His two sons listened. They talked back to him, joking, laughing. They were twins, identical from their flaming red hair down to the last freckle.

"It's all easy for him to say, isn't it, Gideon?" the first twin asked.

"It is, Fabian," the second twin responded, grinning towards his father. "He was always a top-level student at Hogwarts, but it'll be twice as hard for us to get good marks on our OWLs."

"We have twice the chance of mucking up, we have," Fabian added, laughing.

"If Hogwarts treated your scores as one, then yes," the oldest sister remarked, "but since they don't -"

"Oh, don't remind him about that, Molly!" Fabian cut across her, ginning. "We always get a better score combined."

"Only because neither of you can agree to learn the same subjects properly."

"Then the solution is easy then, isn't it?" said Gideon.

"We'll just change places in our exams," Fabian finished.

"You'll do no such thing!" Mr Prewett told them. "If your mother gets word from Hogwarts of you two cheating on your OWLs -"

"Don't worry, dad," Gideon said, "we won't get caught."

They headed into the house, closing the door behind them and cutting out the sound of Mr Prewett's frustrated yet amused comments to his two sons. Molly Prewett was the last to enter the house, casting a look out at the dark street as if she knew someone was watching her. Harry didn't move even when the front door closed. He prepared himself for another hour of waiting. He watched lights on the second floor flicker on, then off again. It was time.

Taking out the Invisibility Cloak, he draped it around his shoulders, pulling up the hood. Then, taking out his wand, he headed for the house. The locks were easy to break; they were nothing compared to the enchantments even the lowest ranking Knights were trained to master. Harry silenced the door, silencing his footsteps too. There was one night on downstairs, in the living room, but Harry ignored this. He made his way upstairs.

On the corridor, he was stopped momentarily by one of the twins leaving his bedroom for the bathroom. Being neither seen no heard, Harry was not at all startled by this. He waited for the twin to close himself in the bathroom before he made his way to a second bedroom. A bedroom, to Harry's luck, used by the youngest child.

It was as simple as pushing the door open as if it had happened naturally. The young girl sat up in bed, awoken by the noise and light. She couldn't see anyone entering the room. Harry made his way to a corner silently, noticing that the girl can't have been older than nine or ten. The girl was alarmed by the door, she called out for her sister. Molly arrived in slight concern a few minutes later, glancing around the room. She was calmed by the lack of disturbance.

Smiling to her sister, she said reassuringly, "Rose, the door probably wasn't shut properly. Don't be so alarmed."

Molly then turned away. She shut off the lights before leaving, so darkness fell around everything except a glowing jar of fireflies Rose kept as a night light on her bedside table. In the faint light, Harry could see Rose's concerned eyes scanning the room once more. She could sense Harry's presence, even if she was too young to know of that kind of magic. She drew the covers right up to her ears, closing her eyes tightly.

Harry was going to murder her. It would be simple enough, it wasn't as if he could lose against the power of a ten-year-old child. It would force the Prewett Family to start taking part in the Order of the Phoenix, in the resistance against Voldemort. Harry knew it had to be done. With one quick spell, he could end her life and leave the house without ever being noticed. He withdrew his wand.

The Prewett family would know it was murder, but their only evidence of it would come from the mark of the Death Eaters that Harry planned to leave here. The Dark Mark. Dumbledore would surely know what it meant, but he wouldn't speak to the Prewetts for a number of years, likely. They would mourn for a while, before getting angry, before seeking revenge. Before taking down the Death Eaters themselves...

The girl was not yet asleep, but killing her would be so quick, so effortless, she wouldn't have time to fight. Harry stepped forwards, prepared for this. He stepped on a creaky floorboard. Rose's eyes flew open and she sat up in bed, looking around. She couldn't see Harry, but for the first time all night, Harry looked closely at the fear in her eyes. This was it, he told himself. One simple spell...

"_Avada -..._"

He hesitated. At the sound of his whisper, Rose froze up, and when he paused in regret she drew in a heavy, terrified breath. She screamed.

She screamed so loudly, Harry heard a mad shift in the house around him. Molly and her two brothers had jumped out of bed; their doors banged open and their pounding footsteps drew near. Light poured into Rose's room. One of the brothers scooped Rose up in his arms, protecting her as she screamed nonsense and pointed to where she had heard Harry's voice. Molly was the first to react with magic.

"_IMPEDIMENTA!_"

Harry was far too strong to be affected by her spell for longer than a second, but it knocked him off balance nevertheless, causing the Invisibility Cloak to slip. All of Rose's siblings started howling in fright when they saw him. The second Harry's muscles stopped tensing, he was out the door, pushing the second twin aside to flee down the staircase. Mr Prewett was on his way up.

"_EXPELLIARMUS!_" Harry shouted.

Mr Prewett wand shot out of his hand. He was knocked down several stairs, stumbling until his head hit a wall. There was blood. A lot of blood. His wife screamed and began firing spells wildly, but Harry blocked them in his way out the door. In seconds, he left the house, hearing everyone in it still full of terror and fright, screaming and cowering. Harry disappeared into the shadows of the street, holding his Invisibility Cloak in one hand all the way.

He didn't cast the Dark Mark in the sky. He had failed because of his hesitation. He had let his identity show because of Molly's spell. He felt sick with rage. A 13-year-old Molly Prewett, soon to be Molly Weasley, had disrupted his secrecy. She had protected her sister so well that every Ministry official in England would be searching for Harry by morning, every Death Eater and Knight would realise that he had failed to kill a little girl. Molly Weasley had stalled Harry's next Horcrux, ruining Lord Voldemort's desire to have his one true love completely immortal. She had defied him successfully. He had failed to surpass that.

He closed his eyes. He was back under the Cloak, his heart pounding, his head aching from where it had hit a wall. He had almost murdered an eleven year old girl, but had failed to do so... Would the Prewetts now never join the Order of the Phoenix? The scare might be enough, Harry thought, because they wouldn't forget this night for a long time. Rose might even be so scared by all of this that she'd suffer trauma for longer than he'd expect. Was that enough for a family to spend their lives fighting Voldemort? Was it enough for them to die for? Harry wasn't so sure.

He felt as if he had watched his own crime from a long way away. It felt like a mad dream, like one of the visions into Lord Voldemort's mind he had known in his teenage years. When their connection had been strong, it was as clear as glass. Harry looked down at his hands, which were shaking. They were his hands indeed, not Voldemort's... Not Tom's long, more elegant hands... Harry closed his eyes.

If he had succeeded in killing the girl, Tom would have been too pleased to care about the inconvenience it caused. He would have praised Harry and would have been willing to spend hours upon hours making sure that Rosier, Lestrange, Black, Nott, and others stopped the Ministry from looking too deeply into the crime. Since Harry had failed, Tom had to waste a lot of effort worrying about a problem that gave him nothing in return. He would want an explanation. The Death Eaters and Knights would then discuss Harry's failure; rumours would spring up about it, jokes would be made spitefully...

Harry was tempted, very tempted, to go back and kill the Prewetts. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that they must have contacted the Ministry by now. On top of that, they would be protective of their daughter and Harry was unwilling to kill Molly or the Prewett twins. The parents were good targets... but Harry recalled that look in Rose's eyes. He recalled how well Mrs Prewett fought. He recalled that the Ministry could be here any second...

"Fuck," Harry whispered under his breath.

He wanted to break something, to hurt someone, to send up the Dark Mark just to honour the night. But there was nothing to be proud of. He had failed to murder anyone. Why had he hesitated? This could have changed history – his weakness could have warped his entire reality of the future. Harry was too stressed. He was too overwhelmed by the horrid excitement of the night. Before he knew what he was doing, be pointed his wand to the sky and shouted, "_MORSMORDRE!_"

A shower of green stars burst into the clouds above him, illuminating the sky in a strange, muffled green hue that had to be visible for miles. The constellation of a looming skull could be seen masked by fog, giving the Dark Mark an even more sinister appearance than normal. It overpowered the horrid orange lighting in the streets around Harry, likely catching the attention of every Muggle nearby. Harry reached for his Invisibility Cloak instinctively.

It was wrong to do this, he felt. It pinned the action to the Death Eaters and caused problems as several Muggles – several hundreds – would see this magic in display clearly above the snowy streets of London. Harry didn't care. He was thrilled by his act of evil, by his recklessness and lack of care. He balled his hands into fists. He had to go home, now, before he made things worse...

He Apparated before the Ministry showed up. He went to a random location first, a populated wizarding place, so the Ministry couldn't track him down. When he arrived back at his house, he headed inside hurriedly, knowing only too well that a few Ministry-involved Knights could arrive at any minute to ask Tom why the Dark Mark was suddenly looming above a quiet street in London. Harry had to tell Tom about his crime first, as unwilling as he was to say what had happened...

He searched the house for Tom silently, never calling his name. He found him in the living room, working as usual. When he entered the room, Tom barely looked up. Harry had been stalking the Prewetts for just under two weeks due to their Christmas vacation, so Tom had likely given up expecting anything important to happen. Harry had lied about his connection to this family, saying they were friends of a now-dead wizard he had known. Tom had left his strange interest as his own business. Harry had been glad about this, before.

"I thought you might be out for longer," Tom commented tranquilly, noticing he was there, "yet I'm glad you're here... This work shan't take longer than twenty minutes. Can you wait for me?"

All Harry could do was stand in the doorway, holding the Cloak in one hand. His lips were dry. He wondered if he should have used a knife, just so Tom could see blood, so he could understand the situation without Harry saying a word. Harry was breathing heavily.

Tom looked up at his silence. He examined Harry's face, unable to read it. He saw his withdrawn wand, his Invisibility Cloak. He saw Harry's nervous stance, the tremor in his hand. After watching his Knights murder so many victims, he understood. He stood up.

"Who?" he asked softly.

Harry tried to find his voice, distracted by the joy in Tom's eyes. "No one..."

"What?"

"I... it didn't..."

Tom moved around the table, making his way across the room. "Who did you try to murder?"

The words fell so delicately on his tongue, Harry was stunned. It was a casual question from Tom, which was unusual, but it was bound to such happiness, such triumph, Harry was unsure he could have heard Tom right.

"A – a child," Harry said. "A girl... A daughter of Prewett..."

"Why her?" Tom asked. His pupils were dilated. He was standing close to Harry, reaching for his face even as he backed away slightly on instinct, in panic, confusion, and delirium.

"I – I don't know," Harry managed lamely. "I... I just wanted to... to kill someone important... But I attacked the father too. He – he was unconscious, I think... I don't know..."

Why was Tom so happy about this? He looked at Harry as if he had done a great thing, as if even attempted murder was a gift to him on many levels. He looked as if he might kiss Harry any moment.

"Tell me what happened..."

Harry never had the chance to. In the next moment, two Knights had entered the room, neither making their presence known previously nor knocking on the door. It was Rosier and Lestrange. Lestrange gave Harry and Tom an odd look when he saw them standing so close, but he did not comment on it. Rosier seemed blind to their closeness, especially as Tom's hand fell from Harry.

"My Lord," Rosier began in a strained voice, "it's urgent that we speak."

"What is the problem?"

"The Ministry is in a panic at the sight of the Dark Mark above the streets of London. It has to have been one of our own people who cast it, of course. A man has been brought to St Mungo's with suspected damage to his head and brain -"

"Already?" Tom asked.

Rosier paused, confused.

"You know the man's been attacked?" Lestrange asked.

"Of course," Tom said softly. "My Knights do not kill and use the Dark Mark without my permission to do so."

Lestrange's eyes flickered to Harry, understanding. "It was him, wasn't it?"

Harry looked away, annoyed and discomforted. He couldn't lie when he was already under such stress. Tom, apparently, felt no need to lie at all.

"Yes, Lestrange. I'm glad to see the Ministry hasn't yet worked it out."

"It won't be long now, I fear."

"How is it that they reacted so quickly at this hour?" Tom asked, ignoring Lestrange's comment.

"The Dark Mark sent the Ministry into an immediate state of fear," Rosier explained. "They see the pattern now: after Bones' death, Mulciber used the Mark. After Terry and Crow, Dolohov used it too."

"What is the problem?" Tom asked his two Knights. "Mulciber is already in Azkaban. He will not be questioned yet about being a part of a group, for the Ministry has no solid evidence to suggest it, beyond the presence of the Dark Mark. What is more, Dolohov was never caught for his murders."

"What if Jonathan gets caught?" Rosier asked.

Tom turned to Harry, appearing almost serious for the first time. "Was there any evidence left behind?"

Harry shook his head. "They saw me, but I don't think that will help them much."

"They'll know it's him," Lestrange said in a drab, bored tone.

Tom fixed his eyes on Lestrange immediately. "Why are you so sure?"

Lestrange paled at the intensity of his stare. "Well, any Ministry could work out the clues after such a..."

"Such a what?" Harry asked.

Lestrange's voice dropped down to a hateful murmur. "After such a clumsy job."

Tom drew up straighter, contempt ruling his cruel gaze. Before he could say a word, however, three more Knights arrived.

"My Lord!" Gonson exclaimed, lost for breath, "The Ministry -"

"I know of the Ministry's panic, Gonson," Tom cut across him. "Tell me what's important."

"There's problems," he panted, sweat dripping over his tiny nose. "They suspects it's – it's linked to Mulciber and – and that it's a part of the Death Eaters -"

"They know of the Death Eaters?"

"No – no they don't, but -"

"The Ministry knows for sure that we're a group," Nott said, taking over Gonson's explanation in impatience. "They're going to start an inquiry about anyone linked to Mulciber, which will cause problems not only for a few Knights, but for a few of the main witches and wizards we've been trading goods with these last few months."

"Connections to Mulciber can be sorted," Tom said.

"It'll be one hell of a fucking job!" Ransom commented irritably.

"Don't fear for your life so desperately, Berkeley," Tom asked of Ransom coldly, an exasperated look on his face. "Mulciber was not linked to you too closely. Others should be twice as concerned as you."

"I'm not scared about my life!" Ransom argued. "I don't care if I die, I just care that I don't get chucked in Azkaban for the rest of my life along with Mulciber – he'd murder me there for the fun of it!"

Tom ignored this, perhaps angered by Ransom's comment on death.

"Also, Jonathan is in danger," Nott told Tom.

Tom was visibly alarmed for the first time. "They know it's him?"

"No, but the Ministry now knows what he looks like," Nott said. "We have no idea how soon it will be until a description of his identity circles every newspaper across Britain. By tomorrow, everyone could be searching for him – even searching their memories to recall if they've seen him before."

"They cannot know it's him directly," Tom reasoned.

"You're kidding, aren't you?" Ransom asked.

Tom glared at him, enraged, but this didn't silence him.

"How the fuck could anyone mistake those green eyes?"

The Knights all glanced at Harry, momentarily annoying him. He looked away.

"We can change the way Jonathan looks," Tom said.

"We can't change people's memories," Lestrange reasoned. "Anyone who's seen him in the past will come here asking questions about where he is now. Jonathan will have to go away for a while."

Harry could sense that Lestrange enjoyed this idea very much. It annoyed him so deeply, he spoke before he could stop himself. "As much as you want to get rid of me, Raphael, there's nowhere I can go."

"A cell in Azkaban is your next step from here," Ransom spat.

Harry glared at him. "Be careful I don't send you there myself."

"What are you going to do, cause me a concussion?"

Anger seared through Harry like fire, burning at the back of his brain. He wanted to attack Ransom for his obnoxiousness, to relieve all the stress, fury, and hatred that was building up inside him. He wanted to prove himself...

"Don't, Berkeley," Gonson warned him, seeing the look in Harry's eyes.

"Who's gunna stop me, eh?" Ransom asked. "The whole fucking Ministry's going mad about this, but not because he actually killed anyone! Do you know how many people I've killed? He murders one of Grindelwald's lot and gets credit when nothing else happens. Then he can't even defeat a kid! A defenceless kid! How did that feel, then? How do you like causing all this trouble when any of us would have -"

His words were cut short when Harry's anger became too much. "_CRUCIO!_"

He flew towards Ransom, who was screaming in agony, twisting wildly like a snake on the ground. The four Knights stared in horror, backing up as Ransom's limbs jolted around wildly, his screams piercing the air.

"Jonath-!"

Harry let the spell go on and on, his veins aching with the thrill of torture. Ransom had killed countless witches and wizards, innocent or not. Tonight he was facing the first real consequence of those crimes, as well as a consequence for angering Harry about a problem he could not explain. The Cruciatus Curse ended. Harry couldn't hurt him forever; he had had enough now. He turned away, blind with rage, and tried to overcome his emotions.

"Point proven," Ransom jeered through gasps of breath. "Couldn't even kill me!"

Harry stopped walking. Ransom was laughing behind him, mocking him. All of Harry's problems, all of this anger and pain, could be solved with one spell... There wouldn't be that terrified, sad look to stop him now. Ransom felt no horror at the idea of death, because he knew more than anyone that he deserved it. Harry turned around, taking out his wand.

"More torture?" Ransom asked. "As if I haven't faced that bef-"

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

There was a flash of blinding green light, a thud, and silence.

It was as easy as that. Ransom even died with a smile on his face...

Four Knights stared. Harry twisted his neck, closing his eyes. His wrists burned with the desire to do more, to hurt Ransom further. But he couldn't. It was too easy. His heart was calm, his breath was evening out now that Ransom's words were silenced.

"He didn't care for death anyway," Harry said, pointing at the corpse. His voice was shaking in anger and humour. "He – he just said it, didn't he? _'I don't care if I die, I just care that I don't get chucked in Azkaban along with Mulciber'_. So I saved him the pain! I saved him!"

He was laughing now, at the truth of his own claims as well as at the silence that fell from the Knights. It all felt so unreal. It felt too good.

_He's insane_, Harry saw Gonson think. _He's as insane as Voldemort_...

A hand grabbed the hood of Harry's cloak. Tom's hand. Harry's smile fell away.

"Come with me," Tom ordered, pulling him along. "A word, please..."

Tom was angry, Harry feared. He was rushed from the room by him without an interruption from anyone. Harry's heart sank for the first time, beating quickly in cowardice and fear. They reached the entrance of the dining room, a dark corner of the house. Tom threw him forwards roughly, closing the door behind them.

"Tom, I'm sorry," Harry panted, watching him approach. "I don't know what I was doing, I didn't -"

The next thing Harry knew, Tom was kissing him. He pushed Harry against the wall, their lips meeting for several stunned seconds, before Tom moved away. He kissed Harry's neck, breathing heavily, laughing. He pushed against him further, his hands on Harry's waist.

"Let me reward you," he hissed roughly, smiling into his words, into his kisses, "for you have given me the greatest reward of all; eternal love... All of my waiting, all of my fears... they have been greeted with the greatest, truest reward..."

Harry was too weakened by surprise to respond at first. Tom kissed every inch of his skin, his hands moving across Harry's body. His breathing filled Harry's ears, his look of excitement and sheer happiness filling his eyes.

"Aren't – aren't you angry?" Harry asked when he could catch his breath.

Tom stopped kissing him, moving away. He pushed back Harry's hair, grinning. "Should I be?"

"I – I dunno. Ransom was a good Knight, wasn't he? He was important to you..."

"Your immortality is well worth the life of any of my Knights," Tom told him softly. "If I had known you'd kill one of them..."

Tom kissed him once more, treating him so delicately, so feverishly, it was too much to take. He pulled away after a minute.

"We must return to the Knight," he said, perhaps realising only now that they'd be missed.

"Yeah," Harry agreed vaguely, grinning. "We, er, better sort all this out first."

Tom smiled, squeezing Harry's hand lightly before turning away.

When they returned to the Knights, it was to find that a fifth wizard, Black, had joined the group. He was causing a lot of worry amongst the others with the news he bore. Harry and Tom stood in front of the group, intrigued by their concern even before Black stepped forwards, addressing Tom.

"Brian Prewett dead," he said clearly. "St Mungo's couldn't fix the damage inflicted on his brain from the fall he took. It's the only injury from that that could have killed him."

For the first time, Harry felt a shock of cold fear. He had killed Molly Weasley's father...

Tom, on the other hand, looked at Harry with dilated pupils once more. For a moment, he seemed to forget entirely about the five living Knights. A mad, joyous smile took over his face.

"Jonathan will have to go into hiding," Nott commented, "it's too risky for him to be here now. A break-in is one thing, but with murder added to the mix... there won't be a witch or wizard in England who isn't looking for him by morning."

Tom turned to him, back on focus. "I said before a disguise would be satisfactory."

"Not if you want to really keep him safe... We've traded with a lot of wizards, and more than a few enemies have seen Jonathan. It isn't worth the risk."

Tom was thinking deeply, his expression serious.

"Might I suggest he work up in Scotland, amongst the Dragons?" said Lestrange. "Or in Albania, amongst Giants?"

Harry glowered at him again.

"No," Tom said softly, "our Dragons relate too closely to our trades. What is more, there is no need for more Knights to communicate with our Giants... No, I believe Jonathan would be best off working alongside one of our less known groups..."

"Which, my Lord?" Nott asked, before he could help himself.

Tom was not in good spirits; this was clear when he turned a cruel gaze on Nott. "Do you honestly believe it is safe for me to divulge such information to you, Nott?"

Somehow, Nott didn't pale, nor become particularly nervous. "No, my Lord," he answered. "Of course not..."

"Then you would be best off keeping your curiosity silenced. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"I will take it upon myself to find a solution to mask Jonathan's identity... If there is any more news from the Ministry on the matter, I ask each of you to bring me the information individually. There will be no need to discuss it amongst yourselves. Is this clear?"

The Knights standing before Tom all nodded and agreed to his words seriously.

"Now leave," Tom ordered, "until further information arises from the Ministry or St Mungo's."

"What about him, my Lord?" Rosier asked, gesturing towards Ransom's corpse.

For the slightest moment Tom smiled, as if he had almost forgotten about this fresh death.

"Leave him, for now. We shall carry out the usual routine to dispose of the corpse..."

Doing as they were told, the Knights began turning away from Tom. Lestrange was satisfied by the night's events. He seemed convinced that Harry was going to end up leaving England to join a rougher part of Tom's work for his own safety, leaving Tom to focus more on his '_truly important Knights'_, as Lestrange thought. Nott, on the other hand, had a blank expression, but the way he turned away from Harry and Tom suggested a reluctance, a sorrow.

Tom withdrew his wand the minute the Knights were gone. He locked the front door, turning to Harry with a grin.

"This is brilliant," he said in a hushed voice, "Prewett dead too, a second murder... You have done better tonight that I could ever think, ever dream..."

Harry wasn't sure if he agreed. He watched Tom blankly.

"The things we can do with this, the things we can accomplish!" Tom exclaimed. "We must choose what items you desire to use as your Horcruxes!"

Harry didn't like the idea of creating two more Horcruxes. He tried to think of a way around it. "I can't think of a second item, beyond the watch."

"We'll find something," Tom told him. "This is a positive problem compared to all that we have waited for, all that you have accomplished on this night alone! Come, let us go upstairs to examine our treasures..."

Harry followed him wordlessly out of the room. He felt empty, as if Mr Prewett's death had broken him in the last few minutes alone. His soul felt broken, but not because of remorse. He felt disconnected to his own self. He wondered, as Tom beckoned him into their bedroom, if his soul had split for a third time tonight from his attempt to murder Rose Prewett. Or for his crime against the wife, two daughters, and two sons of Brian Prewett...

"Here it is," Tom said, summoning the pocketwatch from it's case. "What will soon hold your next shred of soul..."

Harry examined the floating watch, feelingly oddly connected to it now he knew his soul was going to be encased within it. He had always been oddly connected to it... He wondered sometimes if that's how Tom had spotted it and why he had decided to bring it home. They were sometimes drawn to curious things like this simultaneously.

"When should we make it a Horcrux?" Harry asked blankly.

"As soon as possible. Later in the month, perhaps."

Harry took hold of the watch, letting the thin chain slither between his fingers. Soon, this watch would be cold – colder than any normal artefact should be in a warm room like this one.

"Thank you," Tom whispered.

Harry looked up at him, drawn to his curious behaviour. When their eyes met, Tom took a step towards him. He covered Harry's hand with his own, entwining their fingers around the golden chain.

"For what?" Harry asked him quietly.

Tom seemed to think the answer was obvious; he was overjoyed. "For defying death in love for me."

He kissed Harry once softly, holding him close. In truth, Harry was too distracted by other thoughts to appreciate the delicacy of this action.

"Where are you sending me too?" he asked Tom. "If not Scotland or Albania..."

"I want you to stay in England," Tom said.

"You know I can't stay here with you. Not even with a new identity, people will expect it. They've seen how I act, where I am in our group, how I'm treated by the others."

"I know," Tom said, stroking his jaw. "You will have to go to a different part of England. The best choice we have at the moment is to send you away to give orders to our latest beasts."

"The Werewolves?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Yes. You shan't be fighting with them, of course, I merely need you to deliver messages to them."

It was dangerous work, Harry knew, but only one thing bothered him. "I won't see you as often."

Tom stroked back his hair, smiling. "I'll come see you. You can come see me too – it isn't dangerous so long as no visitors of mine see you..."

Harry nodded. He wasn't sure he liked this idea, but it wouldn't be for longer than six months or so. Tom kissed him again, and again.

"I want to keep you here," he whispered.

Harry tried to think what to respond to this, but his mind was blank. Tom was holding him close, his hand at the back of Harry's waist. He was kissing his neck again, sending him into a state of slow disorientation. Harry was haunted, for the first time tonight, by his murders. He was haunted too by Tom's...

For the first time in perhaps years, he thought about Macnair. Harry didn't understand why Tom had murdered him. Macnair was a boy who had done nothing more than defend Harry, alone, against Emeric and his companion. It did not sadden Harry to think about Macnair's innocence, but it confused him nonetheless. Especially after the fate he had met before his death. When he had been snatched away in that dark forest, forced into an act so sickening, so dark, Harry wondered sometimes if he had mistaken it all. Perhaps, he thought, Macnair was indeed better off dead...

Harry tried not to think about it. Tom was enthralled by Harry's murders, he was too overwhelmed by love, excitement, and happiness to even begin explaining it. Knowing he would have to go away soon, Harry pushed the thoughts aside. He enjoyed that night with Tom, because it was extremely easy to avoid all thoughts of the two men he had killed. It was easy to focus on the love he felt for Tom, the happiness he felt at the knowledge that they were safe to be together forever...

By the next day, Harry had to move out. A few hours after Brian Prewett's death, newspapers were printing out descriptions of Harry's appearance for all of England to know. He had to change his face – even his height – to avoid curious looks from people when he passed them by. He had a new apartment in central London, in a crowded non-Muggle area where he could slip into a crowd of people and be recognised by no one. He had a fake name and his only job was to pass on information to the Werewolves, setting up attacks that needed doing.

"This has been a right good job," Fenrir said to Harry one night, bearing bloodstained teeth in a grin. He stunk of human flesh and alcohol and seemed happy with the work he had done. It was six O'clock in the morning and this shadowed corner of a small town was occupied by no one but themselves.

"Your task went smoothly, I take it?" Harry asked, turning to the leader of this group.

"Yeah, it went perfectly," McDarline answered.

"Best job we've done all month, I'd say!" a nameless Werewolf added.

"You didn't attack anyone innocent, did you?"

McDarline looked taken aback by Harry's question.

"Anyone innocent?" he repeated. "'Course not..."

He was lying, clearly. The two Werewolves behind him began to laugh sickeningly. McDarline dedicated to explain himself.

"I'll tell you one thing, no one you're ever gunna meet is innocent. Not if you really look into what they've done in life, or what they'll do."

Harry looked at him blankly, saying nothing.

"Not that you'd know much about innocence, 'darling," Fenrir laughed.

"Just don't piss off our Lord," Harry said in a low voice. There was no point arguing with these three men.

"Nah, he knows what we're like," McDarline said, laughing. "He knows what we do, and he's never punished us so far."

"Not to mention," Fenrir Greyback added, "it gives the Ministry a good scare, doesn't it?"

A few hours later, Harry found out that two children had died at the hands of these three Werewolves. They 'got carried away', they later told him, snickering and laughing at the idea. Tom was not particularly bothered by the event; he had wanted the mother of these children dead very badly and he didn't mind who else went with her. As Harry passed on new assignments to the Werewolves, they got progressively more brutal and unsubtle about their attacks. Soon, more deaths and more 'accidents' occurred to various victims, mainly Muggles, and the Ministry was furious about it all.

Although Harry never mentioned it to the Werewolves directly, he understood they were putting a very bad name on themselves, giving the British Ministry of Magic all the fuel they'd need to turn Witches and Wizards against them. All of their victims, all of the living men and women who were affected by to their attacks, would have no choice but to live in secrecy or join a Werewolf clan as they reached adulthood. It was a horrid cycle that kept the Werewolves' numbers growing no matter what. It was a system that Tom understood well. He used it to his advantage, protecting his clan of Werewolves as readily as he protected his own Knights.

Harry hated the work he had to do. It was a simple job; he met up with the Werewolves a few times a month and pointed them in the direction of which enemy of Tom's they'd have to attack next. Sometimes Harry talked to one Werewolf individually, giving him the plans Tom set out, and sometimes he met with a group a day or two before a full moon to explain a sudden change in who they'd attack. No matter what, he had to meet the Werewolves after their attacks, after their transformations back into human form. Bloodstained and thrilled by their work, they'd tell Harry how the night went so he could inform Tom by morning.

Harry had a lot of time to waste, beyond this work. There were hours in a day when he was left alone, with absolutely nothing to do. He didn't like being alone so often. He was haunted by the deaths the Werewolves caused, even if he didn't feel responsible for any of it. Every morning after a full moon he'd read a list of new death in the Daily Prophet. Occasionally, the Werewolves spent a month doing nothing more than scaring people, but this was less often than Harry would prefer. No Knights of Walpurgis caused this many deaths – not even the Death Eaters. It was difficult to accept, for a long while.

Harry visited Nott often to battle his loneliness, talking to him for longer than usual because he knew he could. Tom never found out about this, but more than a few times Harry returned to his horrid flat after an evening at Nott's house to find Tom waiting there. There was no real explanation for his presence, nor for the vague paranoia he showed. Tom was not suspicious. He asked Harry idly where he had been, and Harry gave a false explanation convincingly. After this, the subject would be dropped.

It was two months after moving into his new flat when Harry made his next Horcrux with Tom. He regretted doing it here the moment he did; it left a strange change in the atmosphere. He wondered sometimes if splitting a soul cursed a location because of the inhumanity of the action. He felt as if he could hear echoes of his own voice screaming in agony sometimes. More than a few times, flashes of that night appeared to him during the day. The creation of the Pocketwatch Horcrux had been difficult for him, likely because he wasn't happy about the death of Brian Prewett.

"T-Tom – T... T-Tom..." he remembered saying over and over again, never really present at all in his delirious state.

Tom's cold hands had tried to soothe his burning skin. Harry had been shaking badly, sweating all over and vomiting every few minutes. For hours, he never felt as if he was really there. He lost consciousness numerous times, experiencing strange changes in consciousness too. Tom had stuck with him that entire night, waiting for the affects of the new Horcrux to lessen. He was overjoyed about everything happening; he assured Harry again and again that things would be alright. He wasn't wrong, either.

When the Horcrux was completed and the after-affects died down, Harry felt no different than before. He was already dead inside, he felt, living life in a monotonic blur. He mostly searched for thrill, for all that was exciting. Working with the Werewolves fulfilled some of this desire, but he sometimes sat for hours alone instead, staring at the Pocketwatch and Sword. One reminded him of the passing of time, the other of how he had changed...

One evening, Harry felt it was too much. He picked up his travelling cloak mechanically, preparing to leave the building. He wanted to see Tom, but by the time he arrived on the street, closing a door behind him, he remembered there was an important meeting with the Death Eaters being held tonight. A few captured enemies were involved. Harry couldn't go there, but he knew, somehow, this hadn't been his real intention.

He had been alone for three days and he needed someone to talk to. If he couldn't go see Tom, he wanted to see Nott instead. Without thinking twice about it, he Apparated to Nott's home. The familiar house stood proudly against the setting sun, it's shadow cast towards Harry. Lights were on inside, as were a few fires; the chimneys expelled smoke vaguely. Harry headed towards the front door and knocked. He got an answer after a few minutes.

Nott was alone, to no surprise. His house was as warm and welcoming as ever – and bright, compared to Harry's apartment. Nott led Harry upstairs, to a sitting room opposite the setting sun. Harry could see mountains and forests illuminated in deep shades of red and yellow. Nott was pouring him a drink.

"Are you alright?" he asked when they faced each other again.

"I'm fine," Harry responded. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Nott watched him closely for a minute, lowering his glass of wine. "I saw the last Werewolf attack written in the Daily Prophet a few days ago. You didn't get hurt, did you? It sounded horrible."

Harry shook his head. "No, I didn't get hurt. I wasn't there, I met up with them all about an hour after it happened. It's the normal procedure."

"How did they get away with killing those four wizards? The Ministry arrived there before the full moon fell."

"A few Knights helped out," Harry explained shortly. He couldn't say much more than this. "Tom was prepared for what happened."

"More prepared than usual," Nott observed. "So it was all planned?"

Harry nodded, looking away. He took a sip from his goblet, trying to appear calm.

"I'd hate to be those Knights," Nott said. "Dealing with Werewolves would be difficult..."

"They did well, considering," Harry said.

Nott nodded, taking another sip of his drink. Although he couldn't ask which Knights were involved, Harry knew he had suspicions.

"I'm surprised Tom doesn't involve you in more assignments like that one," Harry said. "You're a good fighter. You'd know how to look after the Werewolves."

"I'm not a killer."

"You don't have to be. Tom hates it when the Death Eaters kill more people than he ordered."

"I'm not a Death Eater either," Nott reminded him. "My Lord doesn't want me to be a part in anything really important. I don't think he trusts me."

Harry didn't doubt that, but he said nothing about it. There was something odd in Nott's tone, something off. It made Harry wonder for the first time if Nott was glad he avoided joining the Death Eaters in the past.

"He senses I'm weak," Nott murmured.

Harry watched him closely after this, confused. Nott was one of the best Knights Tom had for fighting. He was amongst the wisest and the most skilled, rivalled only by Lestrange. Unlike Rosier or Gonson, who were smarter than him, Nott had an unmatched ability to stay level-headed in battle. He was one of the only sane Knights of Walpurgis, which was an advantage for him. He was no less determined than any Knight, no less prepared. The only 'weakness' he had was a pure heart.

Tom might think this was a horrid weakness, but Harry didn't agree. He struggled for a moment to put this feeling into words. Nott's heart was the reason Harry got along with him so well. In the dark mass of corruption and dishonesty amongst the Knights of Walpurgis, Nott was the only sane wizard that remained. He was the only light in Harry's life, sometimes. The only hope...

"I can't see how Tom senses you're weak," Harry said in a low voice, watching Nott in this dark, shadowy room, "because I sense you're strong."

Nott seemed worried about this for a moment. They were close together, standing by a large window that let in the light of the dying day. Nott had opened his mouth to say something, but he paused. A familiar look, one of sorrow, reached his eyes as he averted his gaze to the distant trees.

"He'd think you're weak too, if he found out your heart isn't in all of this..."

There was something blank in Nott's blue eyes, something despairing. It was as if he had accepted that things would go wrong one day.

"I know," Harry told him.

"He'll kill you," Nott mused, in nothing over a whisper.

The weight of this claim stunned Harry momentarily. He thought it over. He realised it was probably the truth...

"Whether it's before or after killing me, I can't be sure," Nott added.

His face was blank, as if none of this affected him, but Harry could sense he was scared. He didn't want his mind to be read in that moment. A familiar feeling gripped Harry, a desire to protect the Knight standing before him as his one true friend. He reached out an arm, taking Nott's frail hand within his own. Nott's eyes snapped to his at their touch.

"I'm not going to let that happen," Harry told him clearly, seriously.

Nott's eyes had widened. His pulse was quickening. Did he not trust Harry's word? In the light of the setting sun his face was softly shadowed, but something had happened to make him terrified for the first time. Harry struggled to work it out, trying and failing to read his mind. Then, with a start, he realised Nott's hand was trembling. It shook so badly that Harry released it in shock. Nott immediately pulled his fingers free, moving away.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Nott was stressed. He couldn't deal with the fear that ruled him in that moment. Harry felt as if he knew why he was so scared – he was shaken by their previous closeness. He couldn't overcome the terror that haunted him.

"I didn't mean it like that," Harry told him.

"That's besides the point!" Nott said shakily. He seemed almost angry. "If our Lord saw that, you know what he'd do. He'd see the worst possible explanation first. He'd be furious..."

"I love him," Harry said plainly, "he knows that."

"That won't make him less furious about what he fears – what he believes! We're already running a huge risk talking together like this, if he saw that..."

"You're a good Occlumens – a great one," Harry reasoned.

Nott didn't want to hear it. He wouldn't even look at Harry. He couldn't shop his hands from shaking at the idea of angering Tom.

"I don't think of you like that," Harry said.

"It's besides the point," Nott said again, his eyes closed tightly as he pulled himself together. He breathed in and out heavily. "It just can't happen..."

Harry knew he was right. Tom would take any sign of affection between them the complete wrong way. That was a step too far. Harry felt guilty for scaring Nott so badly, he clearly couldn't get his emotions together even now.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

Nott looked at him for the first time, seeming more stressed than ever.

"It's fine," he said in a low voice. "It just can't happen..."

After this, he seemed a bit more calm. Harry wanted to say something, but he didn't know what to say. He wasn't particularly bothered by what he had done, but the fact that Nott feared his touch so much unnerved him a bit. Like any Knight, Nott was terrified of Tom. Most of England feared him, Harry supposed, but he had never believed for one moment that comforting Nott would be enough to terrify him so much. It made Harry think deeply about how much power Tom had...

"Do you want to sit down?" Nott asked him, seeming keen to move on. "I wanted to ask if you heard anything from Dumbledore. He must have contacted you about the recent murders. He's smart, he knows you must be connected to them."

"Actually, he hasn't said a word," Harry admitted. He began following Nott further into the room, taking a seat in a comfortable red armchair. "Either he thinks I've lost it or he hasn't added it all up yet."

He began talking to Nott about his thoughts concerning Dumbledore. They discussed how Dumbledore might react to the possibility of Tom's Knights gaining even more power over the next few years. Harry was glad that Nott calmed down. They understood each other now, and Harry tried to be more careful from this point on. Throughout the evening, only one thought bothered him.

Nott wasn't as safe as Harry wanted him to be. He wasn't safe at all. If Harry were to lose his head, to sink fully into the Dark Arts without realising what he had done, Nott would be in grave danger. Tom would find out they'd been conspiring against him, against the Knights, and Harry wouldn't be able to help him. Dumbledore couldn't help Nott either, because he wasn't aware which Knight had become Harry's personal spy. If Harry wanted to protect Nott, if he wanted to make sure that he was safe no matter how insane Harry became, he had to make a plan...

He decided he he'd arrange a meeting with Dumbledore. He had to protect them both not only from Tom, but from Harry himself, lest things should go wrong. The thought occupied Harry's mind all through his talk with Nott and all the way from Nott's house back to London. Harry was so absorbed in his planning and his worrying that he was startled to find Tom waiting at his apartment.

"Tom," Harry said breathlessly, taking his hand away from his wand. He had reached for it on instinct after seeing an unexpected person in his house. He really thought he should have expected this.

For a moment, Tom said nothing. Harry looked at him, noticing for the first time that he was on edge. He was irritated about something. Very irritated. In that moment, horror struck Harry as he realised there was an accusing, infuriated look in his eyes. He knew...

"Where were you?" he asked softly.

Harry was rooted to the spot, lost for any idea on what he could do. If he said he was visiting Nott, Tom would get suspicious. But if he lied about it, and if Tom knew, Tom would take it as a confirmation that something terrible had happened. Harry needed to react quickly. He went for the best answer first.

"I went out for a walk," he said. "I've been stressed about the last Werewolf attack... Rosier's not still struggling to keep the Ministry confused, is he?"

A moment of relief passed over Tom's face. It was as if he took Harry's words as a confirmation for something he felt he should have known before.

"Rosier is managing well," Tom told him. "Avery won't get caught for his involvement in this month's attacks. The Ministry is already beginning to suspect other targets, thanks to Lestrange's involvement in confusing the Aurors."

"Everything's alright, though?" Harry asked, thinking quickly. "You seem worried."

"Things are fine," Tom assured him.

"Why are you here so early?" Harry asked, moving further into the room. He was calm now. There was no danger.

"I wanted to see how things are with you," Tom said. His voice was quiet. "I... had a bad thought."

His hesitation caught Harry's attention. Tom didn't normally hesitate. "About what?"

Tom did not answer immediately. He shook his head, as if he thought it was nonsense.

"It is irrelevant," he said shortly.

Harry didn't push the subject. An odd notion gripped him. He felt as if Tom definitely knew, somehow, that he had mistakenly gotten close to Nott tonight.

What confused Harry most about this was that Tom was not furiously angry. He was only stressed by his thoughts, which meant he didn't know for sure that something had happened. He merely suspected it. He was keen to believe Harry when he said he had just gone out walking, which meant he was doubting his own thoughts. The only explanation for this seemed to be that Tom had experienced something he had never experienced before, and Harry thought he knew what that was.

Tom had caught a vision, a flash into Harry's mind tonight. He undoubtedly saw Harry holding someone else's hand, comforting them. The vision was stressful enough for Tom to begin searching for him, but hadn't gone to Nott's house... Harry assumed two things from this: Tom knew neither where Harry had been nor who he had been with. All he knew was that Harry was getting close to someone else. Although Harry meant nothing by his gesture of holding Nott's hand, Tom knew it had happened. He was in denial, now, but he knew...

For the first time, Harry understood why Nott was so terrified. Nott, apparently, was more aware of Tom's outstanding abilities than Harry was, even if Harry understood that all of this was the result of the connection he and Tom shared. Nott didn't know about their connection, of course, but he knew Tom was powerful. Tom was intelligent enough to realise that a vision that clear wasn't something he could safely ignore...

Harry was worried about what Tom might do if he ever found out how close he and Nott were. He decided, with no hesitation, that he needed to see Dumbledore.


	73. Dumbledore's Warning

_**Dear readers:** I'm so sorry for not updating in two months! My previous laptop died and along with it went some very important notes, as well as the beginning skeleton of this chapter. But everything is back to normal now. You can expect an update in the usual timeframe. _

___I'd like to take a moment to thank you all for the lovely reviews you've been leaving! They keep me going above all else.__ (I'll stop talking to you all in what looks like Parseltongue, now.) _  


_Enjoy your read!_

* * *

73 – Dumbledore's Warning

"Take a seat, Jonathan."

Harry hesitated, saying nothing about the room around him, nor how nostalgic it made him feel. It was as if time had shifted backwards too many years, momentarily erasing the uneasiness he felt about his current life. His eyes wandered over the whole of Dumbledore's office, stopping every few seconds to take in a familiar detail. He took the seat Dumbledore indicated. It made him feel like a child again – especially as Dumbledore gave him that same piercing stare he had always used in his years at Hogwarts.

Harry was distracted by the strange ornaments with spinning stars and fading puffs of smoke that twirled on spindle-legged tables, and the silver surfaces of some of them that glimmering gold and red in the early morning sun. The same old books lined the circular walls of this room, while the untouched portraits of the old Headmasters and Headmistresses of the school watched this meeting curiously – if they weren't already feigning sleep, snoring a little too loudly.

Most surprisingly of all, Fawkes stood perched on his stand behind Dumbledore, as healthy and strong as he had always been. He watched Harry with interest, but with no signs of recognition. He, in fact, seemed a little on edge. Dumbledore smiled when he saw Harry's attention transfixed to his magnificent bird.

"This is Fawkes," he said calmly, "a Phoenix I've had the pleasure of attaining after a great number years spent separated from him. It was a most unexpected gift, given to me as a sort of congratulations from Gellert Grindelwald upon hearing I had become headmaster."

Harry's eyes snapped back to Dumbledore's.

"I accepted only after concluding that Fawkes would indeed have a finer home here, at Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained, amused by Harry's stark confusion. "It was, perhaps, a joke on Gellert's part, yet I do not see it as negative. If I may be so bold, I believe Gellert always knew Fawkes rather liked me better."

Harry said nothing, allowing his eyes to wander back to Fawkes as he wondered why Dumbledore was opening up to him like this. Although Dumbledore was amused, he didn't smile as kindly as he used to towards Harry. Ignoring the low emotion that caught him as a result of this, Harry spoke.

"He's a beautiful bird..."

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "But I'm rather inclined to believe you did not come here to discuss phoenixes and the distant past."

The irony of this claim distracted Harry for a moment. Dumbledore straightened up in his seat, pressing the tips of his fingers together as he prepared to speak.

"Which brings me to my first question," he said in a businesslike tone. "Why are you here today? Much news about you has been circling England these past few weeks, Jonathan. Have you come here, perhaps, for redemption?"

"Redemption?" Harry repeated. "What do y-"

He stopped as horror flooded him. He had forgotten that Dumbledore might know about his most recent murder... He had spent so much time around horribly twisted people and events in the streets of London lately, he had forgotten why he had ended up there at all. He had forgotten how watchful Dumbledore was of the recent news, even if not a single witch or wizard beyond the Knights should know who had murdered Brian Prewett...

"It is so far unclear to me what affiliation you have with the Prewett family," Dumbledore carried on casually, "but it was immediately clear to me, upon reading the report, that you had at least some involvement in Mr Prewett's murder – and perhaps in the attempted murder of his youngest daughter too."

"You don't have any evidence," Harry stated. "You can't know -"

Dumbledore smiled once more. "I am not in search of evidence, Jonathan. I know I could not prove you guilty of that crime, even if I wanted to."

"You – you don't want to?"

"No," he said simply.

"Well, then, why do you care?" Harry asked. "Why bring it up, why pay attention?"

"Jonathan, I wish only to be real with you. I am aware that you have committed darker crimes than I first assumed. I quite simply believe it is important for you to understand my views."

"If you want me to serve time in Azkaban for that -"

"No," Dumbledore said again, remaining calm all the time. "I understand it is important for you to stay watchful of Tom, Jonathan. I understand this can't have been your first murder, considering your initial calmness upon entering my office, but I believe in your innocence."

Harry didn't know whether to believe this. He watched Dumbledore wordlessly, trying to get his thoughts straight. "Why do you believe I'm innocent? If you think I killed him..."

"I understand that Tom's influence can become too much for you to take," Dumbledore explained. "He has always had a way with convincing others to do as he likes."

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, "that's sort of why I'm here..."

Dumbledore waited patiently for him to speak.

"I'm here to talk about my – my spy," Harry began lamely. "The only other Death Eater who doesn't worship the Dark Arts..."

"I thought you believed it safer to keep his identity hidden for the time being?"

"I did, but – well, something changed. I've begun to realise that he's in a lot more danger than I first thought. He needs protection, he needs to be kept safe."

"From Tom?" Dumbledore asked.

"No," Harry said, before thinking it through. "Well – yes, but not just Tom. I need him kept safe from me..."

Dumbledore's bushy grey eyebrows closed their distance slightly in confusion, making Harry feel uncomfortable for the first time.

"I need you to help, because if I get lost, if I can't find myself again, I won't be able to protect him. He won't be safe if I somehow stop caring..."

"And is that a likely possibility?"

In truth, Harry was unsure. He shook his head. "I can't know what'll happen. I'd rather not take any chances..."

"Who is it that you're protecting? I assume you can't keep the identity of your spy a secret if you need my help."

"It's Nott," Harry told him. "Christopher Nott."

"Ah..."

"I don't want him to get hurt," Harry explained once more. "If you get to know him better again, he can have your protection, which by this point seems a lot more worthy than mine. That way, no matter what I do he'll have a chance. No matter what happens to me, he won't have to suffer..."

"I didn't realise anyone but Tom could expect such dedication from you, Jonathan."

Harry almost glowered, pained by Dumbledore's scepticism. "Please," he said, "just protect him..."

For the first time, Dumbledore's calm, unmoved expression faltered. It was as if he had seen something new in Harry's eyes, something he never expected to witness. He stared for a stunned moment, thinking things over again with a look of wonder.

"Very well," he said eventually. "I shall watch over Christopher."

Nodding once, Harry looked away, saying nothing.

"I hope only that you will not take this as a reason for falling too deeply into the Dark Arts for Tom," Dumbledore added, his eyebrows furrowed delicately. "For your own sake, it is not a wise choice. I trust you understand what you're getting yourself into, but you would do well to practice caution always and know where your limits stand."

"Of course, sir..."

"As for the fate of Christopher Nott, I assume the extent of his safety depends entirely on his choices and actions."

"He doesn't want to be a part of the Death Eaters," Harry explained shortly. "I don't think he was ever really meant to be one."

Dumbledore inclined his head in understanding. "Then it should be easy to protect him. I expect to meet with him some time over the next few weeks to begin discussing this with the both of you. Until then, I trust you have somewhere else to be right now."

Harry understood this was his cue to leave. He stood up. "Thank you, professor..."

With that, Harry was free to leave. He did so without looking back, nor saying another word. In a pensive state, he thought about what might happen over the course of the next few years, thinking privately that he would be unable to follow any of Dumbledore's advice.

– X –

As planned, Harry arranged for Nott and Dumbledore to meet up a few weeks later, but feeling as if the meeting might be stressful, Harry had decided not to visit Hogwarts again so soon. Nott told him all about the discussion he had had with Dumbledore, explaining that they had spoken only gently about the subject of preparing for Tom's rise to power. They had discussed how best to keep secrecy amongst themselves, Nott said, and by the time Harry had heard every detail of it, he felt as if it was on the minds of all of them to begin forming a rival group in the future – even if no real plans could be made so soon.

Throughout the discussion, not much had been said about Nott's protection, apparently. Harry knew Nott must be curious about why he was meeting Dumbledore at all, but he hoped Nott might forget his suspicions soon. His protection rested in connecting with Dumbledore and staying alert, not in knowing that Harry might get carried away with the Dark Arts and explain everything to Tom. The less Nott knew about Harry's instability, the easier it would be for now.

How Dumbledore knew that Harry wanted to keep his instability a secret from Nott, Harry had no idea. It made him wonder if Dumbledore, too, didn't want Nott to panic. The two of them were most likely going to have to continue getting carried away with the Dark Arts so Tom and the others wouldn't suspect their treachery; it would be too risky if Nott became panicked about Harry risking his sanity in the process of this. Nott was better off mildly resenting the Dark Arts in peace, not knowing of its risks. Harry's only hope was that he wouldn't be too watchful, and wouldn't try to stop him falling too close to Tom. It wasn't worth the risk...

More pressing worries bothered Harry as he rested on his empty bed in London, twirling the Ring within his hand. As a gift, to remember him in his absence, Tom had given Harry this Horcrux, never knowing what the shining Resurrection Stone might do to him. With some reluctance, Harry thought about his lost friends. He was astonished to reflect that he held a passageway to them within his fingertips. He had the option, as well as the time, to bring anyone back from the dead tonight... but he decided against it with very little hesitation. He just wanted to spend time thinking about Death. He could remember his lost friends clearly while he watched the Stone shine in the dim firelight, twirling, twirling...

He wondered dully if Nott was as close a friend to him as his lost friends had been. It was hard for him to assess, considering the time that had passed. He could certainly tell Nott who he was now a lot more honestly than he could tell his lost friends, if he ever chose to. But he couldn't tell Nott who he had been... Harry felt as if he was split into two very different people. There was no one on this earth that could know all of his secrets, because he had changed so vastly. He wondered, often, if this was the result of having a shred of Tom's soul within him.

They were very similar in a lot of ways, Harry thought, except in their views of love. Tom loved only one person; he didn't know the extent of love Harry had felt since finding Hogwarts. He didn't know what it was to love somebody like a sibling even when he didn't have bothers or sisters. He didn't know what it was like to have guardians as good as parents, or friends as close as anyone. He didn't know what it was like to lose all of that, to be left equally as alone with memories of love...

Harry feared death alongside Tom, but this wasn't because he thought of death as a weakness. He was merely avoiding his past. He was scared even to hold the Resurrection Stone, because he knew the lost part of him would suffer a tremendous amount of anguish if he saw his lost friends. If they knew what he had become, if they saw him now... it would bring back too many memories and too much pain, for Harry. Realising it was painful to think about this, Harry removed the Stone from view, staring at the blank ceiling instead.

Dumbledore had made a deal to stop Harry if he fell too far into the Dark Arts, but even if he killed Harry, it wouldn't be over... He didn't know about Harry's Horcruxes. He wouldn't know that if Harry was killed at his hand, he could rise from the dead again as powerful as ever. Harry had thought many times about telling Dumbledore or Nott about his Horcruxes, but he had so far failed to do so. He wanted to tell them, because he felt as if it was wrong not to, but if he did, it would not only risk Tom's life, but it would mean Harry had to admit a secret he was willing to keep forever...

Harry also wasn't sure how well Nott or Dumbledore would take the news that he had committed the most inhumane, immoral action known to the Dark Arts on himself. He was genuinely fearful about it, because if they decided to hunt down his Horcruxes, he could eventually be mortal – meaning he'd be forced back to his lost friends... But was that worth the risk, knowing the alternative was he might end up as a Dark Lord as evil and powerful as Voldemort himself? This risk was almost as horrifying. It was an impossible decision to make...

Knowing that he was torturing himself too much over this, Harry decided to get up. He spent about five minutes wandering his apartment, unable to rest, before he decided he had to go out. He knew where he must go; to see Tom. Once he was there, he would be forced to forget about his troubles no matter what was going on.

When he arrived at Tom's house, he found that a meeting was being held amongst a few chosen Knights. Rosier, Lestrange, Gonson, Weiß, Nott, Black, Dorn, and Rowle were sitting at a long table amongst a few others. Noticing that the Death Eaters were nowhere to be seen, Harry understood this had to be a very important meeting.

"What news have we of Mulciber's situation?" Tom asked calmly. He sat at the head of the table, eyeing his Knights with a look of dignified satisfaction.

"We're trying all we can at the Ministry, my Lord," Lestrange informed him dully, "but there is only so much we can do to keep the Dementors from traumatizing him. We don't have much influence on how Azkaban controls its prisoners."

Harry took a seat besides Gonson, understanding what this meeting was about. Tom wanted to keep Mulciber away from too much contact with Dementors, lest he should feel remorse for the many men and women he had killed over the last few years.

"If we vish to keep zuh Dementors away from our Knights in Azkaban, my Lord," Adelmar Dorn's voice called from the end of the table, "vould it not be an obvious solution to get von of our Knights employed in Azkaban? To vork from zuh inside?"

"That would be impossible; very few wizards are employed to work within Azkaban. Except, of course, to bring visitors."

Dorn seemed surprised. He frowned to himself, murmuring, "If it vas Nurmengard Prison, zhere vould not be a problem like zhis to face... Ve could influence zuh guards easily."

Uninterested in this comment, Tom carried on. "It appears as if the Ministry is no use to us."

"How else will we resolve this issue, my Lord?" Black asked.

Tom thought it over carefully for a moment, his lips slightly pursed.

"It is my belief," he said quietly, "that as more of our Knights become imprisoned for their inadequacy, we will be at risk of losing many to remorse or the Dementor's Kiss... If we cannot have any influence on the Dementor's choices through the Ministry, we must think of a better, more accurate plan. We must, more specifically, reason with the Dementors without the Ministry's help."

Rowle chuckled at the far end the the table. It was only upon seeing the other Knights face him with blank expressions that he realised this wasn't a joke. Mumbling a few words of apology under Tom's gaze, the Knights ignored him one by one to save him the embarrassment.

"What do you have planned, my Lord?" asked Nott, who looked weary from the amount of work he had been forced into.

"We must reach the Dementors ourselves," Tom answered, "independently from the Ministry. The simplest way to do this will be to send a Knight of ours into Azkaban, posing as a visitor. When in the presence of the Dementors, the said Knight will have to make an offer no Dementor could refuse – an offer no Ministry would be willing to make: innocent minds to feed on, alongside our protection..."

The Knights looked impressed. They cast each other a few surprised glances before their questions began.

"How are we to organize an offer like this, my Lord?" Gonson asked. "How will we keep the Dementors interested?"

"Assuming the Dementors have stayed true to their promise, we shall set up a safe place for them to wander off to whenever they feel in need for purer minds to torment. Compared to what they can find in Azkaban, the Dementors won't be able to resist any person – Muggle or Wizard – that we might offer to them."

"How will we do all of this without the Ministry knowing?" Lestrange inquired.

"That's simple," Black interrupted, "We'll protect the Dementors in the usual way, by securing their hideout with magic, employing a few Death Eaters to work as guards on occasion."

"Precisely," Tom agreed. "We will find new enemies to sent to the said location as bait, changing them often. In a few mere years, we will have more power over the Dementors than the Ministry ever could..."

The Knights were clearly enthusiastic about the idea. They began murmuring to each other about the situation, assessing the possibility of this working out.

"Now," Tom began swiftly, suppressing a smile, "before we begin writing plans for this, I feel it prudent to bring to your attention another issue concerning Magical Creatures that we might soon put to good use. The Giants wait restlessly for our return in Albania... I see no advantage in keeping them waiting any longer."

"Do you desire for them to be moved, my Lord?" Black asked.

"Evidently, yes."

"But even if they are under our control already," Lestrange interrupted, "getting Giants that far across Europe won't be an easy task. They move both too slowly and too loudly to go unnoticed."

"I have a plan that will sort out this problem nicely," Tom assured him. "With patience, you will succeed in following it. It will take much magic and time, but the reward will be far greater than the efforts you waste..."

They began discussing plans immediately. A few Knights swiftly suggested bringing the Giants overseas or attempting to Apparate with them, but no boat would be strong enough to carry a clan of Giants and no Ministry would be foolish enough to miss it if a create so big Apparated such a long distance with a wizard. The only solution, Tom said, was to walk the Giants.

Tom had planned pathways across rural parts of various countries, knowing it was the smartest idea. It would take several weeks, but with enough magic to repel Muggles and Wizards, to silence the Giant's footsteps, and to go across boarders without being stopped, it could be done. Tom wanted all of this to happen mainly because he didn't want any Ministry to find his Giants before he could move them. They would be brought to a secret location in southern England, before being brought up to the Dragons in Scotland to roam in a bigger stretch of land in a year or two.

Harry was mildly impressed by all of these plans, but he wasn't particularly interested in it. It was nothing but a good distraction for him during the course of this evening. When Tom suggested to him quietly later on that they should take a trip to Albania in three months to set these plans in motion, Harry was surprised. He saw no reason to object, but he felt that watching over the Giants again might be a dull occupation.

To his surprise, he was mistaken. Even the Death Eaters, who normally complained about any task they were forced into, had decided to start this long and tedious trip in good spirits. Harry understood that this was because they knew what havoc the Giants would cause in England one day. They were eager to see how powerful and obeying the Giants were so they could estimate how much damage they could do against a Ministry.

They began walking across Albania with the Giants a day after arriving in the country. Two or three Death Eaters at a time had been employed to work as guards in shifts over the last few years, so the wizards they found waiting in Albania seemed relieved that their month-long shift was over. They returned to their normal lives England and Germany while Harry, Tom, and ten of their followers prepared to move the Giants.

It became apparent to Harry on the third evening of moving that Tom had unsaid motives for being here. There was no real reason for the both of them to stay amongst the Death Eaters, after all – they didn't accompany them as they walked the Giants onwards, they merely spent their days waiting at the next stop for everyone to arrive. What Tom was waiting for, Harry realised, was a disaster to strike. When the Death Eaters arrived to their camp on the third day, holding two hostages, it became clear that that disaster was planned.

"We got ambushed!" Dolohov told Tom loudly the moment everyone arrived. "Turns out some of our protective spells weren't strong enough to keep these wizards away, my Lord. They attached us as soon as they saw what we were doing!"

"How long ago?" Tom asked calmly, eyeing the two men who were bound together by magical ropes.

"'Bout five minutes ago, my Lord," Avery said. "There must have been around fifteen of 'em at least, before most of them fled. We caught these two and another one of 'em was killed by our Giants."

"How peculiar," Tom said, but Harry sensed a note of humour in his tone. "They must have found you just as your protection was wearing off, on you arrived at this stop..."

"Do you reckon they've been waiting for us, my Lord?" Avery asked him.

"No, that would make very little sense. Almost nobody knows of the operation we're currently carrying out..."

Despite these serious claims, there was a look of calm amusement in Tom's eyes.

"No, I believe there is merely a group of Wizards nearby who heard, saw, or detected your presence. After a short interrogation with our two guests, I believe we'll now everything."

Avery grinned boyishly. "And who'll have the honour of getting this information, m'Lord?"

Tom smiled cruelly at the two wizards before him, who glared and spat insults no Death Eater could understand. "I will," he said softly. "Lest you should waste time..."

Harry decided he didn't want to watch Tom torture these two men for no reason, so he moved to a different part of the camp they had set up – to the main dining room, which was empty. In the ten minutes that passed, Harry thought about the look of amusement and lack of surprise Tom had shown. By the time Tom returned, Harry had worked out why he had these strange reactions.

"You knew about these wizards before, didn't you?"

Tom paused at the entrance of the tent, surprised. Amusement found him moments after. "Perhaps..."

Harry shook his head, smiling. "Is this a test you've made to train the Death Eaters, or are you just bored?"

"Both," Tom answered calmly, smiling back, "and more. I haven't invented these enemies for mere enjoyment – they do exist – I merely believe it will be rewarding if our Death Eaters became enemies with them... Six months ago, Gawain Avery was stationed here in Albania when he heard news of a rival Dark Arts group shifting a large amount of treasure from a recent heist in Egypt."

"So, you want to steal the treasure from them?"

"Yes."

"We won't get away with that, Tom."

"Why ever not?"

"You can't just chase after someone else's treasure and expect no one to ask questions. Even the Death Eaters would be suspicious."

"Yet our rival group have attacked the Death Eaters, have they not?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed reluctantly, suppressing a smirk, "but only because you provoked them by setting up this camp so close to them."

"Which the Death Eaters failed to notice," Tom remarked slyly. "They, unlike the Knights, have slower wit and are more eager to react with violence..."

Harry had to admit to himself that this was a pretty smart plan. He had no argument against Tom, what was more. Smiling in lighthearted defeat, he said, "So, when should we attack the new group?"

"As soon as possible," Tom said. "We wouldn't want to risk that they move the tr-"

A Death Eater entered the tent, interrupting Tom's words.

"My Lord, there's been another attack!" Dolohov shouted. "Right outside our camp – some of our guards have been dragged off."

"Truly?" Tom asked, feigning surprise. "Who would have thought they could find us... There must be a location nearby with a good number of them sharing tales of our arrival here. We must go there at once and get our Death Eaters back."

"I'll go tell the others!"

With that, Dolohov zoomed out of the tent, shouting to all the near Death Eaters about the news.

As his voice faded away, Tom turned back to Harry.

"This is ridiculous," Harry said.

"Why?" Tom asked joyfully.

Harry stood up, preparing himself. "It's too easy to manipulate the Death Eaters and it isn't fair to steal everything from another group like this."

"We shan't kill them, if that's what bothers you. I merely understand that a group as small and organised as our current rivals is undeserving of so much gold and treasure... They won't know what to do with it."

"Well, they'll know not to give it up without a fight."

Tom gave a hum of laughter as Harry approached him.

"Just don't kill them," Harry asked of him. "They aren't worth a trail of blood that will lead to our hands, it's better just to scare them and let other groups know how strong we are."

"Won't you join us?" Tom asked quietly.

Harry thought it over for a second. "I suppose I could."

"Brilliant," Tom said, his hand reaching for the entrance of the tent. "We'll begin organising an attack at once..."

An hour later, Harry, Tom, and several of the Knights headed out start a raid on their rival group, who were stationed in a cave overlooking their camp. Tom sent a few of the Knights in first to begin flooding the place out, leaving others outside to attack anyone who attempted to flee. By the time Harry and Tom entered the cave, the Death Eaters had knocked out and tied up all of the foreign wizards. What they were left with was three large trunks of treasure, locked and secured, and no one able to stop them from taking it.

Knowing they'd leave this place by morning, Tom ordered his Knights to put their enemies under a sleeping spell that would last at least twelve hours. For good measure, he implanted a fake memory in one of the wizards' mind, confusing him about the name, actions, and intentions of them coming here tonight, and he put a second wizard under the Imperius Curse, ordering him to run away from this camp so the others would believe he had stolen the treasure. By tomorrow evening, nobody here would remember what had happened, but each and every one of them would be keen to search for a traitor amongst their group.

The Death Eaters didn't seem particularly bothered by the large amount of treasure Tom had evidently uncovered. They only seemed to care about the pride and satisfaction of seeking revenge on their enemies – it apparently lead them to understand that the riches they found here would fund Tom's various groups, ending up in their pockets whenever they did important work for him. Back at the camp, Tom set up a celebration for the Death Eaters, rewarding them for their ability to follow his orders. He then returned to his own tent, followed shortly by Harry.

"They weren't very well prepared for an attack," Harry observed, pulling up a chair to watch Tom unlock the three chests. "It makes me think, maybe they didn't have all that much treasure to defend."

"Three heavy cases like these cannot be completely worthless," Tom reasoned.

"Then why wouldn't they find better people to defend it?"

"The answer to that is simple: they had no other wizards to employ. They were amateur thieves who stuck gold too early, leading them prideful and foolish. They could not foresee that dark consequences follow fortune if it is not guarded by caution..."

There was a loud _'click'_ from the largest trunk. It popped open softly. Tom gave Harry a gleeful look, but didn't examine their haul yet.

"These wizards knew as little about general defence and Locking Charms as they did discreetness," he said. "Their lack of security comes not from an a lack of care, but from an excess of foolishness – if I had not taken this treasure from them, another group would have caught word of their wealth, doing exactly as we have done tonight. I trust you will see this as a good reason for enjoying the wealth we have gained."

Tom clearly didn't want to give back whatever they had found tonight. In defeat, to stop him worrying too much, Harry nodded once, as if to say 'go on'.

Without hesitation, Tom pushed the trunk's lid fully open. A sea of gold met their eyes, causing them to pause in wonder. Strange magical artifacts had been packed into the wooden case, secured amongst thick coins of gold and silver. The treasure was emitting large quantities of magic that neither Harry nor Tom failed to sense. Before examining the first trunk too closely, Tom broke into the other two, seeing treasures of equal magnificence.

There were silver daggers, swords, bows and large, shining rubies, diadems, necklaces, and even magic staffs – the trunks were a lot bigger inside than they were on the outside. The only item that caught Harry's attention, however, was a mask. It was a smooth, pale gold with soft etchings carved all along its surface. It glowed with a strange, powerful aura that Harry couldn't ignore. He reached out a hand to take it.

Tom hadn't noticed his fascination. He carried on summoning treasure for the depths of the first trunk, evaluating the worth of the loot as a whole. Harry pressed his fingertips to the face of the mask, wondering what magic it could harvest. He tested the limits of the radiating power by moving his hand across the mask's surface, trying to distinguish the exact source of its evident enchantments. He came to no quick conclusion, but the item fascinated him nonetheless. Forgetting all logic and caution, be brought it to his face.

It felt no different to him when he wore it – it didn't even look, to him, as if this item was partially limiting his vision. He was about to take it off, to put it away, when Tom looked up at him.

There was a paused moment, one Harry found humour in. Tom, apparently, didn't feel the same – before Harry knew what was happening, Tom stood up, withdrawing his wand. He seemed close to throwing a cure in fright, but Harry took the mask off from his face, backing up.

"What are you doing?" he asked Tom, alarmed.

Tom blinked many times, as if he couldn't understand what he was seeing. He lowered his wand.

"Harry..."

"You forgot I was here?" Harry asked in disbelief.

Tom shook his head very slightly, looking down at the mask. "Why did you wear that?"

"How didn't you know it was me?"

"You know these items could be dangerous," Tom said shortly, annoyed. "It's foolish to test them out before we can know what they do."

"I know that. I just..."

Harry didn't know what to say. He looked down at the mask, which he still felt drawn to.

"This is a powerful item," he murmured. "I was curious..."

Tom was watching him with an odd expression. He seemed both annoyed and calculating at once. "You should know to resist alluring magic like this."

"I know. But nothing happened, did it?"

Tom said nothing. He walked forwards, putting his wand away. Once close to Harry, he reached out a hand to take the mask from his grip, watching him blankly.

"This is indeed a power piece of magic," he said.

"What did it do to you?" Harry asked.

Tom shook his head, saying, "Nothing damaging. I believe a strong enchantment has been placed upon this mask to conceal the wearer's identity with confusion... A trait like this would be useful against enemies, but would make one's own allies turn against them in uncertainty and puzzlement. It must be designed to strike fear in others, so they will act on their natural instincts against it..."

"So, everyone will attack me if I wear this?"

"If that is their instinct, yes. But if a person's instinct is to run away, cower, plead for mercy, freeze in fear, or reason with you, it will be those instincts that you must deal with. In most cases, it will give you an advantage."

"That's brilliant," Harry said, staring down at the mask again. "It must do more, too..."

His fascination distracted him for a time. He was tempted to take the mask from Tom's hands again, but he resisted. When he looked up, be saw that Tom was watching him closely.

"What is it?"

His expression was serious as a result of his deep thoughts. "You like this item, do you not?"

"I – I suppose so, yeah."

Nodding once, Tom looked down at the item again. He seemed relaxed now. "Perhaps we could put it to good use? Perhaps soon..."

Harry understood where this was going. This might, he realised, be why Tom had brought him here at all. "As a Horcrux?"

"Yes."

Harry thought it over. He knew he was already broken, with two Horcruxes... It didn't take long for him to come to the assumption that a third Horcrux would make no difference. He looked up at Tom, appreciating the look of hope he showed. Smiling, he said, "It might not be a bad idea..."

His words enthralled Tom in seconds. He watched a smile break across his face, before he kissed Harry passionately. He held him closely, saying softly that they could create the Horcrux as soon as they got back to England, if he wanted to. Harry agreed to it. He wanted to please Tom, to impress him with a desire to stay immortal. They returned to England a week later, a few hundred thousand Galleons richer, with plans to make a Horcrux of the Mask.

Tom offered for them to create the Horcrux at his house, but Harry refused immediately, knowing it would curse that place forevermore. They travelled, instead, to the Cave. Harry knew that if this place was haunted by Dark Magic, it would only keep more enemies away if they dared to try and find it. Tom agreed with the idea, knowing too that it was a safe place for them. Harry was only marginally unnerved by the smooth, dark body of water that held a sea of preserved dead bodies that would soon be Inferi. He knew the dead were harmless. He trusted Tom would protect him.

Although Harry prepared himself the best he could for the torturous event he was about to undergo, he still dreaded making this Horcrux. He tried to take strength in knowing there were no longer any risks for him, but he felt as if this was poor compensation for the pain he'd feel upon releasing and splitting his soul. He voiced his thoughts on the matter with Tom. Even with reassurances that they would cherish this day forevermore, Harry could do nothing but close his eyes gently, pushing his own dread away.

Tom guided him through the preparations, bringing forth the Mask and conjuring a temporary bed on which Harry could rest. As he began the enchantments they needed, reminding Harry of the steps they had been through too many times before, Harry experienced the same sensation of dread he had faced before. When the final enchantment was put into action and Harry's soul was released from his body to split, the same terrorizing, unendurable pain found Harry again. The state of dark, surreal disembodiment seemed to last for hours.

When he returned to body, he was able, now, to register the pain he felt. His body was a prison, in which all the pain he'd ever known seem to haunt and attack him all at once. It hours before he could even register and remember that Tom stood by his side. It took more hours still until he could see the dark walls of the cave, or feel Tom's soft touch on his shoulder. Everything went as it had before and Harry faced as much pain as he feared he might, but he didn't expect it when a hallucination appeared in before him once again.

As he lay on the low, thin bed Tom had made, accepting the pain of his Horcrux with progressively more determination, he caught a vision of Tom. Except, it wasn't the real Tom he knew and loved. It was a strange, ghostly figure gliding towards him as if in a dream. The figure's head tilted to the side as a smile crossed his face. His mouth moved to speak in a hiss, but Harry never caught the words he said.

The ghost moved to stand above Harry. He reached out a hand to touch his face, never moving his eyes away. His cold hand moved down Harry's burning skin, until his fingertips pressed against his chest, where his heart resided. As Harry looked up into the face of the ghostly Tom, he was shocked when his heart turned freezing cold. He gasped, looking down, and saw Tom's hand had fallen through his chest.

He was on the verge of panicking, before the ghostly Tom's other hand reached his chest, sinking inward. He moved onto the bed to sit above Harry, kissing him once before falling fully into him. It was the shard of Tom's soul returning to him, he realised. For hours after this, Harry ran a fever. The real Tom stood by his side, never asking about the hallucination he had surely watched him face.

By the time Harry was fully healed, be began to notice the affects of his third Horcrux. He returned to Tom's house for a few days and by the end of the next week, he found himself joining into the various projects Tom had planned for his followers. He carried on his job of giving orders to the Death Eaters, and for the first time in memory, he felt as if it was easy to accept. He began helping Tom more often with important plans concerning the Knights, believing wholly that he had finally gotten over his fear of the Dark Arts.

As months passed, Tom had not only the Giants under his control, but a few Dementors in Azkaban too. The Giants were staying in a sanctuary in the south of England and they would remain there until Tom decided it was wise to move them up to Scotland to stay near the Dragons. He had bought a lot of land with the wealth he was slowly gaining. He was focusing a lot of attention on the Magical Creatures that would be of great use to him in the future, including the Werewolves he hired, the Inferi he would soon enchant, and the various beasts he trained in secret.

The Ministry had no idea of the power he was gaining. Tom was taking control of dangerous beasts and was making deals with beings who had been enemies of the Ministry for a very long time. Even Vampires had heard of Tom's fame amongst the group of Werewolves he owned, and although they wanted no affiliation with the Wolves themselves, a large, powerful clan of confident Vampires couldn't resist making a deal with Tom too. They wanted to hunt Tom's enemies to find fresh blood. In exchange for their loyalty and power, they were rewarded his protection.

Beyond affiliation with beasts, beings, and the living dead (be them Werewolves, Hags, Vampires, or others), Tom was quietly changing the views of witches and wizards all across Britain. Few people beyond those dedicated to the Dark Arts truly knew who Voldemort was and fewer still knew of the power he possessed, but as the Death Eaters began to gain respect in the streets of wizarding London, witches and wizards were becoming more aware of the anti-Muggle views Voldemort was spreading. What was more, they weren't entirely opposed to it.

A lot of wizards hated Muggles already, and many more had reserved views about them. Being forced into hiding centuries ago made witches and wizards resent the Muggles in many ways and although most people rejected the idea of killing Muggles off, many found themselves supporting Tom's views without realising the significance of what they were agreeing to. The Daily Prophet was beginning to report as many attacks on Muggles as there were in Grindelwal's time, but in Tom's slow rise to power, there was very little the Ministry could do. Many witches and wizards now felt it was justified.

As Tom continued to plan attacks against those who opposed him, he began manipulating the situation in subtle ways to keep Blood-Traitors, Squibs, and Muggles at a disadvantage. Harry knew that he did this for many reasons: firstly, to amuse the Death Eaters, secondly, to encourage them to attack as vigorously as ever, and thirdly, to mask the cruel intentions of their attacks. As long as Tom found a way to make his enemies look bad – possessing Squibs to attack wizards, framing various Muggle-lovers for horrid, inhumane crimes – he could manipulate the wizarding world into hating his enemies once more.

When two years passed and crime continued to rise across Britain, fearful witches and wizards began complaining forcefully that the current Minister for Magic was insufficient. Thwarted in his attempt to overcome peoples' fear, the Minister was forced to resign and retire, swiftly being replaced. The irony of this decision was that Tom had wanted a new wizard to take over the Ministry. He wanted a fresh body to occupy the place of Minister for Magic so he would have a fresh mind to study and understand...

In a hidden headquarters to the north of England, studying the new Minister is what Tom spent the majority of his time doing. He would normally be at home, working on various studies that caught his curiosity, but this particular fascination wasn't something he could think about on his own. He needed as much information on the Minister as he could gain – and this was possible solely through talking in depth with his most trusted, intelligent Knights.

He had set up a secret location, the Nundu Hideout, for his chosen Knights to gather in when he summoned them. No Death Eater knew of the meetings Tom was having with these Knights; the Nundu Hideout was a location separate from the four other headquarters Tom had created for his Death Eaters: the Acromantula, Basilisk, Chimaera, and Dementor Hideouts. He no longer allowed any of his followers visit his home – in order to preserve secrecy, he had created these headquarters all across Britain. In spite of his attempt at security, however, even the dullest Death Eaters began to realise the significance of his caution.

Tom was plotting against the Ministry. More specifically, he was finding ways to take further power over the Ministry and the wizarding world in general. His plans were becoming progressively more dangerous and illegal, thus he began to obsess over his own protection. More than ever, he distanced himself from his followers, talking to them only through other Knights or not at all. His research began to focus less on interesting magic and more on ways to change the course of history. He was preparing for the next greatest war.

In the dark, secluded Nundu Hideout, Harry sat at a long table with Rosier, Black, Lestrange, Nott, Dorn, Rowle, and Tom. These seven wizards were here to discuss Nobby Leach, the new Minister for Magic. He had been elected solely in the interest of fighting against crime in England, but every wizard present tonight understood that he would fail to succeed. He wasn't prepared for the power Tom had, the plans he had worked on for years, and the persistence Tom would have to start attacking him personally.

"What is the use in planning all of this, my Lord?" Lestrange asked bravely one evening, his drawling voice breaking the silence as Tom processed the latest information on Nobby Leach. "If we are to plot against the Minister, what good will it do, beyond alarm Britain's witches and wizards? Surely nothing will change once they replace Nobby Leach? Surely, after we kill him –"

"Kill him?" Tom repeated softly. "I have never voiced this as my final desire for Leach."

Lestrange did not carry on talking. He was bewildered by this claim.

"If this isn't our aim," Rosier began cautiously, "then... what is, my Lord?"

He seemed to regret asking as soon as Tom's red eyes fell upon him. If he had forgotten that the answer to this question was confidential, he remembered it now. He bowed his head, looking away as he paled.

"Forgive me, my Lord... I merely found it curious."

"Curiosity is not a trait I encourage my Knights to act upon in relation to my work," Tom said softly. "Surely you have not forgotten this?"

"No, my Lord. Of course not, I just assumed -"

"Do not assume," Tom interrupted in little over a hiss. "You are here to pass on information to me. Nothing else is required of you."

Under Tom's burning glare, Rosier became progressively more uncomfortable. He didn't dare look at Tom now. In a strained voice, he said, "Of course, my Lord..."

Although Tom was clearly irritated by Rosier's intrusiveness, Harry could sense he wasn't particularly bothered by what the Knights before him had assumed. He watched his followers in annoyance, but when his eyes met Harry's for a moment, Harry thought he caught amusement, again, in Tom's eyes. Was he amused by the power he had over his Knights?

"It would be useless to kill Minister," Harry said, fearing nothing from voicing his thoughts. "I thought this was obvious to all of us. We wouldn't be here, gaining all this information on Leach, if we wanted him dead – we'd just kill him. All of us are capable of that, by this point."

Tom inclined his head once, still pretending to be irritated at the Knights' idiocy.

"I do not plan to rid England of its Minister," he said softly, his dark eyes downcast to a newspaper clipping before him, "I want only to weaken Nobby Leach completely, leaving him frail and dismayed. Only then can our Knights walk this land as freely as Kings..."

Nobody said a word against this. The five Knights and Harry seemed to simultaneously look at the scrap of newspaper Tom examined: it showed a photograph of the Minister, roughly cut out of a copy of the Daily Prophet, stuck to the table by a knife. Standing in the moving photograph was Nobby Leach with his wife, teenaged daughter, and older son. The picture and article were from the day he fully became Minister – this was visible from the large smiles and proud, affectionate glances cast amongst the small family...

– X –

Despite the Ministry's claims that they would fight harder against the growing level of crime committed throughout wizarding Britain, they were making very little progress. Many witches and wizards were being captured by the Ministry for illegal acts, but Tom continuously found ways to protect the Knights and Death Eaters he valued. He punished those who displeased him by allowing Aurors to capture them, sending them to Azkaban for a few short months or years.

In his experiments with magical beasts, Tom was making tremendous progress. He allowed his Death Eaters to carry on with Dragon training, focusing his attention more on trading beasts illegally through breeding and selling them off – an act that had become so popular amongst witches and wizards that the Ministry of Magic issued a Ban of Magical Breeding. This ban prevented the Death Eaters from getting hold of a Nundu, much to their dismay.

Tom was not aggravated by the Ministry's decision to put a ban on Magical Breeding, however. In contrast, he was quite pleased with it – it placed the value of experimental beasts at a much higher price. Since he had the power to trade with larger traffickers through the Death Eaters, there was less risk of his followers being caught and sent to Azkaban. Unsure witches and wizards would sell their strange, experimental creatures to him at lower prices, too, knowing it was safe for them to do.

It was a successful year after the Ban on Magical Breeding when another extraordinary change happened in the wizarding world, shaking the Ministry of Magic in a way no one had foreseen. As a result of the false accusations and savage attacks against Squibs occurring over the last five years alone, Squib Rights marches had been organised in the summer to protest against the Ministry's reluctance to protect them. As the first march began, it became apparent that a large percentage of the population disagreed with this demonstration. Angry witches and wizards were refusing to tolerate the Ministry listening to Squibs' voices.

Pure-blood Riots had broken out all across England. What was most awe-inspiring and terrifying about this was that Tom had nothing to do with it. Many of the Death Eaters, being pure-blooded, had joined into the chaos gleefully, but none of them were acting under the orders of their Lord. In Harry's opinion, this was the point at which Tom's power became truly apparent. Common witches and wizard, unhappy with the Ministry's gentle attitude towards Muggles, Muggle-Borns, Blood-Traitors, and Squibs, were fighting for Voldemort's views with joyous determination.

Never before had Harry seen witches and wizards take to the streets to protest vigorously against the Ministry. Despite working alongside Tom and joining into the Dark Arts with him, Harry was alarmed by the change happening around him. The riots persisted even as Squibs were terrorized – it was only when three Muggles were murdered in celebration that the uproar stopped. At the sight of the Dark Mark looming high above the scene, Pure-bloods had fled in fear of being blamed.

"It's all so idiotic," Nott commented to Harry a week after the riots ended. "Most people didn't seem to know what they were doing there, they just joined in once they saw others fighting."

Harry wasn't surprised to hear this. He sat in his usual seat in Nott's front room, warming up by the blazing fire. Harry thought that Nott seemed especially tired today, but he wasn't yet sure why. He hadn't been able to see him in weeks.

"A few families close to mine encouraged it, and even joined in," Nott carried on, "but it's a mere amusement for them all. They didn't know what they were talking about. They had no understanding of what really went on, they just wanted to celebrate their blood purity..."

"Were you there?" Harry asked.

"No, I was working in the Ministry. It was lucky, I suppose. It would have caused problems if I suddenly started fighting against my own colleagues, so I had to stay where I was."

Harry nodded once, knowing Nott's 'luck' had more to do with giving the Death Eaters the perfect excuse than anything else.

"It still surprises me that my Lord was not behind all of this," Nott commented. "It seems like something he would do: use blood rivalry as a tool to start riots, shaking the whole of England."

Harry thought this over for a second, not knowing what the right response might be. "Whether or not he started the Pure-blood Riots, he's still causing the changes we're seeing in England," he said.

"Which is what makes it so terrifying, I suppose," Nott mused. "He has gained so much power and influence over so many people, he barely needs to tell others what to do."

Harry stared down at the fireplace. He wished this wasn't true.

"This is only the beginning, as well," he said. "Tom will continue to change England..."

"As will you," Nott commented quietly. "As will all of us."

Harry watched him in the dim firelight, reflecting on the lack of hope in his tone. If Nott's family were even a part of this, supporting this, it seemed as if there was no hope in stopping Tom's rise to power. Harry tried to find a scrap of hope. Eventually, he said: "Until we don't."

Nott said nothing. His tired eyes locked with Harry's and seemed to be searching for something within them. Harry wondered how many more times he would be able to come here without Tom finding out. If Tom caught a flash into Harry's mind again, if he saw this house or Nott or anything important... Harry didn't know what he'd do. All he knew was that the risk felt worth taking.

In an attempt to stop the sorrow and perturbation within Nott's eyes, Harry decided to carry on talking.

"Tom has a brilliant mind," he said, "but it isn't always used for the right reasons. He's done some brilliant work, he's made discoveries that won't stop helping the wizarding world for decades, but what he's doing now, what he's standing for, just isn't right..."

"I wish more of us realised that," Nott agreed gently. "It happens to the best of people. Power becomes too important as soon as they realise their own brilliance."

"I'm not sure it'll ever change, either. Tom is too attached to all of this."

Nott said nothing. He was thinking deeply, looking away. Harry wondered if he was thinking over how he had murdered Emeric, Ransom, and Brian Prewett. It made him feel oddly forlorn. He took comfort in reflecting that Nott didn't know about the man he had murdered in Italy, at least.

"I wasn't meant for this..."

Nott met his gaze again at these words. "I know," he said softly.

Harry wasn't very convinced. Despite Nott's evident calmness he feared his judgement.

"I wish I hadn't made some of the choices I did," he said. "I could have done a lot better. I could have been something important..."

"Like what?"

"Anything. Even working at the Ministry would be better than doing nothing to help. I could have been a teacher at Hogwarts, or an Auror, or –"

"An Auror?" Nott repeated. "Tom never would have allowed it."

"If I spied for him, he would have allowed it. Just to do something good, to hunt down other criminals... You remember how I used to work for the Daily Prophet?"

"Yes?"

"I was offered a job as an Auror there..."

As Harry said it, memories came flooding back to him about Moody's persistence.

"One of the other workers, Moody, was an ex-Auror and he saw something in me. I should have taken the offer. Things would have been different. Better, even..."

Harry could surely have become a convincing Auror, to help both sides of this war grow stronger. It filled him with regret – an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time.

"But you wouldn't have been with our Lord," Nott observed. "Even if you couldn't stay to help the Ministry, you were able to bond with him in the years you spend away in Albania together. I know the two of you got closer in that time; you stuck with him to enjoy the love you felt for each other. That isn't a crime."

"But I wasn't meant for this," Harry told him quietly. "I was made for greater things. I should have made a different, I – I was the Chosen One..."

Harry was so distracted by this, he didn't care Nott that had heard his old title. He knew he had failed the entire wizarding world by his cowardice. He didn't know how he could change that now.

"Chosen for what?" Nott asked.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but something held him back.

"I... I don't know," he said.

Whether this was the truth or not, he wasn't sure. He was chosen for death, perhaps – or at least in Dumbledore's eyes. Or chosen as a distraction, as a hope for the wizarding world to cling to, despite the mass amount of power Voldemort held long before the Battle of Hogwarts. All he knew was that if he was the Chosen One, he had failed his only duty.

"I want to fix all of the damage I've done," Harry said. "The only thing I fear is changing in the process of fighting this. I don't want to lose myself, but I think I might be halfway there..."

To his surprise, Nott showed no signs of sorrow or fear. He watched Harry in the low light of the evening, a smile on his face and kindness etched into his tired eyes.

"You'll find your way back," he said. "You always do."

– X –

Harry sat alone in the Basilisk Hideout, haunted by the things Nott had said. He was waiting here solely to gather news about an enemy of Tom's, who had threatened to rat out a few of their associates to the Ministry. The Death Eaters would arrive at this headquarters to inform Harry about the success of their attack; they had likely killed the rat. Harry didn't bother to think about it too much. His mind was wandering to other thoughts as his unfocused eyes ignored the dreary, shadowy cave around him.

Lately, Harry found himself thinking about the choices he had made. He wasn't proud of the crimes he involved himself in and the more time that passed, the more he feared and resented the changes happening around him, whether or not they were a direct result of his actions. Occasionally, he noticed the changes happening within himself. Less occasionally, but still quite often, he was forced to think about it for hours.

When the three Death Eaters arrived in this depressing cave, a new depth to his own changes became apparent to Harry. The Death Eaters appeared joyous upon their arrival, but as they advanced towards the table Harry sat at, their smiles slowly slipped away.

"How did it go?" Harry asked.

Breaking out of a moment of deep thought, Gibbon looked up. "It didn't go so badly."

"Was he killed?"

Harry didn't even need to know the rat's name to ask this.

"Yeah," Dolohov told him with a yellow-toothed smirk. "Fell right down to his knees, pleading for mercy. We saw no point in keepin' him breathing."

He laughed at his own words, but it was halfheartedly. This caught Harry's attention. Dolohov was normally endlessly chuffed about his kills.

"What did he say?" Harry asked.

"Not much," Gonson told him distractedly. "Just the usual..."

Harry was silent for a moment. They weren't being very informative. He was about to ask them what had gone wrong, who had been hurt, before he saw Dolohov shiver.

"You're cold?"

Looking up, Dolohov's eyebrow raised in disbelief. "You're not? It's freezin' in 'ere..."

Rowle and Gibbon were shivering too. Harry watched them curiously, about to shake his head in a wordless gesture of 'no' for Dolohov, but a sound interrupted his thoughts. It was a harsh, muffled thumping sound coming from somewhere behind Harry.

"Did you hear that?" Gibbon asked with wide eyes.

The four of them sat very still. The sound had ceased along with their voices, until it started up again in cruel hope.

_Thump, thump, thump..._

Harry stood up. The three Death Eaters quickly followed him, as if they had suddenly dropped all bravery. Harry looked at them, bemused, until the sound distracted him once more. _Thump, thump..._ Harry took out his wand.

He advanced towards a wardrobe, which seemed to be where the noise was coming from.

"Don't!" Dolohov suddenly said.

Harry looked back at him, annoyed, suddenly, at his fear. "What's gotten into you?"

"I just don't like it!" he said. "There's something bad in there. Something... negative. I -"

"What's that?" Gibbon cut across him sharply, pointing to the bottom of the wardrobe.

There was the hem of a cloak, ripped and tattered, sticking out of the door. The Death Eaters were comically horrified, as if they had reverted back to children. Harry took slow steps towards the wardrobe, wondering if another Death Eater could be hiding in there. He reached out a hand, twisting the doorknob and pulling it forwards, until -

He saw not a wizard, but a cowering, rasping creature. He stared, alarmed, and saw its lungs draw in a deep breath, its grey, scabbed skin stretched tightly over its skeleton, which was shielded almost wholly by a flowing black cloak. A hood was drawn right over the Dementor's face, showing nothing but the rasping, gasping mouth. Its breath rattled on and on, sucking in endless air and endless hope, as if its scabbed lungs had holes punctured through them. Before Harry could do more than back away, the Dementor rose.

To his surprise, the Dementor did not pay him the least bit of attention. It was halfway across the room before anyone could stop it. Harry saw Rowle withdraw his wand, stammering, "_E-Expecto Patronum!_", but not a single thing happened. The Dementor was already on Dolohov, clutching at his flesh, grasping his arms, pulling in closer -

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_"

Nothing changed at Harry's spell. He tried to think of a happy memory, knowing he was the only wizard here unaffected by the Dementor's powers, but he couldn't do it. The Dementor's mouth was attaching itself to Dolohov's, its breath growing eager.

"_EXPLUSO!_"

In Harry's fear, the spell became stronger, but there was nothing he could do to banish the Dementor completely. It was blasted away from Dolohov, who gasped at the fresh air and fell to the ground. It advanced towards Dolohov again seconds after smashing into a stone wall, but Harry used the same spell, forcing the Dementor far down the entrance of the cave. Encouraged by Harry's persistence and the Dementor's distance, Gibbon threw a spell at the creature too, shortly joined by Rowle.

Perhaps feeling defeated, or knowing this wasn't a part of the deal it had made with Tom, the Dementor did not return. Harry turned towards Dolohov, who stared with large, unseeing eyes as he gasped for breath on the ground. Harry dropped down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to make him look up.

"Are you alright?"

Dolohov was still unable to speak. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Dolohov had killed the rat tonight and the Dementor had sensed his weakness, bringing forth remorse.

Harry shook his shoulder, forcing him to say something. "Look at me!"

His eyes were frightened when they met Harry's, but they weren't deadened. His soul hadn't been removed.

"He's fine," Harry murmured, watching the Death Eater closely. "He's still here..."

"Thank Salazar..."

Harry stood up, caught up in thought. The Dementor hadn't had any affect on him... Was this a result of his soul being shattered and separated? Or was it because he felt as if he was under a Dementor attack often? He was haunted by so many thoughts... He decided not to think about it too much. He told the Death Eaters they should go before something worse happened. He needed to get back to Tom...

The house was gloriously empty when Harry arrived at it. It was one of the only things he liked about the changes Tom had made lately – there was no risk of Death Eaters or Knights showing up at unexpected times here. Even Tweaky respected Harry's rush to go see Tom; he bowed deeply and returned to the kitchen without saying more than "Welcome home, Master...". Upstairs, Tom was in the library. He looked up when Harry arrived, smiling softly.

"Do tell me the news... Is River dead?"

Harry assumed this was the rat the three Death Eaters had been sent to kill. "Yeah, I – I think they just murdered him for good measure."

"How?" Tom asked casually.

"They didn't actually say," Harry admitted. "We, er, were interrupted."

He made his way around the couch to sit next to Tom. When his arm found its way around Harry's waist and when he smiled gently, Harry felt as if it had been a while since they were so close. They had done so much work lately, it exhausted both of them completely. Appreciating the comfort of Tom's touch, Harry began to explain the Dementor attack.

To his surprise, Tom was more interested in this attack than he was in the murder Rowle, Gibbon, and Dolohov had committed. He was mildly angry at the Dementors for disobeying him and he was determined to find out which creature they had seen tonight, to punish it for almost rendering a Death Eater useless. On top of this, however, he was impressed by Harry's story. His determination to fight pleased Tom, but his ability to stay unaffected by the Dementor pleased him further.

"This is brilliant," he said in a hushed voice.

"How?" Harry asked, personally thinking that it was a mediocre fight.

"The timing is curious, for I have been wondering all night who I will choose for my latest mission..."

Harry didn't like the sound of this. "You have tens of Death Eaters you can use. Why would I be any help?"

"You know a change has happened," Tom said softly, "the whole wizardng world is changing... It has lead me to believe that now is the time to put our greatest plans into motion."

"You mean, to take down the Minister?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yes..."

Tom was playing with a strand of Harry's hair, watching him fondly.

"You have more than satisfactorily displayed your ability to stay level-headed in battle over the years," Tom told him. "It this this quality, as well as your strength, that I need most of all in delicate operations..."

"How can I help?"

"I must tell you of my plan first," Tom said, smiling. "It begins with murder..."

"The murder of Nobby Leach? You said it'd be no use if he was killed. He'll be replaced."

"That's why we shan't kill him, but another important person... Specifically, his son."

Harry was astonished. "Why him?"

"Can you not see what it will do?" Tom asked in a gleeful hiss. "The Pureblood Riots have only just ended, much to the relief of Nobby Leach and his family. His son is an avid supporter of Squibs, Mubloods, Blood-Traitors, and Muggles – if we were to kill him now, the whole world would never cease to remember why."

"Won't it be too much?" Harry asked. "Won't Leach step down from his post as Minister if we do this now?"

"No," Tom assured him, shaking his head with a grin, "he's a Muggle-lover like none I have ever known. If his son dies in the pursuit of advocating equality amongst Muggles and wizards, Leach will hold Purebloods responsible for his son's death. He will use this as fuel to fight against us more determinedly – only, many will mistake his mourning as strength. Many will fail to understand that in his anger, he will be weak..."

Tom's wide eyes showed the mad, feverish happiness Harry had grown to love. He grinned widely at the genius of his own plan. He seemed enthralled that Harry showed such strength; it captivated Harry wholly, drawing him closer to Tom in this dark, quiet room.

"What do you need me to do?"

Tom grinned more deeply still, stroking the side of Harry's face lovingly.

"The Pureblood Riots were a mere three weeks ago; it is my belief that we must not only take advantage of this situation, but worsen it for even greater affects... Bobby Leach, the son of the Minister, is holding a public speech in dedication to the Muggles who died at our Death Eaters' hands... I want you to be at his assassination."

"Who have you have kill him?" Harry asked.

"Lestrange," Tom told him calmly. "He is our best assassin... I will employ Avery, too, to be there. He will be able to fight the Aurors if they cause a scene, but otherwise I do not want Death Eater involvement. I do not want to risk lives..."

"So, my job is to get Lestrange out of there?"

"Yes," Tom said gently. "Guide them both. Do not give the Minister the satisfaction of knowing who murdered his son. I want to be blamed wholly for this crime..."

Harry thought it over quickly. It wouldn't involve him killing anyone, but it would give him a huge amount of credit amongst the Knights. It would please Tom greatly...

"When is Bobby Leach's speech?" he asked.

Tom gave a low hum of laughter, knowing this was his acceptance. He leant in to kiss Harry joyously.

"Friday," he hissed. "We'll plan everything with our chosen Knights..."

– X –

The day of the assassination dawned hot and blindingly bright. Mid-summer appeared prideful of its power, leaving all the citizens of London lethargic, irritated, and boiling. In a sheltered, cold cave not far from London, Harry was standing with the five chosen Knights, Avery, and Tom. Their plans had been organised fully, sticking almost entirely to what Tom had described to Harry a few nights ago.

Harry found himself oddly calm about the task ahead of him. As the sun began to lower in the sky, saving them from the heat and light of day, it became more and more obvious that not all of the Knights felt the same way.

"This could ruin my whole reputation," Lestrange said shakily, fastening the high collar of his black, closely-fitted outfit. This was the first time perhaps ever that Harry heard him sound anything but bored. "My children would never forgive me – their friends at Hogwarts will know them only as the sons of an assassin..."

"Well, that's certainly a way to gain respect," Avery commented lazily. He wasn't bothered by a thing going on. He seemed rather envious, if anything, that Lestrange was doing the actual killing. "I'll take the job from you, if you care so much. I'd be proud to give my son that title."

"You have no experience with assassinations," Lestrange reminded him coldly. "This isn't like your petty, brutal murders. What's more, you've never had to murder a respected man with a crowd of witnesses."

"Wanna bet on that?"

"You've done nothing like this!"

Avery laughed at Lestrange's irritation, fixing his own gloves idly. He was posing as a casual wizard eager to hear Bobby Leach's speech. In Harry's opinion, he still stood out as a criminal.

"Good old Knob," Avery commented will full humour, as if in defeat, "it seems such a shame to kill off his only son like this."

Dorn was bemused. "Is zhis real sentiment? Do not tell me you are a Muggle-lover too, zhat would be quite drastic in this situation."

"I'm just getting in character," Avery laughed. "It's what them Mudbloods say, ain't it? Good old Knobby..."

"It's what everyone will be saying, if this all goes wrong," Lestrange commented through gritted teeth. "They'll talk of how brilliant Nobby Leach's son was, how I killed him..."

"You should be honoured," Rosier commented from the back of the room, watching the conversation with interest. "If I didn't have an even greater reputation than you –"

Lestrange glared at him coldly.

"– I would happily take on this assignment. This could change the course of history, after all."

Lestrange fumed quietly and said nothing, overwhelmed by stress.

"You'll have Jonathan to protect you, anyway," Black commented, as if this settled the matter. "With his protection, along with our Lord's, you won't get caught."

As if given permission, Nott looked at Harry wordlessly. There was a kind, reassuring look in his eyes that wouldn't have been obvious to many. It captivated Harry for a moment, making him pause. He wished he could talk to Nott about this – he wanted to know how he felt about Lestrange being in danger, or the fact that Harry would be protecting him – but there was no time.

If Harry had believed this look was private, he was mistaken. He felt other eyes on him and when he finally drew his attention away from Nott, he saw Lestrange glowering at him. It surprised Harry deeply. So much so, in fact, that this seemed to convey itself; Lestrange looked away hastily, as annoyed as ever.

"It should be about time now," Avery was saying. He sounded almost nervous now. "We should probably get going."

Harry turned to Lestrange, holding back his reluctance. "Are you ready?"

He nodded stiffly, barely looking up. He drew his hood up until it covered his face, a silver mask in one hand, wand in the other. Harry withdrew his Invisibility Cloak, but didn't put it on yet. They turned towards the door.

"Good luck," a few Knights said.

Tom, Harry knew, was waiting in the other room. He didn't want to see his three chosen followers until they were finished with this mission. Harry had said goodbye privately to him earlier; he felt there was nothing left to do when he existed the headquarters with Avery and Lestrange.

Avery parted from the two of them shortly after they arrived in London. Harry and Lestrange didn't speak much when they were alone, but thankfully they weren't alone for long. They headed straight for Diagon Alley through a deserted pathway. They were seen by no one.

"You know what to do," Harry said. "I'll watch out for you the whole time."

Lestrange didn't say anything to him. Harry wondered if this might be because he felt ill, but he couldn't tell – Lestrange was wearing the silver mask. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, making him wholly invisible. Harry turned away, towards the main street of Diagon Alley. He heard Lestrange's footsteps fading in the opposite direction.

When Harry reached the street, he found it full of quiet, respectful witches and wizards, who he supposed must be in mourning. Over a river of pointed hats in shades of black, purple, dark green, and navy, Harry could see yellow sunlight hitting the upper floors of the shops around them. Breaks in the large street where westward lanes cut into it shed more light across the scene. One of these sections of sunlight was hitting a small podium, where Bobby Leach was due to stand.

Making his way along the back of the crowd, Harry could just about make out Avery's head near the very front of the podium. He was standing near a few Aurors, perhaps taking enjoyment in his recklessness. Especially, Harry knew, because he had murdered the Muggles everyone was here in dedication to. Harry could picture the boyish grin that must be breaking across Avery's face every few minutes for seconds at a time, catching the curiosity of Ministry Officials and Aurors. Harry hoped he wouldn't get caught, ruining this entire operation...

A few moments later, Harry found the perfect place to stand. He was on the far edge of the crowd, on the steps of a closed shop. The Minister was nowhere in sight, to Harry's relief. There were only a few writers for the Daily Prophet on seats near Bobby Leach's podium, as well as rich sorcerers making a good name for themselves, Ministry Workers trying to look official, real Squibs taking pride in their invitation, and a young woman waiting nervously, who Harry thought might be Bobby's sister.

He felt ill upon seeing the last seated guest. It might be just a girlfriend, he told himself, or a work colleague... What was important now was she wasn't the one who had to die. Harry wished Avery wouldn't stand so jarringly close to the Aurors. Harry thought he could see Bobby Leach behind the stage, talking solemnly to other wizards, dressed in black, shaking hands... As this figure began to approach the stage, Harry became more sure it was him. Nerves were catching him, distracting him. He had no idea what Lestrange must feel like...

The young wizard stood proudly on the podium, looking out at the witches and wizards before him. He took a deep breath, before speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I must thank you for gathering here on this tragic day to pay your respects to those we have lost in the recent, monstrous events that have struck our world with terror..."

Avery was shifting where he stood. Was he bored? Or perhaps guilty? Any moment now, both of those reactions would change. Harry wished he could see Lestrange, who was surely standing close to Bobby Leach.

"...has struck fear and horror in the pure hearts of our children, our loved ones, and ourselves..."

The security in this gathering was so poor, it would surprise Harry if these Aurors could use magic at all. Their protection over Leach depended entirely on their eyes, which Lestrange had effortlessly surpassed.

"...stop those who wrongly believe that, in these dire times, prejudice and discrimination is the answer. I ask all of you here today to question if..."

Avery was moving. Harry wasn't paying any attention at all to the speech Leach was giving; his eyes fixed on the Death Eater, who appeared to be moving back. Perhaps he had begun to realise that standing in front of the Aurors was a bad idea.

"...will remind each and every one of us that our world can only gain more from loving our fellow Muggles. United, we stand powerful and true. Separated, we are only weakening ourselves..."

When Avery was still once more, Harry turned back to Leach. He didn't know why Lestrange was hesitating. Had be become too scared? If only Harry could see him. He didn't want to have to take over and murder Leach himself...

"...suffer along with our Muggle companions, to turn a new page in the blood-stained history book of our kind. With our trust and dedication, no witch or wizard, Squib or Muggle, Muggle-born, Half-Blood, or Pure-blood has to suffer at the hands of this injustice. Through love and compassion, we can find it within ourselves to mend the wounds of this treacherous war, turning back to..."

Taking Lestrange's lead, Harry withdrew his Invisibility Cloak, quietly draping it over his shoulders and drawing up the hood.

"...here to tell you what great things can come with the union of Muggles and Wizards..."

There was enough room for Harry to slip by the other witches and wizards along the street without causing a disturbance. He edged closer to the podium, thinking he might be able to detect Lestrange, at the very least.

"...if we only open up our hearts to those who have so willingly, so selflessly cared for us, we can find great things in their companionship. We can find pride in the purity of blood no matter what–"

His words were cut short. Harry's heart skipped a beat and he stopped, awe-struck at the timing.

It appeared, at first, that Bobby Leach had forgotten his lines and had paused in nerves; his eyes widened horrifically and he made faint, gruesome choking sounds. It confused all who watched him. When blood began to seep from his neck, it became apparent what was happening: Lestrange appeared, knife in hand, clutching Bobby's body.

Somebody screamed in horror. Harry ran. The Aurors hadn't moved; they didn't know who had screamed or why, even as terror echoed through the street, ripping at the minds of every witch and wizard here.

Bobby stared out at the crowd with glazed eyes, his lips mouthing soundless words nobody could hear. There would be no saving him now – the Knife's enchantments had then effect and Bobby's head dropped to his shoulders. Lestrange let him drop further, indifferent to this savage crime.

_Thud!_

Crimson blood began to leak onto the stage. Lestrange, his face unreadable behind his silver mask, pointed his wand to the sky.

"_MORSMORDRE!_"

The heavens erupted into a shower of green sparks. Even in the light of the setting sun, the emerald stars reflected in every street window and in the terrified eyes of the witches and wizards below, who began Disapparating so fast, it sounded like several fireworks were going off in celebration. Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over Lestrange, urging him away from the podium and from Bobby Leach's blood-soaked corpse. The Dark Mark reflected in his eyes too.

"_Stupefy!_" several voices shouted in wrath.

"_Impedimenta!_" cried others.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

"_Incarcerous!_"

"_Protego!_" Harry shouted. The shield was struck by spell after spell, despite Harry and Lestrange's invisibility. Harry backed away from the shield furiously, pulling Lestrange along.

"_IMPERIO!"_ Lestrange shouted back with glee.

His spell hit one of the Aurors who stood to the side of the shield. Seconds later, the targeted wizard was attacking his workmates, confusing some of them and angering more.

The street was clearing of its witches and wizards quickly – even Avery, who had taken on four Aurors, had fled from the scene. Neglected hats, turned over chairs, pieces of indiscriminate rubbish and cowering, wounded civilians were all that remained.

"_Expulso!_" Lestrange shouted beneath the Cloak. "_Secareileum! Cru-_"

"Don't!" Harry hissed warningly. "Let's just get out of here!"

"They're so easy to target!" Lestrange exclaimed. "Just-"

Harry grabbed his right wrist, forcing him to stop. "_Listen to me!_"

Something in his voice seemed to convince Lestrange to stop. Harry pulled his arm, forcing him to run, diagonally, to an alleyway. Down the narrow street, they passed closed shops, knocking over old cauldrons, cartons, and broomsticks. Someone seemed to have spotted them; bricks above their heads shattered at the strength of spells.

"_Impedimenta!_" Harry shouted, hitting the wizard tailing them.

Harry pulled Lestrange around a corner, hoping to find no one there, but he was mistaken. Fleeing witches and wizards run along before them, ushering children forwards, appearing horror-struck and panicked. Aurors were sweeping through the street, trying everything they could to find Lestrange.

"We need to get Avery," Harry said in a hushed voice.

"He headed for Knockturn Alley," Lestrange told him. "We'll get found by Aurors before we make it there!"

Harry didn't want to leave him behind. He was sure Avery would get caught if he didn't help...

"They'll place an Anti-Apparition Charm in moments," Lestrange reasoned. "They'll -"

"_Stupefy!_"

An Auror had heard them. Harry ducked with Lestrange.

"_Impedimenta!_" the wizard cried. "_Stupefy! Stupefy!_"

Lestrange sent a jet of purple light his way, hitting the wizard squarely in the chest. He was blasted back to the brick wall behind him, falling to the ground.

"Let's go!" Harry shouted, tugging him along again.

They stood up fully, fleeing down the emptying street. They were on their way to Knockturn Alley, taking a shortcut few knew of, when they caught sight of the chaos going on down there. Avery, apparently, was being chased by every Auror, because they didn't know who else they could attack. There was a shower of multi-coloured sparks and the furious, maddened cries from various wizards. Avery passed right in front of Harry and Lestrange.

"Avery!" Harry hissed.

He paused for one second, looking around. When he saw no one, fear got the better of them. He slipped down another alley, laughing in hysteric nerves along the way. Harry was about to follow him, but the Aurors were too quick: they sped after Avery, blocking Harry's only chance to get to him safely.

Seeing several Aurors heading their way, Harry knew what he knew he must do.

With a deafening '_crack!_' the were gone.

The horrible sensation of Apparition is all he could remember next. Their feet met new earth, miles from where they had been before. They were nearing the Dementor Hideout now.

When their heads stopped spinning from the journey here, Lestrange jerked his arm irritably from Harry's grasp, ducking out from under the Cloak. He was shaking badly with nerves. Harry soon followed him, folding the Cloak up in his hands.

"Why did it take you so long to kill him?" Harry asked, confused by the quietness and calmness of this new area.

"Couldn't you see? I was waiting for the right moment. I thought I'd make a real show of it..."

Nodding shortly, Harry let the subject drop. He thought about Avery, who he really should have brought here. The Aurors were surely scanning every street, looking for who had murdered Bobby Leach...

Lestrange was visibly annoyed again. Harry thought he might be dissatisfied with his murder, or Harry's escape, or even the fact that they had left Avery behind, but instead of talking about any of these things, he brought up an unexpected subject.

"It's a shame you couldn't bring _dear_ Nott here," he panted, glaring. "I'm sure he would have made a cleaner escape..."

Harry said nothing. He had no idea what brought Lestrange to say this. After a moment of seeing his angry expressing and shaking limbs, he supposed that the rush killing and almost being killed, captured, or identified must be pushing Lestrange into this.

"Nott isn't an assassin," Harry reminded him. "Nor any kind of killer."

Lestrange scoffed. "That doesn't stop you caring about him..."

For a frightened moment, Harry thought Lestrange knew about the meetings he had arranged with Nott. He remembered that if Lestrange knew, however, Tom would know too, so it wasn't very plausible. No, Lestrange was doing this because he feared he was going to be judged. He was... jealous?

"He must be doing something to impress you," Lestrange carried on. "It's a miracle he stayed a Knight for so long, never mind a respected one... He doesn't kill wizards and there are smarter Knights than him, so why is he so cared for?"

Annoyance played at the edges of Harry's mind. "What does it matter to you?"

Scowling again, Lestrange tried to explain it. "I just can't fathom what he could be doing to please you and our – _my_ – Lord."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The Dark Lord is not easily impressed," Lestrange said. "He... Well, he..."

"You think you know him better than I do?" Harry asked incredulously. "He wouldn't tell you a thing about himself – and anyway, wasn't it his direct orders that you shouldn't make assumptions?"

Lestrange opened his mouth to retort, but he had nothing to say. Just as it seemed as if he might give up, they heard another '_crack!_' from not far away. Avery had arrived.

"Thank Salazar!" Avery exclaimed upon seeing the both of them. "I had no idea where you two went!"

"I'm glad you made it out of that," said Harry honestly. "How did you escape?"

"I just ran down Knockturn Alley – as if they could make their way 'round there better than me!"

He grinned once more, thoroughly impressed with himself.

"We saw you there," Harry said, "but the Aurors were too quick."

"I know," Avery said casually, "but s'alright. That was one brutal murder – the timing was priceless!"

Lestrange showed no signs of caring. He sighed deeply.

"It'll give them Daily Prophet workers something to write about, eh?"

"I believe so," Lestrange agreed lazily, clearly distracted by other thoughts.

"I was starting to think his speech might have moved you, though," Avery joked. "Going on about them Mudbloods and blood-traitors – almost brought tears to my eyes. I've had a change of heart; forget all this pure-blood bollocks, I'm gunna go help Muggle children learn how to set up traps for my grandchildren!"

He laughed merrily at his own joke, until seriousness caught up with him.

"I'd be surprised if our Lord expected us to come out of that unscathed, though – seems like I was meant to be chased."

Harry couldn't argue with this, in all honesty. If Lestrange thought the same thing, he showed no sign of interest. He was pointedly ignoring Harry and this entire conversation.

"I guess he must have wanted me to get caught," Avery carried on.

"No," Harry said, "he just needed a distraction. We were always meant to help you. If he wanted you to get caught, he would have sent you out there alone."

Avery couldn't find anything to say to this, but for a moment he looked relieved to hear it.

"We should head back to the headquarters, anyway," Harry said, seeing the sky was almost completely black. "It's a bit of a walk from here..."

They began heading forwards wordlessly, exhausted from their work. After they started walking, they saw shooting stars erupt in the sky.

"Seems like the others heard the news," Avery said happily. "It'll be a great night to celebrate!"

Before Harry or Lestrange could say a thing to this, however, they spotted something in the distance. A figure was heading towards them, its silhouette illuminated against the sky every time a shooting star was seen. Harry and Lestrange's pace slowed. When Avery made his way to walk on blindly, Harry reached out a hand to grab his arm, stopping him.

"What?"

"Who's that?" asked Lestrange.

Harry had no answer. He thought he recognised the figure, but he didn't dare suppose it was possible. "We should get back to the headquarters..."

They could hear the distant cries and howls of Werewolves echoing over the foggy meadow. It was a full moon tonight. Lestrange turned and began walking away without a word.

"_Ahwoooo..._"

"I'm out of here," Avery mumbled, following Lestrange at a quick pace.

The figure in the distance seemed to slow, as if it was waiting for the other two to disappear around the nearby trees. Harry decided not to follow the Knights. If Dumbledore had found him, nothing could be gained from trying to run. There had to be a reason for this forced meeting; if Harry left now, Dumbledore would keep finding him until they could speak.

Had the news of Bobby Leach's death reached Hogwarts Castle already? Harry supposed that some of the old Headmasters and Headmistresses in Dumbledore's office could have informed him about Leach's death. Harry waited for the figure to approach, anxiety catching hold of him when he caught sight of Dumbledore's serious expression.

"Jonathan," he began tranquilly, "I'm afraid your actions have gone too far..."

"I didn't murder him," Harry told his old headmaster immediately. "I didn't do this!"

"I am well aware of that. Yet your contribution to this crime leaves me no choice but to contact you directly, in the fear that you won't otherwise listen..."

Dumbledore drew himself up to his fullest height as he slowed to a stop before Harry.

"Listen to what?"

"England grows more unstable with each passing day as a result of Tom's influence. I fear it will not be long until our world changes completely. I have come here tonight to ask you, quite simply, whether you have revoked your previous claim to take action against the Death Eaters. I am here to ask if you are brave enough, once and for all, to redeem the crimes you have committed, to join me in a fight against this terror."

Harry was overwhelmed by Dumbledore's abrupt appearance and his even more abrupt demands. He opened his mouth a few times to talk, but was unsure what to say. When he remembered the deaths of innocent people the Death Eaters had conducted lately and when he remembered Tom's lack of fear, empathy, and reason, he realised with a pang of sorrow and acceptance that he must give in.

There could only be one reason for Dumbledore being here tonight: his appearance signified the severity of the recent deterioration of the country. Dumbledore was fearful and intent upon Harry making up his mind.

"I haven't revoked my claim," Harry said honestly. "I'll redeem my crimes and I – I still want to join you..."

Dumbledore inclined his head in understanding. It appeared, for a moment, that he doubted Harry's claim. As if to reassure him, to secure him, he gave one last piece of advice.

"Any hardship can be overcome, Jonathan, if one only finds reason to fight it..."

Harry watched him, transfixed. Dumbledore was stepping back. He Disapparating with an echoing _'crack!_', leaving a deathly silence behind. Harry was left alone with his thoughts, deaf to the distant sounds of crackling and booming, blind to the flashes of emerald stars that illuminated the forest and the countryside around him...

Although he was in no mood for celebration, he turned in the direction of the Dementor Hideout. He didn't want to stay here, bothered by his thoughts, and he knew Tom would start worrying if he stayed out for too long. When he arrived at the headquarters, entering a hidden passageway that lead deep into the ground, he could hear the merry voices of Knights and Death Eaters celebrating. Upon hearing the recent news, the Death Eaters seemed to know immediately who had caused Bobby Leach's death.

Lestrange was engrossed in conversation with the Knights while Avery drank merrily with the newest arrivals. Tom, to Harry's relief, appeared unconcerned and wholly satisfied with the night's events. He sat before his followers like their true Lord, knowing only too well how much power he would gain from this...

"I heard a wizard approached you upon your arrival here," Tom said softly. Harry took a seat next to him. The nearest Knights listened to their conversation idly. "I take it you met no trouble?"

"It was just a wanderer," Harry lied. "I took care of it."

Tom smiled softly, his attention lingering on Harry for a moment. As his followers continued to celebrate in their discussions about the Ministry, the Dark Arts, Britain, and their future plans, Tom joined in with their discussions tranquilly, assuring those closest to him that great things would come of their dedication. Harry remained quiet for most of the night, going unnoticed by the others as he wondered about the Order of the Phoenix...


	74. Order

_**Dear readers,** enjoy this ridiculously long chapter!  
_

* * *

74 – Order

The assassination of Bobby Leach proved to be more effective than anyone could hope. Not a week passed before the Ministry had gathered strong enough information on the Death Eaters to finally understand their intentions, realising that the growing number of crimes related to Dark Magic in England wasn't a mere coincidence. To the delight of Tom and his Ministry spies, Nobby Leach and most of his closest Ministry Department Heads were terrified; they wanted to hide information on the Death Eaters to avoid a public scare.

As much as the Ministry pretended to be in control of the situation, however, there was no fooling the witches and wizards of Britain: this brutal, shocking assassination was too successful to be just another common crime. The Daily Prophet, amongst many newspapers, was writing theories on possible 'Dark Arts fanatics' who had 'anti-Ministry views', and Nobby Leach was too shaken and distracted to silence the papers in time. Their stories were released for all of Britain to read. Hidden behind sobs of the Leach family, whispers of Lord Voldemort and his loyal Death Eaters grew stronger.

While Nobby Leach attended the funeral of his murdered son, the Death Eaters were celebrating. All across the streets of Wizarding London, as well as many villages, the Death Eaters were doing all they could to taunt, scare, and anger the Ministry with dangerous, powerful displays of magic. They did this with Tom's permission, but not under his orders. It was in rejoice after a successful step towards victory for the Dark Arts. It was a show of gratitude for their Lord.

If the Ministry was unsure how involved Voldemort was in the assassination of Nobby Leach's son, their worst fears were confirmed on the seventh week of Death Eater celebrations. Drunk, violent, and eager to cause a scene, Gibbon had been arrested on account of causing a scare when he threw up the Dark Mark in London late one night. Upon his arrest, he admitted to being a 'sacred Death Eater', ruling under the orders of 'the one and only Dark Lord worth serving: Lord Voldemort!'.

Miraculously, nobody had been found dead at the scene of the Dark Mark, but Gibbon's lack of true crime did not make up for his general foolishness. The Aurors demanded more information from him. All he did was laugh hysterically, angrily, trying to provoke the Ministry further.

"You don't know who you're talking to!" he slurred vainly, thrashing violently in the arms of two Aurors. "You don't know the power of the Dark Lord, or his faithful Death Eaters! We'll grow more quickly than you can comprehend. The Dark Lord will rise a rebellion more powerful than any wizard dared to before! For the sake of all wizardkind!"

Gibbon's little speech would have been harmless if, upon his arrest, several curious witches and wizards hadn't seen and heard his wrath. In spite of the Ministry's control over newspapers, no amount of crude lies could change the ideas planted in general peoples' minds. To make matters worse for the Ministry, Tom had no intention of allowing Gibbon to be arrested under suspicion of conspiracy. He had a plan to avoid Gibbon's imprisonment, to use his foolishness to his full advantage.

"You want us to re-capture Gibbon from the hands of the Ministry?" Rosier asked in disbelief upon hearing Tom's plans, his eyebrows raised. Harry sat across from him, struggling to ignore the bitter coldness of the Nundu Hideout. "That's not possible, my Lord."

"Why ever not?" Tom asked in a quiet voice, sitting proudly in his chair at the head of the table. "We have power greater than the Ministry could fear. Gibbon is in the hands of the Aurors and the Minister, all of whom suffer from misinformed information."

"That doesn't mean the Ministry won't notice it if we take Gibbon back from their hands, my Lord."

Tom wasn't so sure. He laughed coldly. "Grief has weakened Leach's ruling abilities; his son's death sapped him of his power and left anger to rule over Britain... Understand, Rosier, that this was always intentional."

"But what use is this to us?" Black inquired, his strong voice heard from amongst the chosen Knights. "Even if Leach is weakened, other workers at the Ministry are not."

"It matters not how strong his workers' resolve remains," Tom continued calmly. "If their leader is insufficient, they will crumple under his conduct. Not only do we have the ability to save Gibbon from needless capture, we have a chance to scare the Ministry by displaying the power we possess. We have a chance to show all of England just how powerful the Dark Arts can be..."

Harry knew these words had caught the interest of Rosier, Black, Dorn, Nott, and Lestrange. They were quiet for a time, assessing the possibility of this plan being plausible.

"If Nobby Leach is as weak as you say, my Lord," said Rosier, "then the Ministry's idiocy is greater than I first supposed possible... A fact that speaks for itself, I'm sure."

Nott and Lestrange both found quiet amusement in this, before realising they had shared this moment. They soon fell into silence, neither of them paying the other the least bit of attention. Tom was unimpressed by Rosier's inability to quickly comprehend his brilliant plans, but he appeared forgiving, tonight, and carried on without pause.

"When we capture Gibbon back from the Ministry's grasp, using powerful Knights to do so," he said quietly, unfazed, "You will see the extent of our power and the power of the plans we spent years devising. Rescuing Gibbon will render Nobby Leach even more ineffective as Minister, leaving us rightfully feared, rightfully respected..."

The subject was discussed for a long time after this, but even as Tom divulged his plans openly to the Knights, Harry could sense Black and Rosier were eager to change his mind in the near future. Before they got the chance to, a changed happened in the Ministry. Away from the public eye, but in eavesdropping-distance of a few of Tom's Ministry spies, plans were being made to forcefully convince Gibbon to give more information on Bobby Leach's death – all under the orders of a grieving, furious Nobby Leach.

Gibbon did not hesitate in his dedication to Tom and the Death Eaters, but the more he resisted, the less reluctant the Ministry became to use brutality. In fear, anger, and panic, Nobby Leach was willing, as a father, to avenge the death of his son, to track down who was responsible for grieving his family and tearing them apart, no matter how many rules he had to bend to do so. Gibbon was trapped in the hands of the Ministry, who believed they had found a valuable wizard to give them information on Lord Voldemort.

The Knights of Walpurgis were solemnly alarmed by the Ministry's sudden change. They were not eager to see violence; to them, it was an unfortunate side-effect of starting a revolution, of keeping true to the old ways, and of not tolerating the ignorance of Muggle-lovers. As an original Knight of Walpurgis amongst Tom's followers, Dorn took it upon himself to voice the concern of his fellow German Knights.

"Even in Grindelwald's time, zhere vas not the risk of being murdered by a Ministry so simply. Zhis is a dangerous price, I fear, even for a chance to manipulate zuh British Ministry..."

"I have to agree, my Lord," Black admitted. "The Ministry's actions are both wholly unexpected and surprising to all of us."

"Which should be inspirational, not terrifying," Lestrange commented lazily before Tom could speak. "We have pushed the Ministry further than _we_ could even predict. I, for one, find that admirable."

"But what will happen to Gibbon, or anyone else who is captured?" Black asked him. "What would have happened to you, if you had been captured upon killing Bobby Leach?"

"What happens to anyone foolish enough to be captured is irrelevant," Lestrange snapped, deflecting Black's questions. "I was not so ignorant. We can't reverse the Minister's fury without compromising everything we've worked for, so why not embrace change for once, Black?"

Black glared at him coldly, surprised at his condescending tone. "It would be unwise to leave any Knight or Death Eater close to the Ministry's eager grasp. I fear that, if the Death Eaters, especially, are recognised, there will be no turning back once they are captured."

"Your argument is wholly understandable," Tom told Black calmly, "yet Lestrange does not speak out of ignorance either. Although the Ministry has taken an unexpected turn, we would be fools to be shaken by such a change. We must adapt..."

"The Death Eaters won't understand such a sudden change," Nott commented. "Even under your orders, my Lord, I believe they would continue to make mistakes, for the sake of worshipping brutality and the Dark Arts."

"Ah," Tom said softly in response, his dark eyes scanning the faces of his Knights, "but will the Ministry's brutality not lessen the chance of idiocy amongst our Death Eaters?"

"That would be a relief," Rosier murmured.

The Knights shared words of agreement amongst each other.

"The Death Eaters should look after themselves," said Lestrange, eager to contradict Nott. "A few lost Death Eaters is nothing compared to overthrowing the Ministry."

"Precisely," Tom agreed softly, "and if the Death Eaters should be so foolish as to get themselves captured, they should know to respect their Lord like no one else. For Lord Voldemort does not forgive easily those who displease him, and soon all of England will know of his power and the power of his most faithful followers..."

The Knights seemed moved by his words. Tom sat proudly in his seat, drawing in a deep breath while Harry stared at him blankly, unnoticed. It unnerved him to hear Tom describe himself as 'Lord Voldemort', speaking of himself in third person. It made him feel strangely frightened. He wondered whether the recent success was going to Tom's head or whether he hadn't noticed his strange wording at all. Harry hated hearing that name from his lips...

The Knights weren't the only ones who noticed the recent changes Nobby Leach inflicted. Even the Death Eaters, who gained no information from Tom's Ministry spies, had begun to take notice of how brutal the Aurors were becoming. The Aurors weren't only using defensive spells and chasing the Death Eaters around under the emerald light of the Dark Mark, they were using progressively darker magic to stop the Death Eaters in their tracks, to capture them by force and violence.

"We've broke 'em, see," Avery said one evening, sloppily holding a goblet of Firewhiskey. "They're scared of our power – or the Dark Lord's, at least."

Harry was surprised to find that the Death Eaters weren't at all scared by Nobby Leach's changes. In contrast, they found great joy in seeing Ministry workers attack them so viciously.

"Do you reckon it's going to get wore than it is already?" he asked.

"I'd say so, yeah," Avery agreed. "If we can make a whole Ministry furious enough to break their own rules, though, we've already won, haven't we? We've already won!"

Dolohov chuckled from nearby, looking up from a deck of cards he was dealing.

"It don't matter if we get attacked by 'em," Avery carried on, swaying where he sat. "The bigger the challenge, the better, I'd say."

Harry knew Tom had trained his Death Eaters well, to get such loyalty from them. They had no fear of fighting – it was all an amusing joke to them. Harry wondered a lot about the thoughts and opinions of the Knights and Death Eaters, but he felt that his personal opinions were irrelevant. He knew that if Tom took Gibbon back from the Ministry's grasp, a lot of things could change, but he couldn't say whether or not he agreed with the said changes. He was stuck somewhere between apathy and curiosity.

Two months after Gibbon was originally captured, Tom had an entire plan worked out on how to get him back. He had spent weeks figuring out the perfect day, the perfect hour, to cause a scene great enough to retrieve him from the hands of the Ministry. The more he spoke about his plans, the more Harry, Black, Dorn, Rosier, Nott, and Lestrange were convinced it would work. A growing sense of anticipation filled the air. The Knights were eager to share their ideas on this mission with Tom, and Harry, with some reluctance at first, began following their lead.

Gibbon was being moved on the 21st of August, from a Ministry hearing back to Azkaban. Tom saw this as the perfect opportunity to strike: they would fight the Ministry workers out in the open, away from both the Ministry of Magic and Azkaban. If they overthrew the Aurors, they could get Gibbon back cleanly. Harry added in a few details, suggesting that they use Polyjuice Potion on a Death Eater or two for extra protection, posing as Ministry workers. With the aid of the Imperius Curse on a few Aurors, they could take down every single worker moving Gibbon that day.

Tom was impressed by Harry's details on the plan. He followed the suggestions he made eagerly, ordering Nott and Rosier to take down two Ministry workers on the morning of Gibbon's hearing. They would be taking Polyjuice Potion to pose as the Ministry workers, while Avery, Mulciber, Dolohov, and Dorn stalked Gibbon and the Aurors' movements from afar. With the advantage of the Imperius Curse, control over Dementors, surprise, and sheer determination, the six Death Eaters and Knights were able to attack the moving Ministry workers, taking Gibbon from their grasp with ease.

An Auror died in the fight and several others were injured, giving the Death Eaters the opportunity to throw up the Dark Mark in celebration. The sight of the Mark made the front page of the Daily Prophet for what wasn't the first time, striking fear in the hearts of England. Tom was glad of his followers' success, but even more gleeful of the repercussions their actions were having on the Ministry. Further changes were happening to his advantage...

Everyone knew it was Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters who had caused this havoc, but only the Ministry knew what damage Voldemort's actions were having on them. Most Ministry workers were shocked, angry, and terrified of Tom, but there were a few thoughtful witches and wizards who listened not to Nobby Leach's furious anger, but to Tom's quiet, powerful reasoning. Sorcerers involved in grey and dark magic thought about his rise to power, assessing, eventually, that he was a more worthy leader.

Augustus Rookwood was amongst the most useful Ministry worker to turn into a Death Eater in dedication to Tom's rebellion. He joined the Death Eaters several months after Gibbon was free, having spent a long time before this working out how he could get in contact with the Death Eaters without arousing suspicion. Rookwood was an Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries and he was eager to turn his knowledge of the Ministry to a greater cause, to a worthy Lord...

Rookwood was a believer in blood-purity and Wizarding Supremacy. When Tom was sure of his sincerity, he allowed Rookwood to take full advantage of contacting his other Ministry spies, to pass on information undetected from within the Ministry. Nobby Leach's adoration for Muggles repulsed Rookwood; he believed that in order to overthrow such ignorance, to keep blood-purity flowing, he had to help Voldemort's revolution.

While the Death Eaters grew ever more powerful, the Ministry began doubting its leader's ability to handle the terrible changes England faced. Nobby Leach lasted a year and a half as Minister after his son's death before his brutality against Death Eaters was widely known and he was forced to retire in fear of angering and scaring his own Ministry and public. The Death Eaters were in an uproar of celebration when he stepped down as Minister: crimes against Muggles tripled in the months that followed.

The obvious changes at Leach's resign struck an even larger wave of Dark Arts fanatics to look towards Tom, to worship him as their true leader. The Death Eaters and Knights had succeeded not only in letting the public know about Lord Voldemort's anti-Muggle views, but in weakening the Ministry and changing the world as they knew it. Even the witches and wizards of France, Germany, and other European countries were interested in England's wizarding revolution.

In the months that followed Nobby Leach's resign, Harry saw young Death Eater recruits that he recognised, despite never meeting them before. Travers was one of the first to join, soon followed by Igor Karkaroff from Germany, and quite a few sons of the current Death Eaters: Thorfinn Rowle Jr, Walden Macnair (despite his father being murdered by Tom's hand), and Rabastan Lestrange.

"I don't think Lestrange truly wanted his eldest son to join us," Nott explained quietly one evening, sitting beside Harry in a deserted room of the Acromantula Hideout. A warm fire crackled before them, the only source of light in the room. "Rabastan is only eighteen years old."

"What made Lestrange allow it, then?" Harry asked curiously.

Nott shook his head, pulling in a deep breath before speaking. "Rabastan learnt that his father is involved in this revolution. I think it fascinated and impressed him in secret, causing him to take an interest in the Dark Lord's views and the actions of the Death Eaters over the last few years. He must have decided to become a part of all of this too, in spite of Raphael's better judgement for his son."

"Why would Lestrange allow that?" Harry asked. "Because it was his son's ambition?"

"I doubt Raphael really cares what his son's ambition is," Nott admitted. "Especially not when that ambition involves risking his life at such an early age. He was motivated by something else... You know Rookwood overshadows him completely in his work as a spy at the Ministry. I think it was that, and not respect for Rabastan's goals, that forced Raphael to give up his eldest son to the Dark Lord."

Harry thought this over. He knew that Lestrange was often motivated by jealousy, so it made sense that this horrid emotion should override his need to protect Rabastan. Lestrange, quite simply, wanted to be more respected by Tom and the only way he could do that was by giving Tom something Rookwood couldn't. Strong, worthy recruits.

"I can't imagine what this is doing to Galatea," Harry murmured.

"If she even knows," Nott added. "Raphael might not have told her."

"I think Lestrange is honest to her about his work as a Death Eater," Harry said truthfully. "As a Pureblood, I'm sure she's impressed on some level. Tom wanted to recruit her once, I think. The only thing stopping her was a need to pay attention to her sons."

"Well, let's hope that Rabastan makes her proud, at least. He's bound to be a powerful wizard, having parents like Raphael and Galatea."

Harry knew this assumption was correct. The Lestrange brothers would end up being very powerful Death Eaters indeed... He wondered how soon they might become favourites amongst Tom's followers. He wondered, too, what they would do to prove themselves worthy Death Eaters.

"I hope to have a son one day," Nott mused quietly, staring out into the fire, "or a daughter – she might be more able to avoid becoming a Death Eater. I'd never allow them to join this terror. I'd never subject them to this foolish war..."

Harry watched Nott in the firelight. He had never voiced a desire to have kids before, so Harry wondered what had evoked such a change within him. Perhaps it was the passing of time, or seeing so many young Death Eaters around. Or maybe, more simply, he only felt comfortable bringing up the subject now. Despite Nott being a trained, skilled Occlumens, Harry thought the way he acted showed fear for Lestrange's son. He was scared, surely, of how this war might change the young man.

Not long after Rabastan Lestrange joined the Death Eaters, his brother Rodolphus decided he should honour his family by choosing the same ambition: to fight for wizarding supremacy amongst the Death Eaters. Along with Rodolphus came his young wife, Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry was so shocked upon seeing her that he did nothing but stare blankly during her first visit to a Death Eaters hideout. Tom hardly noticed. He would have no interest in the new Death Eaters until they proved their dedication and power.

Despite what Tom believed, he was not the only person who benefited from Nobby Leach's resign. In the blatant changes that morphed England into a much darker, more sinister place, Dumbledore was visiting powerful, willing witches and wizards in secret to begin forming a sort of Order. The witches and wizards of England were being forced to pick sides when the Death Eaters' activities became more inhumane and deadly and crimes against Muggles became more common and obvious. Dark witches and wizards fled to Tom in the hope of sharing his power and fame, while witches and wizards dedicated to Light Magic were looking for ways to avoid the rebellion.

As the Death Eaters grew in numbers, they had to fight harder for the attention, approval, and credit of their Lord. Many of them had begun doing individual attacks against the Ministry, Muggles, Muggle-lovers, Blood-traitors, or any other enemy of Tom's for sheer enjoyment, credit, and respect. Many of the Death Eaters worked in illegal trades to gain money for Tom, while others eagerly sacrificed the lives of Tom's enemies in dedication, causing rival groups to crumple before them, weak enemies to cower in fear.

Walden Macnair was amongst the first of the young Death Eaters to impress Tom. He had a great talent in communicating with Magical Creatures, and although he spent his first year as a Death Eater doing nothing but training Tom's Dragons, he impressed Tom with plans to communicate with the Giants of Scotland. After convincing a small clan to join the revolution, Tom employed Macnair to begin travelling across Scotland, Ireland, England, France, and Germany to gain the favour of all the Giants he could manage, using Ministry hate to his advantage.

While Macnair was off travelling, gathering Tom an army, the Order of the Phoenix was coming together. It was late winter when Nott told Harry about the first Order meeting and when it would take place. Harry received no direct contact from Dumbledore due to the risks, but whenever he could, Nott spoke to him about news from Hogwarts. Harry was invited to the Order meeting, so he made an excuse on the night to avoid Tom's suspicion, saying he wanted to help guide some Death Eaters while they moved a large trunk of gold from one side of London to the other.

It was easy for him to pretend he had important business with other Death Eaters after he helped Avery, Travers, Dolohov, and a few others move their (stolen) loot across London. They didn't ask questions; their interest was caught greedily on the treasure. They'd be out all night, probably drinking, so Harry had at least an hour or two to disappear without anyone knowing he was gone. Out of sight of the chuffed Death Eaters, he Apparated to Hogsmeade.

Once there, he made his way through the dark, deserted streets in the falling snow, heading for the Hog's Head. It was surprising and somewhat nostalgic to Harry that the Order of the Phoenix should be united in the same quiet, grimy inn that Dumbledore's Army was formed in. He understood, however, that Dumbledore chose this location for no reason other than to be under the protection of his brother Aberforth. They wouldn't be overheard by the wrong ears here – not tonight, anyway.

When Harry stepped out of the cold, snowy night into the (equally as cold, but not quite as windy) pub, he saw a crowd of people gathered around the largest table in the inn. The place was lit only by a few large, low-burning candles and a weak fire in the large fireplace nearby. There was a stray wizard at the bar, dressed fully in black with his face shielded, and another one by a grimy window, shielded in shadow, but Harry knew they weren't spies. Dumbledore would have made sure of it.

Harry turned his attention again to the large group of witches and wizards close to the fireplace. They spoke merrily amongst themselves, their tone clashing oddly with the atmosphere of the pub. Their faces were illuminated in the firelight and despite it being too early, Harry scanned the crowd as if he expected to see the faces of his mother and father here tonight. To his relief, they were nowhere to be seen. It was too early, he reminded himself. Too soon...

"Ah, Jonathan!" a familiar voice called pleasantly from across the room. "Do come in."

Harry met Dumbledore's kind gaze, nodding once and heading forwards. He noticed Nott sitting at the long table, talking to two red-headed young men. They, as well as many others, turned a friendly, curious eye on Harry when he approached the table.

"Jonathan, I would like you to meet a dear friend of mine," said Dumbledore calmly, "Elphias Doge."

An already elderly Elphias Doge stood up, nodded merrily from beneath a hat with too many flaps. "It's good to see so many fine young witches and wizards eager to fight this war," he said warmly, facing Harry and looking at him closely.

They shook hands, but Harry couldn't bear to see the kindness in Doge's watery eyes. Almost every single witch and wizard here tonight would be dead in a few short years.

"And this is Benjy Fenwick..."

The wizard addressed as Benjy waved from down the table with a closed-mouth smile. He was going to be blow up, one day, only pieces of him found.

"Dorcas Meadows..."

A witch leaning back in her chair smiled distractedly at Harry, her head tilted back as if she was lost in thoughts moments ago. Voldemort would kill her.

"Edgar Bones..."

Edgar nodded towards Harry, not smiling. He had joined the Order of the Phoenix to avenge the death of his father. His whole family would be wiped out in the process.

"Caradoc Dearborn..."

This wizard waved at Harry with a large smile. He would vanish by Voldemort's downfall.

"Rufus Werther..."

A young man with dark eyes in green robes inclined his head. Harry didn't recognise this wizard.

"Marlene McKinnon..."

Marlene smiled and waved kindly from across the table. She and her entire family would be killed.

"Sturgis Podmore..."

This wizard was leaning against the fireplace, staring into it before his name was called. He nodded at Harry, his square-jawed face unmoving. He would escape.

"And Gideon and Fabian Prewett."

At the name, Harry's eyes snapped to Dumbledore's. He stared at his old headmaster blankly until the red-headed twins caught his attention. The two boys nodded towards Harry, smiling kindly. He tried to nod back normally, but guilt and fear captured him. Dumbledore had saved their introduction for last to make an extra impression on Harry...

"You know Nott, of course," Dumbledore added, gesturing towards the Knight. "I was pleased to see he arrived here early."

"Yeah," Harry murmured, at a loss for words. He couldn't bear to look at all of the witches and wizards staring at him.

"Now that everyone is here," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "we can begin this meeting fully. Take a seat, Jonathan."

Harry did so without saying a word, making his way along the table to the only available seat: across from Nott. Dumbledore and Elphias took their seats near the head of the table.

Although Harry sat close to Fabian and Gideon, their eyes did not linger on him. They didn't seem to recognise him at all, to his great relief. He could think about nothing other than the fact he had murdered their father. He was the reason they were here, and because of this, he would be the reason for their deaths at the hands of the Death Eaters...

"To begin, I must thank you all for joining me so abruptly this not-so-fine evening," said Dumbledore from the head of the table, sitting formally and calmly surveying at the witches and wizards before him. "Many of you must be curious to know why I gathered together such a varying collection of witches and wizards to speak amongst...

"I admit, I was hesitant to begin an introduction with so few of us here, least of all so hastily and with so little an explanation, but as time goes on, it becomes harder to find witches and wizards who are brave enough to stand up against the Dark Arts. It's harder still to find anyone interested and trustworthy enough to be suitable for this group. In appreciation for your bravery, I feel it's prudent for me to explain my intention for contacting you all, to give you an explanation for my uninformative haste."

"You don't need to say much," Edgar Bones interrupted in a harsh tone. "We all know we're here to fight a few Death Eaters, to end the madness taking over our world."

A few of the new Order members seemed close to agreeing.

"That's a fine observation," Dumbledore responded tranquilly, "but I haven't gathered all of you here to start a war. My response to this 'madness' is not to fight fire with fire, but to form a strong resistance against the so-called 'Death Eaters'. There is a revolution happening, and the Ministry will not be able to stop it."

He allowed the sorcerers before him to take in this information as he drew himself up in his chair, leaning forwards, placing the tips of his fingers together. He surveyed the twelve witches and wizards calmly before speaking.

"It has come to my attention that in recent years, a dark change has struck our land, eliminating what little peace we may have had amongst the witches and wizards of Britain. This is a fear that I believe many of us here tonight share. I have gathered you all here because, quite simply, I intend to begin a resistance against the dark forces claiming our land."

"To what avail?" Dorcas Meadows asked. "In fear that the Ministry isn't strong enough?"

"Yes, amongst a few reasons," answered Dumbledore. "I fear that in too short a time, the Ministry will fall. I am forming this Order because I understand that action must be taken against certain corrupt individuals, in or out of the Ministry of Magic. If all of you here tonight are willing enough to fight, to remain strong, cautious, and above all else, persistent in your attempts to ward off the force of the Dark Arts, I hope to form an Order with you all."

With the attention and interest of the sorcerers caught, Dumbledore carried on talking about the changes happening in the wizarding world, bringing up a discussion about how they, together, could fight this revolution, even if the Ministry couldn't. Harry was unsurprised to see that every witch and wizard around him was moved by this speech. Without much effort at all, they were confident and interested in the idea of this new order. They all wanted to fight the Dark Arts, to take down the Death Eaters, to defeat the rising Dark Lord.

The witches and wizards around Harry spoke openly about their desires to take down the Death Eaters, to do what the Ministry couldn't, to avenge the deaths of innocent souls, but Harry couldn't say he shared their enthusiasm. He didn't take much part in helping form the Order, because he knew he wasn't going to end up a proper member of it. He was here to guide to the Order, to watch them, but to take no real part in their fight against Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

When Harry returned home that night, he was overwhelmed by the change happening in his world. He concealed all of his disorientation from Tom, but while the other Order members might be sleeping with bravery and relief in their hearts, Harry didn't feel as if things were going to get better in the wizarding world so soon. The Order was still at it's mere beginning while Death Eaters fought for honour and respect, causing terror in their wake.

To Harry's relief, the Order of the Phoenix had an advantage over the Death Eaters because Tom had virtually no idea that Dumbledore was wary of his actions. For a year and a half, the Order was able to rise slowly onto it's feet while the Death Eaters fought the Ministry and little else. Lestrange, amongst others, was using the Imperius Curse heavily on Ministry workers at Tom's command, helping him to sway the entire Ministry into disarray.

Harry thought, at first, that Lestrange was finally succeeding in overshadowing Rookwood again, but he found that Rookwood was keeping a low-profile in the Ministry for a very specific reason. He discovered this when he entered the Chimera Hideout one evening to find Tom sitting in an empty room by a fire, listening to a radio. In this small room with its high ceiling and comfortable, fully cushioned chairs and couch, the radio played clearly.

"_...Bagman flanks two 'Cannon Chasers, Roland behind him and – oh, look at that! Classic team work right there! Parks takes another __Bludger __hit! Parks is down! He drops the Quaffle and Hares – drops it too – but Wasps' Richards takes it up and passes to Earl – Hares is close behind him –_"

"You're listening to Quidditch?" Harry asked in amused disbelief.

"I thought I might take an interest," Tom said in a low voice, smiling at Harry when he walked further into the room.

"..._Earl is heading for the Cannons' goal and – oh! Bagman hits yet another Cannons' Chaser! Earl approaches and – WIMBOURNE WASPS SCORE! One hundred and seventy-nil to the Wasps!_"

Harry laughed to himself in astonishment. He knew this game. It was the 1972 match between the Chudley Cannons and the Wimbourne Wasps. It was the game that made Ludovic Bagman even more famous as a beater for taking out almost every single Chudley Cannons player. After this year, the Chudley Cannons' team motto comically changed from "We Shall Conquer" to "Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best."

"_...Earl is done celebrating now and is back in all seriousness. She passes the Quaffle to Richards, who passes it back – but oh, Hares tries his luck! He's taken the Quaffle, he's headed for the Wasps' Keeper – there won't be a chance of Hares stooging today. He throws the Quaffle and – I don't believe it! Bagman hits a perfect Bludger again! Hares is down and Keeper Thurman saves!_"

Over the roars and cheers of the Quidditch match playing harshly through the radio's speakers, Harry laughed in disbelief again, catching Tom's eye. He had lightheartedly made fun of Ron for this game numerous times at Hogwarts. It make him feel strangely nostalgic to hear the match live now. The Chudley Cannons Keeper was going to try and score, alone, for the Cannons in a minute, but his action would allow the Wimbourne Wasps to score another five goals. Tom flicked his wand to silence the radio.

"What did you think?" he asked.

"Of the match?"

"The players, more specifically."

Harry didn't know whether or not Tom was being serious. He suppressed a smile, moving across the room to sit on a couch. "Well, how many players were knocked out? The commentator mentioned Bludgers being hit 'again'."

"I believe you heard the sixteenth and seventeenth crucial Bludger hits," Tom informed him. "When you entered the room, four of the seven players for the losing side were injured so badly that they could no longer play. Only two of seven now remain."

"The Keeper and the Seeker," Harry murmured, knowing this from memory. "There's no way they could win now, even if they caught the Snitch. I don't know why the Chudley Cannons don't just call the whole thing off."

Tom raised an eyebrow, sitting back in his seat. "I didn't know you took such an interest in modern Quidditch."

"I don't," Harry said honestly.

Tom gave a low hum of laughter. "We ought to get a radio for our house, if you're so passionate."

"What about you?" Harry asked, laughing. "You wouldn't be listening to Quidditch unless you had a hidden motive."

"I do, actually," Tom told him, his dark eyes full of amusement. "It just so happens that the Beater in this game, Ludovic Bagman, has become our most recent, most valuable informant through Rookwood."

"How did that happen?"

"Through ignorance," Tom answered. "Bagman is unaware of who Rookwood truly is. He was a friend of Bagman's father, thus Bagman trusts him willingly. Confidence in confidentiality is so eagerly given by those who put common contacts before common sense..."

"Is Bagman really useful, then?"

"Very useful, yes."

Harry had no idea how, but he wasn't sure if he really wanted to ask.

"Rookwood is forming powerful connections for us to use at will," Tom explained. "With the knowledge he alone has supplied us, we will be able to foresee when any Ministry plans to attack us, when any newspaper tries to write articles on us, when any witch or wizard rises up against us in sheer idiocy... We will always know."

"I can see why he's replacing Lestrange," Harry commented, before he could help himself.

"Lestrange has other uses," Tom said shortly. "Rookwood is a clean spy, undetected by all others. Manipulating the ignorant, using his position in the Ministry to his full advantage... He's promised Bagman a place at the Ministry, for the future. How foolish that young man is to believe his generosity is free..."

"Things at the Ministry are going better than ever, then," Harry observed. "I heard Lestrange put an Imperius Curse on the husband of the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister."

"If he's not merely boasting, yes. Yet this is still not as valuable as the information Rookwood gives us as an Unspeakable. We have infiltrated the Ministry more subtly and powerfully than I could ever dream. There shan't be a man or woman within the Ministry of Magic who does not cross by my spies, passing on information unknowingly. And yet..."

"What's wrong?"

Tom did not answer at once. His dark, reddened eyes were downcast as he thought, his enthralment slowly slipping away.

"And yet," he said, "our external operations are suffering. Many of our most foolish Death Eaters call it 'bad luck', but I do not believe in luck at all. If the Ministry were strong, I would turn my attention and energy towards building a better web of spies, but what better could I now do? I don't believe it is the Ministry that is stopping our trades from succeeding, our murders from being carried out, our Giants from being convinced... These plans are suffering for odd reasons. Odd coincidences..."

Harry allowed Tom to think in peace, making no comment on any of this. He knew it was the Order of the Phoenix who tracked down Death Eater activity, tracing patterns, predicting movements, stopping Tom's plans too early. After a year of doing this, they had clearly crossed some sort of line.

"Who else could be against me?" Tom asked, thinking aloud. "I ask myself often. Why are these operations being sabotaged, above all? I think I should send some Death Eaters to investigate. They should question every witch and wizard they've been trading with, as of late. If there is a rat amongst our affiliates or Death Eaters, I will find him soon..."

Keeping true to his new plans, Tom sent out several Death Eaters the following week to begin an investigation on a potential rat. It took only seven days for the investigation to draw to a close. Rosier and Dorn had been assigned the job, along with two young Death Eaters, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. It was a surprise to many when the Lestranges returned to Tom's headquarters alone, interrupting an unimportant Death Eater meeting with news of great importance.

"We have discovered the flaw in our system, my Lord," Bellatrix told Voldemort openly as she approached him, ignoring the several Death Eaters who stared at her from the round table they sat at. "It is not a rat that has betrayed you, but a flaw far more sinister... There is a plot."

"A plot?" Tom repeated, surveying her, Rodolphus, and a wizard who was bound by magic. "To do what?"

"To conspire against you," Bellatrix explained in a hushed voice, her large, dark eyes fixed on Tom's. "The rat involved in our trades is a part of an Order that was formed to fight against you..."

Harry's stomach lurched uncomfortably. Tom stood up, staring at the Bellatrix with a mix of dubious caution and interest. He thought over her words, his eyes impassive. The Death Eaters began looking at each other fearfully, interested in the news and unnerved by Tom's shock. Upon hearing them murmur amongst themselves, Tom seemed to remember they were still here.

"All of you," he ordered, "leave at once. We will carry on this meeting tomorrow night..."

With notable reluctance, the Death Eaters around Harry began standing up. Some of them lingered behind their way out of the building in hope of catching a word or two more of Bellatrix's story, but it was to no avail. When all of them were gone, Tom advanced towards the open space where Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and the captured wizard stood. Harry followed him.

"Is this our rat?" asked Tom, his eyes lingering on man by Rodolphus's feet.

"Yes, my Lord," said Bellatrix.

"Let me see his face."

Rodolphus, following Tom's request, pulled the hair of the kneeling wizard, forcing him to look up. Harry's heart leapt in dread. It was Rufus Werther, a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

"How did you find this wizard?" Tom asked.

"He stayed around a little too long for my liking after making deals with the Death Eaters," Bellatrix explained, a sharp smile displaying her white teeth at the memory. "I decided to follow him, for three days, to see where he went... That variation of witches and wizards he met with was astounding."

As Bellatrix spoke, Werther's gaze wandered the room. It was only seconds before he met Harry's eyes, but if he was surprised to see another Order member here, he hid it well. His eyes dropped immediately to the ground.

"What was the wizard's name?" Tom inquired.

"Werther. Rufus Werther. He gave up all the information I needed, my Lord..."

"You interrogated him, I presume?"

"Yes," Bellatrix assured him, never removing her eyes from Tom's, "but I felt I should bring him to you alive, so you can gain more information, my Lord..."

Anxiety gripped Harry at her words. If Tom interrogated Werther, if he read his mind, he might see the faces of Harry or Nott amongst various Order members. Harry hoped he didn't pale too obviously at the realisation. Tom, however, was mesmerised by Bellatrix's story, while Bellatrix was mesmerised by Tom's handsome face.

It occurred to Harry that Bellatrix was just as crazed and power-hungry now as she had ever been in the future. Even as she stood here now, on what had to be her first real mission for Tom, she spoke openly and confidently, willingly boasting about her accomplishments while her husband was silent. She would do anything it took to get noticed.

"If you have discovered the existence of an Order, I don't believe there is much more I need to know," Tom said softly, watching Werther with a hateful look in his eyes. "What is this 'Order'? When did they form?"

"It is the Order of the Phoenix," Bellatrix explained. "It formed a few years ago, in the scare of Leach's resign. They are few in number, but its members are powerful..."

Tom's eyes were fixed on Werther intently, but still he did not look up. Harry watched him too, waiting for the moment when Tom would try to read his mind. Werther's expression was unreadable. He knew what was coming, surely. In seconds, everything Harry and Nott were working for could be ruined... Harry felt as if he was going to be sick.

"How is it," Tom began in a soft voice, "that this 'Order' have enough power to stop the Death Eaters from trading at will? How is it that they have gained enough information to interrupt the desires of Lord Voldemort?"

"The Order of the Phoenix is powerful, my Lord. It is made up of the strong witches and wizards – some more powerful than we could ever fear..."

"Who formed this group?" Tom demanded. He was impatient, now, and alarmed. "Who dared to challenge the power of the Death Eaters alone?"

Harry had to focus very hard to look unaffected by what would come next. What could he do if Bellatrix began naming Order members? Was there any was he could silence her? He became very conscious, suddenly, of the wand in his sleeve.

"That is the most interesting part of all, my Lord," Bellatrix said in a hushed voice, her large eyes never wavering, "for it is not a common rival, nor a petty wizard who has dared to challenge you. It is Dumbledore who fears you most..."

A silence fell at her words. Tom stared at Bellatrix, never blinking, never moving.

"Dumbledore?" he hissed. "Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Tom looked away, his eyes burning in anger, his shock evident. When he turned his back on Bellatrix, too distressed to speak, the corners of Bellatrix's red lips twitched; she knew she had given Tom information that was more valuable than words could express. Harry knew she was wrong about one thing, however: Dumbledore had never feared Tom.

Bellatrix turned her large eyes away from Tom, looking at Harry for the first time. She glared coldly, her expression otherwise blank. She clearly didn't understand why Harry hadn't left with the others. He ignored her.

"How is it that this Order has escaped our notice for so long?" Tom hissed aloud, his back still turned to everyone. "If Dumbledore has formed the 'Order of the Phoenix', why have I not been informed..."

"Dumbledore is powerful," Werther murmured where he knelt. "Dumbledore has... has always been more powerful..."

Werther must have known this was the wrong thing to say. Harry, Bellatrix, and Rodolphus froze simultaneously, unable to believe their own ears. Harry wondered if Werther was trying to provoke Tom. To scare him? Because he sensed Tom's weakness? Harry wasn't sure. Bellatrix's eyes snapped back to Tom at once. He had turn around, slowly, to face Werther.

"You dare to question my power?" he asked in a quiet, deadly hiss.

Werther was staring at the stone floor, breathing heavily.

"D-Dumbledore will defeat you," he said, shaking so violently now that it couldn't be fear alone. He was angry. "Dumbledore will always be stronger, he – he's the most powerful wizard of our century, for god's sake! Nothing you do here can stop that!"

Tom was glowering at Werther, taking slow, steady steps towards him. He was too outraged, too infuriated to say a word. It occurred to Harry wildly that Werther _wanted_ to be killed.

"T-torture me if you will!" Werther shouted, his eyes clenched shut. "Kill me, even! It will do you no good. Dumbledore will always succeed – as will the Order! Dumbledore is the most p-powerful, most respected w-wizard..."

"Is that so?"

Tom's eyes were glowing red with fury. The atmosphere in the room had changed dramatically, scaring even Bellatrix and Rodolphus.

"Of c-course it's true!" Werther spat in response to Tom's question. "Dumbledore will always win. D-Dumbledore will always succeed –"

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Tom hissed.

There was a flash of green light, then silence. Werther didn't make a sound, beyond the rustling of his cloak as he slid further towards the ground. Tremendous relief flooded Harry. He was safe. Nott was safe...

"My... My Lord?" Bellatrix whispered faintly, not daring to test Tom's patience.

Tom was staring at the corpse of Rufus Werther, breathing deeply. Harry knew he was thinking over the situation, but not a single emotion showed itself on Tom's face beyond rage. If he regretted killing Werther, it was only for the information he had lost.

"You have done a great service for the Death Eaters, Lestrange," Tom said in a low voice, staring off into space, "and I shall not forget this... However, I am in need of your company no more this evening. You may leave. Consider yourself a loyal Death Eater..."

"Yes, my Lord," Bellatrix said. She blushed with thrill at having succeeded so powerfully today. "Thank you, my Lord!"

Bellatrix turned to go, catching Harry's eye on the process. She glowered at him smugly, knowing she had conquered over all other Death Eaters, earning Tom's respect with ease tonight. Again, Harry ignored her. He was distracted by Tom's distress. Bellatrix made her way out of the room, followed by Rodolphus, who was completely ignored by everyone.

Harry realised, suddenly, why he hadn't recognised Werther by name or by face at the first Order meeting. He was killed early. He was never photographed with the Order, he had never met Sirius, Moody, or any of the Order members Harry knew from a young age. He might have been forgotten entirely, even as the first member of the Order of the Phoenix to die in this war...

When the Lestranges were gone and when Harry and Tom were alone, Tom looked up from Werther's body for the first time, his jaw clenched.

"Dumbledore," he hissed, his voice nothing but a whisper. "It was Dumbledore who thwarted my Death Eaters' attempts to change the wizarding world, Dumbledore who turned witches and wizards against me... How did I not consider this? Dumbledore was always wary of my activities. Always too watchful..."

Harry knew that Tom was scared, but even as he watched Tom's eyes, he could see that terror turn to deeper anger. Tom ran a shaking hand through his hair, baring his teeth in fury.

"If Dumbledore is so willing to challenge my rise to glory, let us watch him test his power to that of Lord Voldemort, his dedicated Death Eaters, and the Knights of Walpurgis..."

That night, Tom was so agitated that he could do nothing but devise plans on how to catch Dumbledore's Phoenix spies. He wanted to capture them and find out the the names of more Order members in the process of weeding out the bad contacts of the Death Eaters. Above this, he wanted to immediate stop Dumbledore from gaining information on his Death Eaters. As an obvious first step, Tom ordered Avery and the others to stop trading for a few weeks. Even if Tom lost a large sum of profit from this, it was nothing to losing his secrecy...

Harry did the best he could to calm Tom, but he couldn't say he made very much success. Three days after Tom discovered the Order of the Phoenix, Harry was on his way to the Order Headquarters alone. He was full of regret for going behind Tom's back, but he knew he had no choice. If the Order members didn't realise that the Death Eaters were looking for them, the wrong witches and wizards could be murdered too soon...

The current Order Headquarters resided in a small cottage owned by Edgar Bones. When Harry arrived there this humid summer evening, he found that a meeting was already taking place.

"We haven't heard a thing from Werther in days," Bones was saying to a group of five other people. "I tell you, he could be up to something!"

"Like what?" Dorcas Meadows asked. "He wasn't a dark wizard."

"Then why have we come closer to attacks than ever before? Why have the Death Eaters stopped trading?"

Meadows gave no answer. She turned to look at Dumbledore, but found he was no longer watching the debates before him with calm interest. His eyes were on Harry.

"Do come in, Jonathan," he said. "Take a seat."

"I can't say," Harry explained shortly. "I'm only here to bring news."

Meadows, Bones, Dumbledore, Nott, Doge, and Dearborn all looked at him expectantly. Harry hadn't seen Nott in days; he had no work for the Death Eaters lately. He knew this would be news to him too...

"Werther was captured about a week ago," Harry began in a low voice, "by one of the Death Eaters. He was tortured and – and killed... Before he died, he gave Voldemort some valuable information on the Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort knows about the Order, now. He's stopping all his trades in fear of you gaining more information..."

The six witches and wizards before him were shaken deeply by the news. Elphias Doge looked away, trying to wet his lips in sheer nerves and shock. Bones stared at Harry, guilt catching him for thinking the worst in Werther. Meadows and Dearborn paled and looked towards Dumbledore, who surveyed Harry with solemnity alongside Nott.

"This is grave news indeed," Dumbledore said quietly, speaking for them all. "Thank you for informing us of this, Jonathan. You have saved much trouble..."

"I think we should stop all further investigation into the Death Eaters' activities," Meadows said at once. "If the Death Eaters are aware of the Order, they'll begin searching for anyone who treads too close to them. We'd be better off working on the information we have, for now."

"I think this would be a wise decision, yes," Dumbledore agreed.

"All of us should be cautious," Nott added. "Even in our daily lives. The Death Eaters aren't going to stop until they begin a list on who's in the Order."

"Will the information we have be enough, though?" Bones asked. "We don't have much to work on as it is."

"If it's enough to make Lord Voldemort suspect our Order's existence, it's strong enough information," Dumbledore answered calmly. "We can find other, less dangerous ways to gather information on the Death Eaters..."

As Dumbledore began discussing plans, Nott stood up quietly. He made his way across the room, towards Harry. Without a word, they turned to the front door of the cottage.

Out in the open air, Nott faced Harry with a serious look of curiosity. "When did the Dark Lord find out about the Order?"

"Three days ago," Harry answered honestly. "Werther was tortured by a new Death Eater, Bellatrix Lestrange. Tom knows about the Order and Dumbledore..."

"But not about the Order members?"

"No. Thankfully... Even through torture, I don't think Werther would have given up that information."

Nott nodded in understanding. Despite the depressing news that shook the other Order members, Nott was outwardly calm. Harry suspected that this was the result of being amongst the Order members all day, in an environment he was more comfortable with. It strengthened Nott, even if he felt secret remorse for Werther. Harry was relieved to see it.

"What happens now?" Nott asked. "Will the Death Eaters start attacking the Order?"

"It all depends on how much Tom finds out about them. There's bound to be a war between both sides eventually, but as long as the Order remains vigilant, they could stall fights for quite a while."

"I'm surprised the new Death Eater tortured Werther," Nott mused, appearing affected fort he first time. "Lestrange's daughter-in-law... I didn't expect her to be so viscous. Did Rodolphus help?"

"No. She acted alone, I think."

"Rodolphus must be jealous of that, surely?"

"If he inherited anything from Lestrange, then I'd say so, yeah," Harry said, suppressing a smile. "Tom's pleased with Bellatrix's work, anyway. I think she must have honoured the Lestranges, in some way. I'm sure this will be the height of her relationship with Rodolphus, being forced into another pure-blood marriage."

To his surprise, a smile formed on Nott's lips, lighting up his blue eyes. He thought, at first, that Nott was amused, but his happiness went deeper than that. He looked away from Harry, staring off into space, distracted by an unrelated thought.

"I met somebody," he admitted tenderly, eventually, still smiling warmly. "A witch, pure-blooded enough to impress my family, but she doesn't seem to believe in the lifestyle the richest pure-bloods lead. She's younger than I, of course, but she's a talented witch; she possesses an intelligence that would impress the Dark Lord himself..."

Harry was stunned. He watched Nott closely, seeing that his happiness overrode the sorrow he normally felt. A strange feeling gripped Harry, something close to compassion or relief.

"What's her name?"

"Evadne," Nott said softly, his smiling refreshing at the sound. "A name as beautiful as she herself is..."

Harry was glad, and surprised, that this new witch was important enough to distract Nott wholly from Lestrange. The change in Nott's expression, in his actions, made Harry believe he was completely serious about his feelings.

"It's been so long since I've cared about anyone like this," Nott carried on, looking at Harry now. "I don't know if it will last, but I hope dearly that it will. It's been too long since I've felt as happy as this..."

Harry smiled, intrigued by the happiness he saw in Nott's eyes. "I'd like to meet her," he said. "I'm glad you've found somebody."

Nott smiled, looking away. "I just hope it'll last..."

When they parted that night, Harry felt as if Nott's happiness had rubbed off on him, but he tried not to show it too obviously. He predicted, somewhat hopefully, that this witch, Evadne, was going to marry Nott and bear his only son, Theodore, but there was no way of knowing for sure so soon. Harry let the bright thought linger in the back of his head while he focused on the more pressing events happening around him.

The Order of the Phoenix avoided further losses thanks to Harry describing Tom's wariness, but this didn't stop Tom from ordering the Death Eaters forcefully to search for any man or woman who could be involved in Dumbledore's group. The Death Eaters understood that if they managed to capture an Order member and torture them for information like Bellatrix had, they would be praised above all others, like she was. The Order of the Phoenix was becoming the biggest target for the Death Eaters, despite the Order members being rare gems amongst Tom's enemies.

Despite how Tom acted around his Death Eaters, treating the subject of the Order of the Phoenix with anger and fury, Harry knew it was fear that truly motivated him, not wrath. Tom didn't discuss this openly, but the way he acted told Harry everything he needed to know. Tom barely ate, he barely slept – he rarely ever saw the light of day. He was constantly working, constantly planning. He was ordering the Death Eaters to do as he wanted almost every hour of the day.

In no time at all, Tom moved away from his house to live permanently in the Chimaera Hideout; the hideout closest the the Giants, as if he wanted these great beasts to protect him. Harry didn't much like this change, but he had no say in it. If he returned to the old house, he would rarely see Tom at all. He wondered, often, if Tom was unable to sleep due to fear. It would explain his excessive working.

One night, Harry awoke in the early hours of the morning to find candlelight illuminating the small room he and Tom stayed in. The soft, flickering light made shadows jump neurotically, fading and growing at random. When Harry looked around, towards the light, he saw that Tom's side of the bed was empty. Tom was sitting at his desk across the room, writing. Harry stretched in exhaustion, hearing the quick, faint scratching of Tom's quill as he pored over his work.

"What're you up to?" he asked groggily.

Tom did not pause in his writing, nor did he seem particularly surprised that Harry was awake.

"I have plans to make," he answered. "I thought of the perfect way to make a quiet attack on Dumbledore's Order members. I have found a way to obtain the name of every single witch and wizard who dares question the power of Lord Voldemort..."

Harry watched the back of Tom's head for a short while, breathing in and out heavily. He knew Tom was being paranoid. He knew that Tom hadn't created a master plan, he was merely calming his nerves by reminding himself that he had the power to command the Death Eaters however he wanted. Harry decided to get out of bed, moving across the room to be closer to Tom.

"Come on," he said tiredly, "you've been working all day. There's no use staying up."

"I need to work more," Tom said, brushing away Harry's outstretched hand as he reached for the quill. "I need to sort this out..."

Harry paused, wondering how best to approach this. He knew Tom was scared. In his best attempt to be comforting, he placed a hand on Tom's shoulder. Tom looked towards him slightly. Harry let his hand drop, saying, "You can't keep going like this, Tom."

After a short pause, in which Tom looked away, he sighed irritably. He seemed to understand that he was too tired to work, but he wasn't pleased about it. He was annoyed as he scribbling down a few more words hastily, standing up.

When he faced Harry, the look of annoyance froze on his face, before falling. Harry watched him closely, too tired to give any calming words of comfort. To make up for this, he reached for Tom's hand, pulling him towards the bed.

"It's cold without you," he murmured.

Tom followed him willingly enough, even when Harry's hand slid from his. Harry clambered onto his side of the bed, but while he lay back in exhaustion, Tom remained seated. He was no longer annoyed, but his expression remained serious. Harry saw this when he opened a tired eye.

"You should lie down," he said.

Tom shook his head once, saying nothing. Harry could tell he was still too stressed; it was obvious in the way he rested uncomfortably, the way he clenched his jaw and looked away. Harry propped himself up on his elbow, with great effort, and looked at Tom more closely. He reached for Tom's hand gently, urging him deeper into the bed.

With his encouragement, Tom followed. He reached for Harry's waist, as if distracted, now, from his previous frustration. Harry leant up to kiss Tom once, slowly. In the dim light of their room, he saw Tom's eyes slide open after the kiss. He regarded Harry with tenderness, sinking back until he was lying down properly. He was clearly glad he followed him to bed. Harry brushed back his hair, breathing out heavily as he allowed his head to drop to Tom's shoulder.

"I wish we had more time to be like this," he murmured, his hand tracing Tom's shoulder, then his arm. "I miss being with you, alone. Just the two of us..."

"A war is coming," Tom observed.

"Isn't that the best time to turn towards love?"

Tom shifted where he lay, holding Harry close. "I will have you always, my love."

"But I don't have you," Harry mumbled, before he could think twice. "I don't want to lose you to all the work you're doing..."

"You needn't fret. You won't lose me to this war."

Harry said nothing. He couldn't be sure that Tom's words were true... For the first time in his life, he didn't know how he wanted things would end between him and Tom. He didn't know if the Order of the Phoenix would win, or if Tom was going to somehow succeed more than he did in Harry's past. Harry didn't want to think about it. He slid his arm around Tom.

"I love you, Tom. I hope you know that."

"I do," he said gently. "I love you too..."

They stayed like this for a long while, locked in each others' arms, listening to the sound of each other breathing in the subtle light. Harry wasn't sure if Tom drifted off to sleep with him. When he awoke later that morning, Tom was already out of bed. He was talking to the Death Eaters, writing up plans, researching magic so advanced that Harry could barely follow it...

Tom's paranoia wasn't entirely a weakness, Harry soon learnt. As a result of the hours he spent obsessing over the protection of himself, Harry, the Knights, the Death Eaters, and his various beasts and creatures, Tom now seemed to be one step ahead of the Order of the Phoenix. In response to his own fear, Tom seemed to be trying to manipulate his enemies into a state of fear, first of all using the best weapon he had stored: the Dementors.

In the small feeding area Tom had set up for his Dementors (to win their loyalty by feeding them his enemies' souls), a large pile of dead bodies had built up. This was the result of Death Eaters killing off the enemies who lay useless and soulless there, ruined by the Dementor's Kiss. Upon these bodies, growing like fungi on rotten flesh, the Dementors had begun breeding, giving Tom a weapon he regarded with great reverence: an army of unregistered, unknown Dementors to his name.

These new Dementors, undetected by the Ministry, were soon released by Tom to spread fear throughout England, starting with London. Once set free, these Dementors were almost impossible to regulate or defeat. They were born on Tom's land, under Tom's rule, thus they would follow no commands the Ministry might throw at them. Every single man and woman in London – Muggle or Wizard, Ministry worker or Order member – would sense the changes happening around them. In a depressed state, the population would become far easier to manipulate and control.

Beyond these subtle manipulations, Tom had plans that involved much stronger, much more powerful beasts. He had sent his Death Eaters out on various missions to show terrifying displays of magic in front of Muggles (and often against them) to celebrate wizard supremacy and to make the Ministry's job a lot more difficult, but none of that compared to his plans for the Giants. He did what he knew would infuriate and alarm the Ministry most: he sent out a direct attack on the Ministry of Magic in London, above ground, in broad daylight, using four fully-grown Giants.

The impact this action was astonishing to all who heard and witnessed it. Aurors and Ministry officials were forced to use powerful, dangerous magic in front of the Muggle public to fight these beasts, while the number of Muggle eye-witness grew far into the hundreds and terror wrecked all of London. The Ministry was forced to kill all four Giants on the spot, but this was always Tom's plan. The struggle it took to kill one Giant alone was enough to bring any Ministry to its knees.

To the dismay of many Death Eaters, however, the mission did not go well for Tom's followers. Not long after the Ministry began fighting these Giants, the Order of the Phoenix showed up at the scene to fight off the Death Eaters and Knights involved. Harry had no idea how the Order formed an attack so quickly; he had no involvement in it. The Order fought so valiantly that a Knight died in a fight against them: Adelmar Dorn.

Tom was furious at the loss. It was revenge for Rufus Werther's death, but Tom saw it as a personal offence, especially as Dorn was one of his best, closest Knights. The Death Eaters were somewhere between joyous and sorrowful. They drank merrily in Dorn's name, knowing that he was one of the earliest deaths they'd had to face for this war. In the festivity, Harry was able to slip out of the Death Eater headquarters unnoticed, to inform Nott about the news.

When he arrived at Nott's house, he was surprised to find Nott was in good spirits. He was smiling when he answered the door, and the smile didn't fade even when he saw Harry, inviting him inside. He clearly hadn't heard about news from London.

"I have good news," Nott told Harry as soon as he was out of the cold.

Harry noticed, now, that Nott wasn't alone. Five or six witches and wizards were sitting and standing in his front room, talking merrily. Harry recognised Evadne amongst these people, as well as a few of Nott's relatives.

"What's the celebration?" he asked.

"Evadne and I are engaged," Nott explained. "I proposed to her last night."

Harry was stunned – and for the first time today, genuinely glad.

"That's brilliant," he said, smiling. The atmosphere of this house was so drastically different to the Basilisk Hideout, it was hard for him to comprehend. "It's perfect."

"It is," Nott agreed, grinning widely. "I'm – I'm amazed any of this is happening."

Harry could see this; Nott looked happier now than he had in all the years Harry knew him. It was a happiness he had never achieved through loving Lestrange, nor through following his orders as a Death Eater. It was pure, undamaged joy.

"But why have you come here?" Nott asked. "Is everything alright back at the headquarters?"

Harry trusted that Nott's frankness meant it was safe for them to speak here. Evadne and Nott's relatives were distracted in the other room. Without looking around, lest he should arouse suspicion, Harry spoke.

"Adelmar Dorn is dead."

Nott stared, his bliss being replaced by alarm. "Dorn? What happened?"

"Tom ordered an attack on London," Harry explained in a low voice, "using Giants. It was a secret operation, meant to scare the Ministry, and it worked, but there were complications. The Order attacked – probably as soon as they heard the explosions and noise from London. They fought the Death Eaters..."

The conflicting emotions in Nott showed themselves clearly in his shock. Dorn's death was awkward to the both of them; he had never been a fighting Death Eater. He wasn't a Death Eater at all, but a Knight of Walpurgis, who fought for Tom in respect for ancient legends and the Dark Arts, not for pride, blood purity, glory, or gore. Neither Nott nor Harry really believe he deserved this.

Before either of them could say a word more about it, Evadne approached them. Harry had met her a few months back and he couldn't say he disliked her; she was an intelligent witch who seemed honestly in love with Nott. They were perfect for each other, in Harry's opinion.

"Would you like to come and sit down?" she asked, her face flushed with contentment at the day's events. She smiled from Harry to Nott.

"I can't stay for long," Harry told her, "but congratulations, both of you. This is really wonderful news."

They both smiled. Harry couldn't help but feel infected by their joy. Even when he left their company, a warm feeling filled his heart at the memory of happiness in Nott and Evadne, a happiness that lit up Nott's bright eyes like nothing else. To Harry's disappointment, this empathetic feeling didn't last when he entered the Chimaera Hideout. The place was eerily quiet.

Harry was glad of the silence and glad the Death Eaters had all left. Their celebrating did his head in when they were here for too long – they were better off wandering the streets of London, annoying somebody else. In spite of this small relief, however, the silence locked within these walls seemed too deep to be normal. Harry tried to push the thought out of his mind, moving swiftly through the tall entrance hall of the hideout, but he noticed something else that made him pause.

There was blood at his feet. Fresh drops of it close to him, then more drops further on. The trail led out of the main hall, through the main meeting room, and up a flight of stairs that would lead to his and Tom's bedroom. Harry followed the trail, withdrawing his wand on instinct. He began heading upstairs, his ears straining to detect any sign of movement nearby. There was nothing to hear over the sound of his own breath.

The bloodstains became more curious the further Harry followed the trail. Small, struggling feet – and even hands – seemed to have scrambled up the staircase, soaked in blood. It was only when Harry reached the top of a flight of stairs that he saw the reason behind this. Tweaky, Tom's House-Elf, had been murdered.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Tom did this. Tom was not normally this brutal in his murders, these days, but who else would dare harm Tom's servant? If a Death Eater had done this, even drunk, there would be two bodies on the landing. What was more, Tom had been more apt to act on anger, lately. It worried Harry. He slid his wand back up his sleeve, heading for the bedroom.

He found Tom at his desk in their bedroom yet again, but tonight he was not poring over his notes. He sat very still, his hands brought together as if in prayer over his lips, his eyes closed. Although he showed no sign of it, Harry knew he must be aware of his presence. His suspicion was conformed when Tom spoke.

"The Order is strong," he said. "It's members are courageous, in all the most ignorant ways..."

"What happened to Tweaky?" Harry asked, ignoring Tom's paranoid demeanour. "Why did you murder him?"

Tom gave no answer, but carried on with his thoughts about the Order of the Phoenix. "They are pertinacious..."

"You did kill him, didn't you?"

Tom stood up, his hands clawing into fists in frustration. Still, he did not answer Harry. He didn't even look at him. Harry was caught between annoyance and worry. Tom had doubtlessly killed Tweaky, so why not admit to it? He supposed that Tom might have killed the House-Elf in wrath, making him too angry, even now, to speak of the crime. Harry took Tweaky's cold, blue corpse as a sign that Tom was falling apart under the pressure Dumbledore's Order put on him...

He decided to drop the subject, but it lingered at the back of his mind.

"Is there any new news?" he asked.

"Beyond the death of four Giants and the murder of a sacred Knight?" Tom asked scathingly. "No, none..."

Tom was angry – furiously so – at how the day had ended. Harry knew it wasn't the four dead Giants or even the loss of Dorn that affected Tom like this, however. It was the arrival of the Order of the Phoenix.

"The Aurors would have fought off the Death Eaters, even if the Order didn't," Harry said in a low voice, trying to reason with Tom's anger. "You knew there were risks."

"Risks, yes," Tom repeated in a hiss, "but was I to expect an organized attack from the Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry didn't answer. He moved across the room, taking a seat on the edge of their bed.

"If I had known the Order was so watchful, the Death Eaters could have foreseen their attacks – if they had, Adelmar Dorn would not be dead. The Order of the Phoenix would not be striking hopes in the hearts of the ignorant..."

"I don't know how they got there so soon," Harry murmured honestly. "It was a surprise to everyone."

"I feel that Dumbledore has been warned... I expected to have an advantage over Dumbledore with the information we acquired from his spy, but no such advantage has been within my reach. Does Dumbledore know I am aware of his Order's existence? How could he know..."

Harry became very conscious, suddenly, of the way he was sitting, the way he acted. He didn't know how to hide the terror that taunted him. If Tom suspected that Dumbledore had learnt certain information too early, he would start hunting a rat amongst his Death Eaters... Harry shut off his own emotions, going straight into a solution.

"Well, Dumbledore's spy died, didn't he? The Order would have noticed his disappearance in a matter of days. Dumbledore would have known what that meant."

Tom thought this over behind the anger he showed. Harry's words visibly calmed him.

"Dumbledore must have been planning to ambush the Death Eaters for months, anyway," Harry reasoned in his calmest voice, constraining his thoughts, "and today was an opportunity for it. He must have felt that the Order of the Phoenix was ready for their first fight against you."

"Why would he sacrifice the secrecy of his Order today, of all days? No sooner, no later..."

"Tom, you sent four Giants and an army of Death Eaters off to attack the Ministry of Magic in broad daylight, in front of hundreds of Muggles. Dumbledore would have done anything to stop that."

Tom knew this was true. The way Harry explained the situation was slowly forcing him out of his paranoia, making him look at today's events in a different light. It was exactly what he needed. It's what Harry needed, too, to stay safe.

"Dumbledore used my attack on the Ministry to his advantage," Tom muttered, more to himself than Harry, "to get his Order known..."

Harry couldn't deny this. Tom stared at the ground across the room, thinking hatefully of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry understood that Tom would only become more wary of the Order as time went on. He must have known, surely, that Dumbledore would one day try to stop him from seeking such power. Harry thought he might not have expected Dumbledore to attack so soon, or with such force. For the rest of the evening, as well as in the months that passed, Tom was in a constant state of anger.

Now that the Order of the Phoenix was known by the Ministry and largely whispered about amongst the public, more brave, able witches and wizards had decided to join it. Amongst these new recruits were Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, and two Aurors, Frank and Alice Longbottom. The Longbottoms, Harry soon learnt, had joined the Order after recognizing that the Ministry of Magic wasn't strong enough. They had been invited to join the Death Eaters, but had refused.

Harry was starting to see a lot of new faces amongst the Death Eaters too. The most unnerving new recruit, to Harry, was Abraxas Malfoy's young son, Lucius. He did not pose as a particular threat amongst Death Eaters, but Harry was distracted wholly by how much he looked like his son Draco at such a young age. Tom did not take particular notice of Lucius. He drifted amongst the richest pure-bloods, explaining proudly that being a Death Eater was all he could do after his father's involvement in the Pure-blood Riots.

Tom seemed less and less interested in knowing his Death Eaters as they grew in numbers. He didn't want the Death Eaters to be too familiar with each other, either – it put too much at risk, he told Harry. It compromised their secrecy. Death Eaters like Rookwood rarely ever stepped foot in Tom's hideouts at all; Rookwood communicated to him through letters or through other Ministry spies, but never in person. Knowing all of this, it struck Harry as curious when a group of four Death Eaters visited Tom in the Chimaera Hideout very late one evening, saying they had finished their work with the Werewolves.

Harry wasn't particularly interested in who the Werewolves had murdered this month (he had heard more than enough of their stories in London), but the Death Eaters' discussion of the Werewolves' work somehow drew him in alongside Tom. He gathered, from Tom's subtle signs of satisfaction, that the Werewolves had just succeeded in murdering someone important – a Ministry worker, perhaps, or an enemy Tom wanted to punish – but this didn't account for why Avery kept looking towards his three companions, Dolohov, Rosier, and Goyle, as if he was looking for another Death Eater.

Tom seemed to have noticed this too. His eyes swept across wizards in front of him.

"I thought I ordered five Death Eaters to look after the Werewolves?"

Goyle looked around, counting. "I dunno.. I've lost track of our lot, if I'm honest, my Lord."

"Wasn't Nott amongst you?" Tom asked.

"Yeah," said Dolohov thickly, "but I reckon he went back home, my Lord. He's got his fiancée and all – doesn't have much time for our work."

Harry's heart felt as if it skipped a beat painfully. He remembered why this Werewolf attack was important to him: Tom had forced Nott and Rosier to look after the seven Werewolves and Avery, Dolohov, and Goyle, knowing only too well that the the three Death Eaters might do a lousy job of directing this important mission.

Tom wasn't bothered by Nott's absence. He seemed to either believe Dolohov's theory or to just not care; his attention was pulled back to his initial reason for sending the Werewolves out tonight.

"Let us discuss your success further," he said, turning in the direction of the large, round table in the centre of the hall. "I want to know what information you retrieved from Mr Jones..."

"I'll be in the other room," Harry said faintly as he passed Tom, who nodded once in understanding.

Harry made his way up the stone staircase as calmly as he could. His heart was racing almost as quickly as his mind. He knew that Nott couldn't possibly be returning to Evadne at this hour; she didn't live at his house. His absence was strange, and the fact that the Death Eaters hadn't noticed him missing before was even stranger. When Harry entered his and Tom's bedroom, he decided, with surprisingly little hesitation, that he should go and investigate Nott's disappearance. He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, throwing it over his shoulders and drawing up the hood.

On his way through the meeting hall, Harry's footsteps were masked by the sound of the the Death Eaters, who spoke of the Werewolves killing an entire wizarding family. "Squibs n' blood-traitors," Dolohov called them openly, scathingly, adding: "It's well worth them wolves stealing the pure blood from 'em." Harry knew the village the Jones lived in and he knew that from there, he'd be able to find the house that was attacked by these Werewolves. There would be Ministry Workers sectioning the place off, surely, or the Dark Mark looming above the scene...

Harry slipped from the Chimaera Hideout undetected, stepping out into the night. He hoped that Tom and the Death Eaters would continue talking for as long as it would take him to figure out what happened to Nott. He didn't know how much information he could gain from the crime scene that the seven Werewolves fled from, but he had a feeling he might be able to work out weather or not Nott had made a foolish mistake tonight...

When he Apparated to the little village where the Joneses surely lay dead in their home, he found that the Dark Mark was indeed looming high above him. He advanced towards the Marked house, hearing the howls of Werewolves across the distant fields. If any Aurors had Apparated to this scene, they'd surely be chasing the Werewolves now. Many of them might get caught by the Ministry tonight, but Harry knew that the best Werewolves – Greyback and McDarline, most of all – would escape with ease as the moon went down.

Under the safety of his Invisibility Cloak, Harry headed towards the Joneses residence. The white stone walls on the outside of the house were illuminated in emerald light, showing Harry that the front door had been forcibly smashed open. Even from the garden, Harry could see a thick trail of blood leading out of the house from the Werewolves stepping in their victims' remains. Harry's stomach knotted uncomfortably. He took out his wand, heading for the doorway.

"_Homenum revelio..._"

There was no one inside. Harry was hesitant to enter the house to investigate the remains, but he found, quite swiftly, that he didn't have to. His eyes fell across a trail of blood – amongst many – leading out of the house. This one was different to the others. It wasn't created from blood-stained paws and fur, it was made up of splotches and droplets of blood that formed a steady line. The trail curved outward, rounding the doorway, moving around the house. Harry followed it, his heart pulsing painfully.

The emerald light of the Dark Mark contrasted strangely with the fresh blood. It appeared black with green highlights, even in the places where blood smeared through the grass, wounded flesh dragged by some unknown person or creature. Whoever trudged through this tall, freshly parted grass had stumbled and staggered on their way, wounded and cowering. Harry felt as if he was going to be sick. The smell of flesh filled the air, nauseating him. The trail headed directly into a dark forest at the back of the house. Harry withdrew his wand again, approaching the trees with caution...

It was dark under the tall pine trees, too dark to see. The high canopy of leaves blocked out the moon, giving Harry no idea of the depth of this forest. He lit his wand. Around him, the ancient pine trees blocked out all sound, making him realise how loudly the wind had rung in his ears before. He wondered where the Aurors were now, or the Werewolves. He couldn't get caught here, like this... He searched for the trail of blood at his feet, following it with haste.

He didn't want to think about the possibility of someone being dragged into the forest by a Werewolf, or that person meaning something to him. The trail was getting thicker. Harry's heart was racing, his mind in disarray as he sped through the forest, scanning the trail. Twigs and rocks crumpled under his feet, echoing through the vast forest. His wandlight highlighted the forest floor, showing the trail until suddenly, it ended at the base of a tree.

Harry stopped. Why would the trail end here? There was nothing behind the tree, as far as he could see, and there was no sign of further struggle. In frustration, he took off the Invisibility Cloak, which was blurring his view and stopping his ability to look around. If a Werewolf were to pass by, they'd see the light of his wand, anyway, and they'd smell blood around him. It was after being visible that somebody spoke.

"Harry..."

It was Nott. Harry looked around, unsure where his voice was coming from. There was no one in sight. Then, he heard movement in front of him. He saw now, away from the distorted view of the Invisibility Cloak, that Nott was resting on the ground, propped up against the large tree. He was hidden with a Disillusionment Charm, which he soon removed. Harry breathed a sigh of relief...

Until he saw Nott in the light.

He alone was mostly responsible for the trail Harry had followed to this spot. His chest had been torn at furiously, his left arm ripped open. He was shaking badly, covered in dirt and blood and clutching something in his trembling, protective grip. Fright tore through Harry, causing him to move forwards before thought could catch up with him. He dropped to the ground besides Nott, reaching out a hand to better examine his wounds.

"What happened to you?"

"I – I c-couldn't let them – couldn't let them die," Nott managed hoarsely, tensed against the pain. "I couldn't... couldn't stand there and watch the W-Werewolves. I – I couldn't... I h-had to help her..."

It was then that Harry recognised what Nott held in his grip. It was a child, a young girl. Her face was buried into his chest, her dark hair blending with the black cloak he wore.

"It's alright," Harry said, his voice not quite as strong as he'd like it to be. "It's alright, you're safe now! Just – just stay calm. Is she hurt?"

"I don't – I don't kn-know.."

"Pass her here, I need to have a look at you both."

Nott attempted to pry the girl from his chest, but she wouldn't budge. She clung to him more closely, silently protesting. Harry took this as a sign that Nott was quickly losing strength. He moved closer, setting his wand aside to pick the girl up with both hands. She can't have been older than five or six. She was breathing heavily.

"It's going to be alright," Harry said, but he wasn't sure if his words were honest. "You're going to be okay..."

In the dim light of his wand, Harry could see there was a scratch across her stomach and another twisting around neck, curling up her round face. Harry didn't know how he was supposed to heal something like this. He picked up his wand. Her blood looked black and endless in the darkness. He didn't know if two scratches from a Werewolf was enough to kill a child, or if it would leave her cursed for the rest of her life. Her eyes were closed and large, silent tears leaked down her dirt- and blood-stained face. Harry tried the best healing magic he knew.

"_Vulnera Sanentur..._"

To his relief, the girl's cuts was slowly healing. This didn't account for the large amount of blood she had lost, but Harry didn't think to consider this. He did the magic again, and again, until her wounds knitted themselves back together, healing. It left horrific scars. The girl clung to Harry without a word.

He turned his attention to Nott. Against his will, he hands were shaking.

"Why did this happen?" he asked numbly. "Did you fight the Werewolves?"

"I d-don't know... I don't know w-what happened..."

Harry recognised the wounds on Nott as definite Werewolf scratches. A lucky escape, since he was still breathing. If he had attempted to rescue this girl in a moment of terror, he had made the mistake of letting the Werewolves know he was fighting against them. Harry hated to think what tonight's events would do to this now orphaned child...

"I h-had to run," Nott murmured, "I had to – to hide... I used a Dis- Disillusionment Ch-Charm... and got r-rid of the s-smell of blood..."

Harry had to admit to himself that this was quick thinking. If a Werewolf had already walked a trail of blood through the Joneses' house, Nott's falling, scentless blood would have gone unnoticed as he escaped with the young girl. Even when he passed the Death Eaters, the shadows of night would have shielded him wholly over the Disillusionment Charm. Harry wished only that Nott had been this cautious with his initial desire to rescue the girl...

He realised, then, that he wasn't helping anything by just staring at Nott's wounds, but he had no idea how to cure something like this. Were wounds inflicted by Werewolves supposed to be treated in a certain way? Would Nott die from this if Harry wasn't careful? Everything Harry knew about Werewolves seemed to slip from his mind in spite. Fuelled by stress, Harry tried the same magic that worked on the girl.

"_Vulnera Sanentur..._"

The magic worked on Nott too. Harry continued to concentrate on it, ignoring the pounding of his heart, which shook his very fingertips in fear. He repeated the magic a second time, and Nott's chest was healing. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the large tree trunk. He was breathing heavily, panting in trembling breaths...

"I was a f- a fool," he murmured faintly. "I couldn't have s-saved those people. They always would have – have d-died... Not even a Kn-Knight could overth-throw beasts l-like that..."

"_Vulnera Sanentur..._"

The girl's weight shifted in Harry's arms. He held her closer, distracted by his attempts to examine Nott's healed wounds. There was no healing him fully; deep, obvious scars stretched across his chest, visible through rips in his blood-stained robes. Nott's eyes slid half-open to watch Harry. Without pausing, Harry moved his attention to Nott's arm, where blood continued to seep. He was bitten. Harry's heart seemed to turn to ice.

"T-the Dark... The Dark Lord w-will know... He'll k-kill me for this..."

Harry tried hard not to think of this, either. "I'm not going to let that happen."

Harry pushed up Nott's sleeve carefully, looking at the huge bite there. It was placed just above his Dark Mark, leading to his upper arm. The bite was deep. The girl's grip on Harry's chest loosened. He retracted his left arm to hold her close, using his right hand to begin the same magic.

"_Vulnera Sanentur..._"

Nott was struggling, but Harry had a feeling it wasn't physical pain that tormented him. Harry fixed his arm the best he could, dreading what scar this bite might leave. Nott met Harry's gaze in the wandlight when he was healed. He knew they were thinking the same thing.

"The Dark Lord won't... won't forgive this c-crime... You can't – c-can't stop that..."

Harry shifted where he knelt, breaking eye-contact. "He doesn't have to know... No Werewolf can remember their transformations, nor who they attack – and anyway, none of the Death Eaters saw you leave. We can hide this. I can keep Tom from knowing..."

"And what if my Lord s-sees you are protecting me?" Nott asked in a whisper. "He'll know I don't agree with the Werewolves... He'll su-suspect I'm i-in the Order..."

Harry had to shift the girl's weight again. She slumped in his arms.

"I'll be discreet," Harry answered. "The important thing is that you're healed and that we hide what's happened here tonight. We can bring this girl to the Order. They'll look after her, and..."

He trailed off, distracted. He realised, suddenly, that the girl was uncommonly still. She hadn't said a word, she hadn't made a sound, but her hands clutching at Harry's shoulders had fallen away. The blood drained from Harry's face, his breath paused. The girl's head slumped against his shoulder and her breath had ceased completely. She was dead.

Harry couldn't say a word. He wanted the shake the girl awake, to ask if she was okay, but he knew it would do no good. She was gone. Nott was staring at Harry with wide eyes. He was too reluctant to tear his gaze away, but he could read the situation in the expressions Harry couldn't hide.

"S-sh-she's," Nott stammered, "s-she's..?"

Harry couldn't bear to see what this was doing to him. There was nothing he could do to soften the loss. He knew what he had to do next.

"I... I'll need to bring her back to the house..."

Nott shook his head in shock, tormented by suffering, but there was no reason for him to stop Harry. Holding the corpse of the dead girl close to him, Harry stood up. Nott was forced drop his shining eyes to the peaceful expression of the girl he had tried to save.

"Wait here," Harry murmured, "I'll be back in a minute..."

Nott's breathing grew deeper. His eyes closed. Harry left as quickly as his legs would carry him, stepping out of the trees, into the green light that the Dark Mark shed upon the scene. He tried not to take in too many details when he entered the house of the Werewolf attack. There were footprints running all through the hall, leading upstairs. He followed the trail. It led to a bedroom, where a double-bed was soaked in a pool of crimson liquid, its sheets and blankets ripped to shreds.

There were two corpses soaked in blood, half-hidden in the shadows. Harry didn't dare look closely at them. These two people (or more – he couldn't truly count the remains) were clearly the parents of the lost girl. He decided not to leave her corpse in here. He went to her bedroom instead, where her and Nott's blood had first spilt. He rested her on her small bed, which she had scrambled out of before at the sound of intruders. She may as well have been sleeping. Harry was about to turn away, to leave her corpse, when he realised something.

He couldn't leave her healed. Anyone who saw the scar on her neck would realist that someone had attempted to save her life. At first, Harry was unsure how he could help this. He tried to remember any magic that would reverse a healing spell, but he didn't believe any existed. There was only one thing he could do. Hating himself, he advanced towards the girl's peaceful corpse, taking out his wand. He traced his wand along the freshly healed wounds on her neck and stomach. When these cuts were fully reopened, he left the room, reluctant to look at the fresh blood that leaked from her. He left the house feeling sick. He would never discuss this with Nott, nor anyone...

Back in the forest, Nott hadn't moved. His eyes were closed when Harry approached. He was breathing heavily, but again his anguish wasn't due to physical pain. Harry didn't know if it was a fear of Tom that got to him, or his loss, or what results this night would have on him. Maybe all three... Harry decided not to let him stay in sorrow for too long.

"Come on," he said, kneeling down and placing a hand on Nott's shoulder to urge him forwards. "Let's get out of here before the Ministry shows up."

"I can't – I can't go home," Nott told him hoarsely, "I can't risk being seen by – by Evadne or – or anyone. I can't go..."

"We can't stay here. Come on, we'll go somewhere else."

Nott was reluctant. He was shaking his head, his eyes still tightly shut.

"We have to go, Christopher. The Werewolves will find you here. If we don't get away from this village, out of the moonlight –"

"No. N-no I can't..."

Nott's chest was rising and falling in deep, constrained breaths. He continued to shake his head, but no amount of clenching his eyes shut could stop his tears from falling.

"I can't – c-can't become one of them," he whispered. "I can't live l-like that... I don't want to – to be one of them... I don't want to k-kill... I c-can't be..."

They could hear the distant cries of Werewolves and even, if Harry wasn't imagining it, the sound of spell-fire. He urged Nott up in desperation, unable to stand the hysteria that caught him, suddenly. He managed to get Nott to his feet, but he couldn't stand up on his own. Harry held Nott close, trying hard to not hurt him. He trembled and slipped where he stood.

"We're going to Apparate," Harry told him shakily, knowing it might be a struggle. "Are you ready?"

"Ye-yes..."

Harry took his word for it. He span on the spot and with a deafening '_crack_' that rang throughout the forest, they were gone.

He had Apparated to a deserted warehouse that was normally used by Death Eaters to scare people, to threaten them or interrogate them. In this side of England, the clouds obscured the moon. Harry knew this wouldn't last. He knew, too, what would happen in a matter of minutes if Nott had contracted lycanthropy. He wouldn't allow Nott to get caught by any Ministry, Death Eater, Werewolf, or Dark Lord. He wouldn't allow Nott to kill or be killed tonight...

He knew Nott shared his thoughts. Even as they stumbled through the door of this abandoned warehouse, he was trembling in Harry's arms, his limbs jolting unnaturally. He slid through Harry's grasp before either of them could stop it. Harry knelt down above him, fearing, at first, that he was weak from his badly-healed wounds. Harry tried to stay brave for him, but he was finding it progressively more difficult.

"Don't – don't leave," he asked of him desperately. He reached out a hand to touch Nott's face, urging him to look up. He was terrified for the first time. "Just stay with me! It's going to be alright..."

Nott shook his head, his eyes sliding open. He was drawing in deep, strained breaths, sweating heavily, his body still shifting as if changing uncomfortably. Harry knew what was coming. He could see that past the affliction in Nott's eyes, something was taking over.

"I d-don't w-want this," Nott stammered. "I d-don't want t-to b-be th-..."

"It's alright," Harry told him. "It's alright, just stay calm! You're safe here. Just –"

He wasn't sure Nott could hear him anymore. He was changing before his very eyes.

"Christopher?"

Nott moved so much beneath Harry that he was forced to stand up. He tried to back away from Nott quickly, but the transformation was already happening. He was groaning in a low voice in pain, his voice changed in pitch, growing harsher and higher. He was staggering to his feet, twisting as if the horrific beast within him was about to break through his skin.

Harry couldn't wait around any longer. Fur began to spout and break out across Nott's skin. He was rasping and howling in pain, somewhere between human and beast, but far from conscious thought. Harry wanted to help him, but he knew there was nothing he could too. A young Werewolf was too dangerous to stay around. Withdrawing his wand, Harry moved at once to the exit of the warehouse.

Once outside, he slammed the door shut behind him, hoping this place was strong enough to contain a new Werewolf without complications. He locked the door with magic, hearing the thrashing, crashing, and howling of Nott as he raged through this contained area. He could smell blood of the Death Eaters' victims on the ground, surely, or the blood on his robes and on Harry's skin.

Dread was the only thing Harry felt as he stared at the ground in front of him blindly, listening to the sound of Nott's transformation. He knew that if Tom discovered Nott's new secret, if he found out that his loyal Knight had betrayed him by fighting off Werewolves, there would be dire consequences. Tom would figure out he was a part of the Order of the Phoenix. He would take his paranoia and blame it all on this one traitor. He would kill Nott before anyone could stop it...

Harry was forced to leave Nott alone in the warehouse that night. He knew the Knight was more than able to look after himself, but guilt weighed heavily in his heart. He returned to the Chimaera Hideout to find that Tom was indeed still talking to his Death Eaters; more of them had joined him now to speak of their recent work. Harry slipped back into his bedroom under the Cloak, cleaning himself off up there. He rested for five minutes to calm his nerves before returning downstairs.

Tom didn't notice nor suspect that Harry had slipped out of the hideout, unnoticed, to help Nott. He barely paid Harry any attention as the Death Eater meeting went on, in fact, and Harry was glad of it. The next morning, when Tom was working, he slipped out of the hideout again to visit Nott's house, finding that the Knight was safe. The Death Eaters were not bothered that Nott had disappeared the night before and the Werewolves indeed had no recollection of fighting Nott for the life of the dead girl.

The only inconsistency in all of this was the girl's corpse hadn't been ripped to shreds by Werewolves, but no one seemed to want to hear details on her death anyway. The Ministry was angry at the attack and even angrier that they hadn't caught a single Werewolf to blame for it. Nott was visibly tense any time the Death Eater brought up the subject from this day on, but Harry didn't suppose anyone noticed. The first few months, at the full moon, were dangerous and stressful for both Harry and Nott.

To avoid complications, Nott spoke to Dumbledore openly and quietly about his lycanthropy, explaining that he might not be able to take part in certain activities with the Order. Dumbledore was, to no surprise, understanding and compassionate about his condition. He told Nott that if he so desired, he could migrate to Hogwarts during the full moon to transform away from the reach of Death Eaters and the Ministry. Nott accepted his offer with gratitude. It was the only thing that would keep him safe.

Although Harry couldn't help Nott during his transformations, he wanted to do anything he could to help eradicate the social dangers of his new condition. He was able to accomplish this by covering for Nott during the full moon. Through subtle manipulations and false information given to Death Eaters, through lies and even through Curses, Harry influenced a reason every full moon for Nott's absence.

It helped that Tom was too interested in the Werewolves' missions to care about his Knights during the full moon. He was also too distracted by the growing number of Death Eaters to think about every singe follower he had every day of the month. What was more, the youngest Death Eaters were always eager to take new assignments from Tom; the only time he handpicked Knights and Death Eaters anymore was during particularly delicate missions.

Tom wanted to manipulate a larger number of people to do what he asked them to and he managed this through sending the Death Eaters to threaten unsuspecting people through bribery, brutality, torture, or murder. The Death Eaters only got more violent as time went on. They lied, stole, corrupted, and overpowered hundreds of people for dedication for their Lord. They were at war with the entire Wizard World, forcing their opinions on any witch or wizard who dared to question their way of life, until whole families were being forced to comply to Tom's wishes through threats of death alone.

It was a surprise to no one when the Ministry of Magic started bending its rules to apply more force and resistance against dark wizards again. This began when a considerable number of Aurors died at the hands of Death Eaters, who then got away without a scratch. Despite Nobby Leach losing his place as Minister for Magic for doing the exact same thing in his last year in power, Bartemius Crouch, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, wanted to fight violence with more violence. The public were not at all opposed to the change, this time.

Harry found that the Ministry's brutality didn't scare the Death Eaters any more now than it had in the past – on the contrary, the Death Eaters seemed encouraged and motivated by the idea of a good fight. Even when Death Eaters returned to Tom's Hideouts with wounds and scars from progressively darker magic used by the Aurors, they were proud and unfazed. Smarter Death Eaters like Rosier and Lestrange were even using the Ministry's brutality as way to confuse and manipulate Aurors into further disarray.

They accomplished their manipulations through putting random witches and wizards under the Imperius Curse, controlling them like puppets to work as Death Eaters. When the Cursed sorcerers were caught by the Ministry and apprehended, Rosier and Lestrange would then break the Imperius Curses, causing their puppets to go into a state of genuine shock and apparent amnesia. The witches and wizards would plead desperately for the Ministry to believe that they were working under the influence of the Imperius Curse.

With so many people claiming to be victims of the Imperius Curse, the Wizengamot was forced to reconsider how quickly they sent witches and wizards to Azkaban, even if the individuals in question had committed terrible crimes. The Ministry was baffled, frustrated, and unwilling to assume any truths. It was a choice between risking Death Eaters walking free and risking innocent people being imprisoned. As well as doing this for mere amusement, Harry suspected Rosier and Lestrange wanted to fight without fighting and wanted to prepare the Ministry for their own lies, should they get caught in the future.

Harry began to realise just how dangerous it was for Tom's newest Death Eater recruits. A wave of recently-graduated students from Hogwarts showed up and Harry noticed Snape, Wilkes, a young Avery, and a young Dolohov amongst them. Almost as soon as they joined the Dark Lord, these wizards were expected to take part in assignments that risked their lives, freedom, and sanity. Tom knew the Death Eaters were willing to fight anyone to impress him, so he put this motivation to whatever use suited him.

The arrival of new Hogwarts students prompted Tom into reforming ideas for his Diary Horcrux. He planned to re-open the Chamber of Secrets, to terrorize Dumbledore from within his very school. To accomplish this, he needed to work on magic (and even create new magic) to possess and control someone from afar, to protect the journal from harm, and to ensure that Dumbledore had no idea what was haunting his school. Tom knew Dumbledore would stay the headmaster of Hogwarts for as long as it took this war to end, so he would have to attack the school from within...

In paranoia, Tom believed that Dumbledore was raising the students of Hogwarts to fight against him. He believed (perhaps with reason) that Dumbledore had provided his students with additional knowledge and skills in preparation for the Wizarding World War, shaping their views to make them hate the Dark Arts. As a result, he wanted to gather the best students of Hogwarts for the Death Eaters. He had Snape, Wilkes, and the others in his command, so he demanded to know the names of all the strongest witches and wizards who had graduated from Hogwarts this year.

"Dumbledore knows that if I had taught at Hogwarts, I would have influenced students to join me in dedication to the Dark Arts," Tom told Harry one night, explaining the situation over dinner. "Either he is wary and wise or he has shared the same ideas as I. If the latter, I shall take his new soldiers from him..."

"They might have already picked sides in this war," Harry commented, knowing Dumbledore always encouraged his students to strive for the light. He picked up a goblet full of wine. "In which case, at least we got a few new Death Eaters from him, this year."

"I will bribe his graduated students, nonetheless," Tom told him. "They are still young, thus their minds are malleable. Our new Death Eaters have spoken of many fine witches and wizards I could convert. Another Black is amongst them, as well as a Potter."

Harry choked on his drink. He thought he can't have heard Tom correctly, at first. The arrival of Snape had warned Harry that the Marauders were close, but no amount of thinking about his parents could prepare him for hearing Tom speak about the Potters. The name was too unusual coming from his lips, especially spoken with such calmness. Harry coughed a few times, trying to regain his breath.

"And you – you want them on our side?"

"Yes, most avidly," said Tom, so distracted by his thoughts that he didn't notice Harry's odd behaviour. "I'm sure Dumbledore has his eyes on them already... If we act early, we could have them join us before they even know about the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry wasn't confident in the idea. He had no clue how Tom would even attempt a request for Sirius and James to join the Death Eaters.

"I assume Lestrange is proud of what his daughter-in-law, Bellatrix, has tied to his family name," Tom carried on idly. "The Blacks are most eager join this revolution, I believe. Potter too is of pure-blood and there is no doubt in my mind that he will be tempted to join us, to honour his family. He is a wealthy young man, and rumour has told me that the witch he is most interested in is both powerful and as skillful as he. They have close ties to the Pettigrews, what is more."

Harry was finding it very hard to act normally while Tom spoke about this. He had no idea that Lily, James, Sirius, and even Peter were offered to become Death Eaters so early.

"What are you going to offer them?" he asked. "If honouring blood-purity isn't enough, I mean."

"I'll offer them whatever they desire," Tom answered simply. "Fame, wealth, protection, power, knowledge... a mix of it, even. We have an excess of all, but nothing could compare to the value of stealing strong recruits from Dumbledore's grasp."

"That's a good idea," Harry said slowly, "but I'm not sure if that will be enough, if Dumbledore already formed their opinions for them. They might not be able to suppress their pride for Dumbledore."

Tom bared his teeth at the idea, a cruel thought coming to mind. "Then their pride will be turned from Dumbledore to a worthier leader..."

They didn't discuss it any more that night, but it soon became apparent that Tom was determined to take any potential Order members from Dumbledore, any witches and wizards who might pose as a threat to him later on. He had a list of people he was keen to turn into Death Eaters (even Slughorn was on the list) and pretty soon, he was researching the lives of these witches and wizards individually, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

Not a month after their conversation, Tom sent out packs of Death Eaters to speak with certain individuals. After seeing various people accept and decline Tom's offer, Harry began to realise that the Death Eaters only ever left people two options: join us, or become an enemy to the Dark Lord. The latter option almost always ended in threats or murder from the same Death Eaters who were sent out to request an allegiance.

The reason for Tom's brutality was obvious; if witches and wizards refused his offer, he feared they would turn to Dumbledore for solace and protection. Although many people weren't wise enough to do this in time, Harry knew Lily and James Potter would be. Their names on Tom's list grew ever nearer, while thoughts in Harry's mind started returning repetitively to a half-blood Tom failed to appreciate: Remus Lupin.

With the Wizarding World War going on, Lupin was in a lot of danger. Tom had no idea he was a Werewolf, but if he found out, he would either force Lupin into work with his Wolves or kill him on the spot. He would see Lupin as a threat to his pack of Werewolves, knowing very well that Dumbledore's compassion spread willingly to 'half-breeds'. To protect Lupin from the horrors of the Dark Arts, to help the Order, and to influence Sirius, James, Lily, and Peter to turn to the Order too, Harry knew what he must do.

Before Tom could so much as convince Peter Pettigrew to join him, Harry was on his way to Nott's house. Nobody was home except Nott, who answered the door with a halfhearted smile upon seeing Harry. He looked ill, even in the dim light of the hallway. The full moon wasn't far away.

Nott invited Harry to sit in his living room, opening a discussion about the Order's most recent plans and missions. It was after talking about new Order members that Harry was able to open the issue that was on his mind.

"Tom has been searching for new recruits, lately. He's sent out scores of Death Eaters to bribe or threaten people into his work..."

Nott nodded once, slowly. After a certain degree of suspicion, he said, "I don't think Evadne would be interested."

Harry understood his confusion at once. "Oh, no, I'm not here to ask that."

Nott looked almost relieved.

"It's just, Tom's been hunting a lot of young wizards fresh from Hogwarts," Harry explained. "There's a particular wizard, Remus Lupin, who I think you should go meet with."

"Has Dumbledore suggested it?"

"Not exactly, no... This wizard isn't an Order member yet, but I think he should be. He's not a dark wizard. He was bitten by a Werewolf at a young age and he's had lycanthropy almost all his life. You know that with this war, he'll have to choose sides whether he likes it or not. If you convinced him to join the Order, I think it would do all of us a lot of good."

For the first time, Nott seemed at a loss for words. His bright eyes lingered on Harry's green ones, showing a sense of empathy Harry had never seen in healthy, uninfected beings. Nott had struggled between great hate and great sorrow for the Werewolves these last few months, but it seemed that news of a young Werewolf swayed his opinion towards the latter. Without restraint, he agreed to do it.

Nott discussed the subject of Remus Lupin with Dumbledore soon after Harry suggested it. Dumbledore might have had plans to recruit Lupin already, but all Harry cared about was getting Nott and Lupin to meet. If they talked together, they might see that they weren't entirely alone. Remus Lupin undoubtedly had a need to seek revenge against Fenrir Greyback, so there was no better place for him to be than in the Order of the Phoenix. To Harry's relief, Lupin joined them at Nott's offer.

Lupin joining the Order of the Phoenix struck an immediate change in James, Lily, Sirius, and Peter. It was during the process of them finding out about the Order when Tom sent out his Death Eaters to recruit James Potter, oblivious to the changes Harry had inflicted. The Death Eaters returned to the Chimaera Hideout with bad news, Black speaking to Tom privately about it. Tom returned from their discussion in a rage.

His mood changed the atmosphere of the entire Chimaera Hideout, causing the Death Eaters around Harry to fall silent and tense. Tom began barking orders at those who stood in his way, hissing scathingly at those foolish enough to ask him questions. It became clear to everyone that testing Tom's patience was a very bad idea. Even the most brutish Death Eaters slid away from him the moment they could, refusing to answer any questions the others threw at them about what had happened with James Potter.

Many excuses were given by the Death Eaters to leave. Others merely followed in silence, hoping to go unnoticed under their Lord's burning gaze. Tom left the main hall without saying a thing to anyone. Harry soon followed him, unfazed by the many pairs of eyes that locked to him in his brave endeavour.

Up in the library, Tom was trying to contain the fury that possessed him. He sat in a handsome, crimson armchair, closing his eyes and leaning forwards, the tips of his fingers brought together before his lips. There was no fooling Harry that he was calm: he knew Tom wanted nothing more than to murder any mortal who dared cross his path.

"What happened tonight?" Harry asked, sitting in a chair opposite Tom. "I haven't seen you this angry since you found out about the Order."

Tom didn't appreciate the reminder. "Potter is undoubtedly already trained for such work..."

Harry didn't know what to make of this. Tom carried on talking, perhaps glad for someone to discuss his anger with.

"My youngest Death Eaters were right to boast of the strength of James Potter, but they overlooked one detail. His mind is ruined. He is, undoubtedly, one of Dumbledore's loyal soldiers..."

"Did... did Potter fight the Death Eaters off?"

Tom shook his head once, parting his hands and sitting up in his chair. When he opened his red, burning eyes, he stared at the low ceiling above them, anger stilling his movements and causing him to glare. "He escaped an attack. Alongside Evans..."

Harry was about to say this wasn't so bad, until he remembered that eighteen-year-olds didn't normally escape the power of the Greatest Dark Wizard of All Time on a whim. He hated to think what magic the Death Eaters would have attempted on Lily and James if they hadn't fought them – or what magic they used when they saw a willingness to defend.

"Dumbledore is a fool to create enemies for me within the walls of Hogwarts," Tom said in a hiss, his teeth bared and his words ringing with such force, even Harry was unnerved by it. "If he wishes to raise an army against me, then I will accept his challenge. I will take down every guilty soul who dares to question the true power of magic. My magic... Evans and Potter have defied me once, but they shan't do it again..."

Harry was internally startled by Tom's words. He knew that his parents would 'thrice defy' Voldemort, as the Prophecy described it; this was their first step towards marking themselves for death. There was only one good thing Harry could see from all this – Lily and James had proved themselves to be worthy Order members and Dumbledore wasn't going to hesitate before accepting them.

Tom was furious when he found evidence to suggest that Potter and Evans had indeed joined the Order of the Phoenix. He was even more enraged when Sirius Black followed their lead. Regulus Black had joined the Death Eaters, but he wasn't yet proving to be as talented as his older brother. Regulus had done nothing to impress Tom beyond join him at a young age. He was an utter disappointment when compared to his cousin Bellatrix.

While more Death Eaters joined Tom and whole families were dedicating their lives to fighting for wizarding supremacy, many followers – Avery, Dolohov, Rosier, Black, Malfoy, and Lestrange amongst them – felt that it was an insult when Death Eaters didn't give up their sons and daughters to the Dark Lord. This lead many of the Death Eaters to question who had worthy sons and daughters. More than this, who had any children at all.

Harry discovered, quite by accident, that the Death Eaters were unimpressed by Nott's lack of children. Avery, to no surprise, was the first one to voice his opinion on the matter. The Death Eaters were waiting by an abandoned railway station for Tom to show up with three other men. They had committed another terrible murder tonight, but this time it wasn't to bribe or scare people. It was to trap whatever Auror was foolish enough to come here alone a the sight of the Dark Mark.

"You're from a good bloodline," Avery told Nott, as if this was news to him. "It'd be a waste if you never had children!"

"I am engaged," Nott reminded him, his tone casual yet disbelieving, as if nothing Avery said affected him. "My search for love is over."

Crabbe chuckled nearby. "Of pure blood, is she?"

"Of course."

"We should consider you lucky to find as fine a pure-blood witch as you did," said Black, who took it as a sign of dedication that Nott had waited so long before marriage. "It was better to wait than to waste your blood on someone lesser."

"You've been engaged for ages though," Avery complained. "Get married!"

"What's the rush?"

Avery looked dumbfound at the question. "There's a war going on!"

Nott laughed for the first time, but Harry didn't think it was genuine. "That's a fair point."

"The sooner you have children, the better," Avery told him. "My sons are almost all grown up now, but that only makes them more important to me. To this world, as well."

Nott smiled weakly, saying nothing. Harry continued to pretend he hadn't listened to this conversation, but it made him think a lot about what the Death Eaters must think about his situation. They didn't question his blood-purity anymore and they didn't seem to expect news of him finding a worthy wife. They knew he wasn't any more interested in marriage than Tom was. They had grown up knowing Harry and Tom were close and their calmness with the matter likely spread to the new generation of Death Eaters.

Whether they now believed that Harry and Tom were too dedicated to the Dark Arts to care, or too hesitant to stick to matrimony and monogamy, or too disinterested in seeking wives for other reasons, they never voiced it. They might not even think about it at all in fear of the Dark Lord's anger. Harry was Tom's closest Knight, so the Death Eaters truly believed he had power the Dark Lord respected. What interested Harry most, as an idle thought, was they probably weren't entirely wrong.

"You do want kids though, don't you?" Avery asked Nott.

"Yes," Nott answered distractedly.

"You'd better get a move on then, if you want your fiancée to be the mother. More eager men will take her if you don't."

Nott ignored Avery's advice and the subject was soon dropped. As much as Nott hid it, Harry had a feeling that Avery's words rang in his ears for the rest of the evening, pulling his thoughts back to marriage and parentage. The following day, in the gardens of Nott's house, Harry found out why.

"I find myself reluctant to go through with marriage," he said, staring off into the sunlit countryside in front of them. "I wanted it more than anything before. But now I'm not so sure..."

Harry didn't know what to make of this. "You still love Evadne though, don't you?"

"Yes, that's why I feel this way. If she were a common pure-blood that I wanted to marry to please my parents, I don't think I'd care, but you know that I love her. I can't bear the thought of infecting her life with what I am. Infecting our children with this disease..."

"You've been able to deal with this condition so far," Harry pointed out, hoping to force a better view on him. "She's not closed-minded – she cares about you and I don't think you being a Werewolf could change that."

"It would be a waste of her good blood."

"You think you'd pass on your lycanthropy?"

"Yes. Have you never heard people speak of half-breeds?"

"You're not a half-breed. Lycanthropy is a condition – it's more of an illness than anything."

"That doesn't mean I won't pass it on. It truly isn't worth the risk..."

Harry wanted to say that he knew it was going to be perfectly fine, but he remembered that even Lupin had been scared to have children. It could have been nothing but good luck that Teddy Lupin was born without lycanthropy. Or it could have been the result of the regular doses of Wolfsbane Potion Lupin took. Harry was starting to believe Nott had no hope, until he remembered something else.

"It's common for witches and wizards to spread rumours about this sort of thing. Especially the Death Eaters – all they stand for is blood-purity and wizard supremacy; they think racism and prejudice is a joke."

"Even the Ministry believes Werewolves are lesser beings."

"That doesn't mean they're right."

Nott didn't seem to trust his word. As a pure-blood, he had been told all of his life that blood-purity mattered and that other humans and beings were less fortunate than he, less valuable, if they were anything but pure-bloods too. Although he believed that all people were equal and blood-status didn't matter, it was hard to shake off a fear of lycanthropy when it endangered the lives of people he loved.

"I still wouldn't take peoples' hateful words into consideration," Harry murmured, watching the setting sun's rays filter through the tall grass around them. "People are often wrong in large numbers."

Still, Nott couldn't shake off his anxiety. "Even if, by some miracle, I didn't pass this condition on, what sort of father would I be to leave my children the failures of my life to carry? As a Werewolf alone, they'd be shunned..."

Harry thought Nott might have a point here, but he was considerate enough to be silent about it. As a Death Eater, Nott was marking his unborn son Theodore to be a suspect to the Ministry. As an Order spy, Nott risked him being an enemy to the Death Eaters too. As a pure-blood, Nott doomed him for prejudice and as a Knight of Walpurgis, he passed on a duty to worship the Dark Arts. As a Werewolf, on top of all that, Nott risked that Theodore would be hated by the whole wizarding world.

"This is why we're in the Order though, isn't it?" Harry asked, sitting back in his chair as he thought about it. "We're here to fight oppression and prejudice. As long as the Order exists, your children will be safe."

This was all perfectly true, assuming Theodore Nott didn't willingly take a more dangerous path in life. Nott seemed to be thinking something along the same lines. He thought about it deeply, his expression serious.

From what Harry remembered about Theodore Nott, he had always been a quiet student who stuck to his own thing at Hogwarts. He had never joined Malfoy's gang and nor had he shown any particular interest in joining Dumbledore's Army – though, as a Slytherin, he'd never been offered a place. It struck him as odd, suddenly, that he had so closely befriended the father of a Slytherin boy he attended Hogwarts with.

Harry had a nagging worry that maybe things had gone against the course of normal history, maybe Theodore Nott was no longer going to be born at all. He didn't know what this would change. He didn't know what affect this would have on Nott's life, or the life of various people around him. He knew that Nott wanted very much to have children, so he felt obligated, as Nott's friend, to do anything he could to help him achieve that happiness. He had only one theory on what might help.

"Listen... there might be a way for me to cure you."

Nott turned his head to stare at Harry in one movement. "You know how to cure lycanthropy?"

He realised how bizarre this sounded. "Well – well, there's been, er, theories on a potion that can help manage the affects... It's called the Wolfsbane Potion."

"Do you think that will help me?"

"Definitely. It could make a huge difference on your life."

Nott mulled it over shortly, his brow furrowed. "Who's been making this potion?"

The only honest answer Harry could give would be 'nobody'. The potion wouldn't exist for another few years. In fact, if anyone were to create it, it would be at around this point in history.

"I've just read some theories," he told Nott, avoiding his question. "If I'm not mistaken, there could be a way for me to patch the information together, to create the potion for you. You'd have to take it every month, for a week before full moon, but it'd be worth it. I'd learn how to make it and I could even teach you how."

"Wouldn't it be dangerous, testing out this potion?" Nott asked. "If you're around me during one of my transformations, I could kill you."

"You can't."

"What?"

He had said it so casually, so instinctively, even he was surprised to hear his own words. Nott stared at him, expecting him to explain what he meant. Harry was hesitant. He realised, slowly, that this could be the perfect chance to tell Nott about his immortality, to explain the sin that had been taunting him for so long... but he refrained.

"There's no way I'd be careless enough to stand in a room and allow myself to be attacked," he said, covering his mistake. "I'll be cautious about it, so we'll both be okay."

Nott did not immediately drop his suspicion. He fixed Harry with a curious gaze, until his thoughts wandered back to the Wolfsbane Potion. "If you're not wrong about this... I'd definitely be willing to try."

Harry knew he was only agreeing out of curiosity and desperation. Nott knew there was no guaranteeing Harry could uncover a cure, but he had enough trust and faith to at least let him try. The truth of the matter was, Harry knew very little about the Wolfsbane Potion and how it was made, but shreds of memory and concern for Nott's well-being are what motivated him into attempting its recreation. The fact that this Potion _could_ exist encouraged him greatly; all he'd have to do is research the faint leads he had from memory.

He began his work by writing down ingredients that he thought were most likely to help this potion – wolf's bane, or aconite, being the most obvious. He used magic to sense the importance of certain plants. He then researched the various properties and uses of these ingredients, writing up theories on what affect each component might have to the others depending on how they were brewed and prepared, and how certain ingredients ripened and changed with time. Tom's large collection of books was a very important guide for him, to begin with.

Tom had rare, valuable books in every Death Eater hideout and in the large library they kept in their unused house. Harry could read hundreds of books over the next few months without arousing suspicion. Although Tom took occasional interest in the texts on beasts, potions, history, magical illness, and ingredients that Harry studied, he did not think twice about why he might be so interested in these subjects. Harry could gain information here that he likely wouldn't have been able to find anywhere else.

The most important branch of research Harry found wasn't a study on Werewolves, nor a guide to potion ingredients and their properties, but the life's work of Hesper Starky, a witch who studied how the moon's phases affected the creation of potions. She had died five years ago, but her death only lead to more of her research and notes being released to witches and wizards who took an interest in her studies. Harry decided to follow her theories, going to various wizarding libraries, including Hogwarts' library, to find the information she left behind.

The more he read her work (especially her previously unreleased journals that were full of vague ideas and scribbles), the more he had a nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that she had been waiting for somebody to apply her advanced studies to new potions, like the Wolfsbane Potion. She spoke often about Werewolves in her journals because of their close connection to the moon. He studied her work closely, hoping to uncover any important theories she may have left behind.

With her theories in mind, Harry sketched out a plan of when to brew the potion. He had to create a balance between how long each stage of the potion went on for and what changes timing would have on the ingredients he experimented with. He had to spend a long time researching ingredients, but there were hundreds of books he could refer to for description of the properties of various components, so he found this work a lot less abstract.

Harry began brewing experimental potions in secret. It wasn't at all difficult for him to take rare ingredients from Tom's private collection without being noticed, but he had to find an unknown location in which to do the work. Once the first potion was nearing completion, Harry realised something. He needed someone to test the Wolfsbane Potion on... There was no way he'd feed this to Nott – it was too much risk, especially with aconite involved. He needed to find another Werewolf...

This problem bothered Harry deeply. He knew that Tom's pack of Werewolves grew in numbers with each passing month, so nobody would notice it, surely, if one Werewolf went temporarily missing, but what if the Wolfsbane Potion were to kill the wizard? Harry hated Tom's Werewolves and he knew how often they murdered innocent people in the most brutal, inhumane way, but could he really risk poisoning one of them without regretting it?

Harry was mulling over the problem on his way to the Basilisk Hideout, having spent an hour or two on the other side of England, adding ingredients to the Wolfsbane Potion. All of London was dark at this late hour and it was eerily quiet. Harry wasn't sure if potentially poisoning someone in the creation of the Wolfsbane Potion was a sane thing to do, even if that wizard was already a murderer. It wasn't only Nott's happiness that depended upon this potion, but his protection to; with the Wolfsbane Potion, it would be far easier for him to survive as an Order spy and Werewolf. Harry was stuck questioning morals...

Tom would be pleased if he knew the risks, Harry thought somewhat dourly. He would see this as a perfect opportunity for Harry to create another Horcrux... except, Harry would probably need to mean his murder in order for it to break his soul. Otherwise, remorse would mend it the best it could... Would he feel remorse at the death of Tom's Werewolf? He couldn't be sure. He approached the door the the Acromantula Hideout, lighting his wand.

He was about to give the password and step inside when a noise caught his attention. He thought he could hear heavy breathing, but when he looked around, no one was there. Everything was dark beyond the light of Harry's wand. He was wary of an Auror perhaps following him here, but he couldn't see how someone from the Ministry could have found his trail, and he didn't see why they'd be breathing heavily. He was about to give up, to head inside, when he heard footsteps to his left.

Someone was shuffling and staggering towards him. He lifted his wand up at once, in defence and to shed light on whoever was approaching. A Knight staggered into view, drawing in shallow breaths and looking at Harry with an exhausted, faint gaze. It was Rosier. Harry's mind raced to think why he'd be here, stumbling into the light of his wand. He wasn't able to stand long enough to even reach Harry.

"What happened?" Harry asked, moving towards him to help him at once. "Are you alright?"

"I'm f-fine," Rosier rasped, grabbing his arm for support. "I was at-attacked. B-by a zombie or, or a body, or -"

"An Inferius?"

"I – I don't know..."

Harry thought he recognised the wounds on Rosier. The Inferi had incredible strength and it was clear from Rosier's wounds that even he hadn't succeeded in avoiding their bites, scratches, and general attack. He was leaning to one side when Harry helped him up and there was blood sliding down his arm, tripping from his fingertips. His shoulder had been scraped at with furious swipes and he was bitten in several places.

"Did you use fire to fight it?" Harry asked, knowing this was the best attack against an Inferius.

"Yes," Rosier answered, closing his eyes and concentrating on his breathing. "I – I f-forgot, at first... It attacked m-me before I s-saw it..."

He was shaking horrifically, clutching at Harry's arm with his remaining strength. Harry thought he might lose consciousness if he didn't get him healed soon.

"We should go inside," he said. "Come on..."

Rosier followed him without a word. Harry gave the password to the Acromantula Hideout, pushing the door open wide. The main hall was dark. He could hear voices and see light in a room up ahead, so he headed towards it, supporting most of Rosier's weight.

Several Death Eaters were sitting in a meeting room, talking merrily of gruesome things. Avery, Dolohov, Crabbe, and Gibbon were amongst the most talkative, sitting together in a group, while Regulus Black sat closest to the door, not saying a word. When they heard and saw Harry and Rosier approach, they turned their attention to them, alarmed by the sight of blood. Harry moved Rosier to the nearest empty chair.

"What happened?" asked Gibbon, standing up to have a better look at Rosier. "Was there an Auror attack?"

"No," Harry told him, his attention on Rosier. "It was an Inferius, I think."

"An Inferius?" repeated Regulus.

"How did that happen?" asked Avery.

Harry shook his head once, giving no verbal answer. He tried to pull on Rosier's shirt to better look at his shoulder. His eyes were closed against the pain.

"Do any of you know healing magic?" Harry asked the watching Death Eaters.

Nobody answered. Harry remembered, then, that these wizards were only trained to kill and harm others, not to help them. Vaguely annoyed, he realised he'd have to heal Rosier himself. He'd never been good at this. Even as he unbuttoned Rosier's white shirt, trying to look at his shoulder, he thought of the young girl he had failed to save in Nott's arms.

"Is he gunna be alright?" asked Avery.

"If you let me concentrate, then yes," Harry answered coldly. He wasn't sure why the death of the young girl should haunt him now, even in his warmly-lit hideout. He could remember her silent struggle and the grasp of her tiny fists...

Harry really thought he should know some better medical magic by now. Even at seventeen, he had wanted to learn, so why hadn't he? The only magic he knew that could cure wounds as dark as an Inferius attack was a spell he had learnt from Severus Snape at the age of sixteen. It was surprising that he could preform this advanced magic at all.

He was about to start his spell, when calm, delicate footsteps interrupted his concentration. He recognised the footsteps as Tom's; he was approaching from the hallway. The Death Eaters, hearing this too, soon fell quiet, taking their seats in unease. When Tom appeared int he entrance of the room, his dark eyes scanned the faces of the Death Eaters, before finally falling on Harry and Rosier. He stared, expressionless.

"It seems you have a bit of an Inferi problem," Harry said in a low voice, barely able to stop himself from glaring. It was bad enough having Death Eaters killed and captured by the Ministry, he could barely comprehend why an Inferius would be wandering the streets of London.

Tom only smiled, his eyes locked on Harry. His smile slipped away when Harry turned his attention back to the Knight. Harry reached out a hand to remove the bloodstained shirt further down Rosier's arm. The bites and scratches of the Inferius had torn his flesh to a horrid mushy, oozing wound. Rosier tensed at his touch.

"Black, take Jonathan's place," Tom said, his tone cold. "Rosier's wounds won't need so much attention..."

"Yes, my Lord."

Harry looked up, bemused. Did Tom believe he wasn't capable of preforming the medical magic Rosier would need? In which case, when had Tom ever seen Harry use a healing spell? Harry tried to make sense of the situation and of Tom's strange behaviour as he stood up, allowing Regulus to take his place.

"What was an Inferius doing in London?" he asked Tom, genuinely curious.

"It was an experiment," Tom said quietly. His eyes were fixed on Rosier. "The chance of a Knight crossing its path was slim..."

Harry noticed, then, just how annoyed Tom was. His eyes were burning with suppressed anger.

"Are there more of them around, my Lord?" asked Dolohov, sounding unsettled by the idea.

"That depends upon whether or not Rosier defeated the first."

"He did," Harry assured him. "Well, he scared it off, at least."

"They d-don't die easily," Rosier panted.

"So," Tom said in a hiss, "if you all avoid wandering London tonight, you should be safe."

"There's not more of them, then?" Dolohov asked, hastily adding, "my Lord."

"Unless another wizard trained in the art of Necromancy has decided to release an experiment tonight, then no..."

Harry wondered if it annoyed Tom that Rosier, of all people, had been attacked. Or was he annoyed that his Inferius had been defeated? Had he wanted the Ministry, perhaps, to fight it first?

"Why'd you make one of these zombies, my Lord?" Avery asked, as if he couldn't help himself.

"It was not a zombie," said Tom shortly.

"An Inferi, then."

"It is an Inferius."

Avery sighed in annoyance. "An _Inferius_ then, my Lord."

"I needn't answer your foolish questions, Avery..."

Still, Tom's eyes did not move away from Rosier's face. It occurred to Harry, slowly, that Tom could have disliked seeing him pay Rosier so much attention... but was that really enough to enrage him so deeply? Harry knew Tom was a jealous person, but did he really care that Harry put his hand on another man just to heal him?

Tom's calculating gaze was somewhere between furious and intrigued, as if he was trying to determine whether or not Rosier fit the description of something he was searching for. Harry wondered, with a certain amount of uneasiness, if Tom had got another flash into his mind. Another mistaken encounter...

"The Inferi are a very powerful weapon," Tom said in a low voice, surprising Avery with an answer to his questions. His eyes narrowed on Rosier. "It is every intelligent Dark Wizard's desire to have power great enough to awaken and possess the dead, to put use to wasted mortal bodies. The Inferi do not truly live; they are possessed beings, animated by magic, not by their long-lost souls. In large numbers, the Inferi make an excellent, invaluable army. Since they are already dead, no common spells in war will stop them. They're reanimated soldiers in immortal flesh..."

Rosier's eyes were still closed. Regulus worked on his wounds silently, but he seemed to be listening to Tom's words. His movements slowed, at points. Harry noticed, then, that Regulus had almost finished healing the Knight. The magic he used was significantly more powerful and accurate than anything Harry might have tried.

Later that evening, Harry discovered the truth behind why Tom had released an Inferius in London. When they were alone and Harry asked about it, Tom admitted to owning too many dead bodies thanks to the recent increase in Death Eater attacks. He admitted, far from the sceptical ears of the Death Eaters, that he had begun putting dead Muggles to use, too. He was testing Muggle strength in comparison to wizarding strength and he had discovered there was no significant difference. He told Harry that this would be a far better use for the Muggles he planned to wipe out...

Harry had refrained from asking about Tom's anger towards Rosier. He knew that if he let the issue die away without drawing attention to it, Tom might forget about the whole incident. Harry fell into the habit of thinking about his problems concerning the Wolfsbane Potion, while Rosier returned to work as a normal Knight. It was through watching Rosier closely that Harry became interested in the next biggest Death Eater mission. Lucius Malfoy, of all Death Eaters, had discovered the location of two Order members and Tom wanted to organise an attack against them.

They were going to try and attack Frank and Alive Longbottom, to scare both the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic. This took a lot of planning and effort on Tom's part – he chose the perfect day to attack, he picked the smartest Death Eaters to take part, and he created confidentiality amongst his followers to avoid his enemies getting anything close to a warning. That's why, when Harry warned Dumbledore of the Death Eaters' attack, he was haunted by more guilt and regret than he thought possible. It was so easy to ruin Tom's plans, to protect the Order members who simply couldn't die...

Dumbledore was astounded and readily respectful when Harry warned him about the next Death Eater attack. He told Harry he had done a great thing tonight, he had saved several lives, but Harry didn't feel proud at the complements. In fact, Dumbledore's eager glee made him feel somewhat sceptical about the things he stood for. He wondered if this was because of the loyalty towards Tom he was breaking. He couldn't be sure.

Tom joined Black, Rosier, Lucius Malfoy, Dolohov, Avery, and Weiß personally to attack the Longbottoms, but with the subtle, careful defences put up by Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, the night didn't end well. Several Order members had, in Tom's eyes, been summoned by the Longbottom's at the sight of the Death Eaters approaching. At their arrival, a battle had burst between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters – the first main fight these two sides of the war had faced.

Several witches and wizards were harmed in the fight and eventually the Order of the Phoenix was forced to retreat. When they were gone, the Death Eaters counted their numbers, informing their Lord that Weiß was missing – he had been captured by the Order, undoubtedly, to be sent to the Ministry. Worse than this, Dolohov was dead. Such unexpected losses enraged Tom more than words could express, but all the Death Eaters knew it.

Many of Tom's followers were alarmed and shaken by Dolohov's death – it wasn't common for their own people to die at the hands of the Order or Ministry. They were only ever captured or hurt, normally. Harry could see the reality of this war striking Avery, suddenly, as well as Crabbe, Goyle, and even Mulciber, who had all been closest to Dolohov. Tom felt no grief for Dolohov's death, to no surprise.

"One of you will have to inform Antonin Dolohov that his father was not wise enough to avoid a quick death," he said cruelly, his eyes fixed on the Death Eaters who had failed him. "I trust you won't be proud to divulge the news..."

The Death Eaters were all silent, many of them avoiding Tom's eyes.

"It appears that six Death Eaters was not enough to win even this simple attack," Tom carried on in a cold hiss. "Could you not fight the Longbottoms under my instructions? Could you not so much as take down a single witch or wizard from the Order of the Phoenix in dedication to your Lord?"

Avery, to no surprise, was the only one to answer.

"Well, we fought 'em off, didn't we, my Lord?"

Tom cast him a cold, cruel glower. Avery still didn't drop his gaze, however. Dolohov's death had inspired within him a new sense of bravery and apathy.

"We still made 'em run," he mumbled. "We know their faces now, as well."

Black seemed interested in Avery's words. He looked up at Tom fearlessly.

"Avery has a point, my Lord. During that single battle, I should think we saw the faces of many valuable Order members. Bones, for one, and the runaway from my family, Sirius Black."

"I saw Meadows fighting," Rosier added, perhaps hoping to change Tom's mood into a better one. "The Prewetts, too. They took part in a duel against Dolohov."

Tom surveyed these two Knights with a look of intrigue and fading anger.

"My nephew Sirius fought alongside the Potters," Black said. "I believe they're close friends."

At this, Tom's anger returned, but this time it wasn't directed towards his followers. He didn't like hearing a reminder of the Potters, who had caused him such trouble in their dedication to Dumbledore. He scowled, drawing himself up to the greatest height.

"If these witches and wizards are so foolish as to fight against Lord Voldemort in clear sight, let us create a kind reminder for their greatest mistake. The Order has fought well, but they shan't succeed in escaping us next time. The Potters have defied me twice, but they shan't do it again..."

While Rosier and Black had succeeded in turning Tom's anger from the Death Eaters to the Order, Harry grew more anxious. He was well aware that the Order members had no reluctance to show their faces because they knew they were safe under Dumbledore's protection, but that wouldn't stop the Death Eaters and Tom from hunting them down determinedly, waiting for a any moment to strike. Under Tom's anger and his deep discussions with the Death Eaters that night, Harry was able to slip out of the Chimaera Hideout to visit the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters.

He wanted to warn Dumbledore of Tom's anger and he wanted to see whether Nott had decided to stay near the Order of the Phoenix tonight. He found that a celebration was going on at their headquarters, a lively mood filling the house even when Harry was in low spirits. He arrived at the place quietly, hearing many voices coming from meeting room to his right. From the doorway of the room, he saw many witches and wizards talking happily, healed and healthy, triumphant and joyous.

Fabian and Gideon Prewett were a joking about their part in the battle, talking to a few others while Hagrid sat drinking deeply from his goblet nearby, amused by their tale. Dumbledore and Doge were conversing pleasantly, while Meadows told the story of how she fought off two Death Eaters alone. Frank and Alice Longbottom are nowhere to be seen. They must have been bringing Weiß to the Ministry, Harry mused. He moved further into the room. He was about to head towards Dumbledore, to take a seat close to him, when heard heard voices that caught his attention.

From this clear view of the room, he could see, now, that the youngest Order members had joined together to talk at the far end of the table. Sirius and James were describing their part in the fight tonight, Sirius making an obvious gesture of an explosion and laughing, while Peter Pettigrew listened closely, gasping at all the right parts. Remus and Nott were talking about something else quietly, seriously, but with evident interest. Lily Potter had been listening to them, but now her attention was directed solely towards Harry.

Her curious green eyes startled him more than he would expect. This was the first time Harry could remember having his mother's eyes upon him, but it sent what felt like shards of glass to his heart. He knew that while he looked at the strong woman who had sacrificed her life to save him, he stared back as nothing more than a strange, scarred man. While their eyes remained the same, hers were calm, powerful, and curious and his were lost, turned bloodshot past the emerald green.

Harry felt dizzy and he could see a sign of recognition in Lily's eyes. Did she, perhaps, still see Jame's features in his face? He didn't stick around long enough to find out. He could feel more eyes on him as he turned away, heading out of the room. A chair pulled back and someone was following him. It was Nott. He met Harry in the dimly-lit hallway, appearing calm and eager to talk. Harry wished he hadn't followed him.

"I suppose you heard about the attack," Nott said. "Have there been changes amongst the Death Eaters?"

Harry shook his head, trying to overcome the disorientation that tormented him. "No, nothing's changed. Except, Tom – Tom wants to hunt them, I – I think. The Death Eaters recognised some of them..."

"Are you alright?"

Harry wasn't sure how convincing a lie would be. He felt as if he was going to be sick; his heart was aching with an unnatural, familiar pain. "I'm – I'm..."

Nott stepped towards to look at Harry more closely in concern. "What happened to you?"

"N-Nothing... N-Nothing's happened..."

Nott didn't believe him. His brow was furrowed, his eyes locked to Harry's. "You don't look well."

Harry shook his head, closing his eyes for a second. "I – I just need to – to..."

He couldn't comprehend how much he had ignored the love and protection of his parents' sacrifice. Here they were, alive and well, and too soon they would give up their lives to protect their unborn child from Voldemort's wrath. To what avail? To ensure that Harry could grow up to be the twisted, sad man he now was? In love with the very man who had caused the misery in his life...

"Is that – are you bleeding?" Nott suddenly asked, alarmed.

At the question, Harry felt it. There was blood dripping from his nose. He reached up a hand, terror catching him when he saw his own crimson fingertips. This couldn't happen, not now...

He felt a hand on his own. Nott moved his hand out of the way, forcing eye-contact. His expression was serious. He could feel Harry's palm shaking.

"What's happening to you?"

Harry couldn't answer. His ribcage felt as if it was going to collapse in on itself. It was hard to breathe against this pain. He knew he had to get out of his house, away from here. Deliriously, he mumbled uncertain words, heading for the doorway. Nott followed him outside, into the warm night air.

Flashes of memories and pangs of regret tore through Harry as he turned away from Nott. Everything the Order stood for, everything his parents had sacrificed for him, everything the Prewetts and McKinnons and Bones had died for, had all been in vain when he chose, a the age of seventeen, to run away rather than face Voldemort in death... Memories of seeing his friends' deaths and seeing the Longbottoms mindless and tortured in St Mungo's caused Harry to feel physically ill. He needed to fix all of this...

"We need to get back to the Death Eaters," Nott was saying. "Back to the Dark Lord."

"N-no," Harry panted. "I can't go back, I... I need t-to check something..."

"Well, wherever you're going, I'm going with you."

Harry wasn't bothered by the idea. He needed to get away from here, to go back to his and Tom's unused house. To his horror, he caught a flash in front of his vision of a long, dark table, surrounded by the faces of curious, fearful Death Eaters. Tom was in a meeting...

"I'm going to Apparate... If you want to – to come with me, I'll take you..."

Nott nodded, stepping forwards to take Harry's outstretched hand. With a swish of their cloaks, they were gone, zooming miles across the country in seconds. When they landed, Harry felt more dizzy and sick than ever. He held onto Nott's hand for support, his eyes closed. He didn't dare look at Nott, lest Tom should get a flash into his mind because of this pain. When he regained his balance, they headed for the house.

Nott didn't ask why they were here or what Harry wanted to check. He was far more concerned with Harry's well being, even when they headed up the stairs, to his and Tom's bedroom. Harry went immediately for the handsome closest he and Tom stored rare items in, locked in drawers. In there, he'd find the only Horcrux that wasn't stored away at Hogwarts or by Tom's side. The Pocketwatch.

His hand lingered above the Pocketwatch for a paused moment. He didn't know whether or not Tom might catch a vision from him if he dared to test his own Horcrux. Closing his eyes securely, he reached out a hand to feel the metal of the watch. He couldn't tell whether or not it was still cold – his hands were shaking badly and he was too warm. The watch felt changed. He stood up straighter, turning around.

Still, without looking up, he thrust the Horcrux towards Nott. "Is it cold?"

Nott hesitated for only a moment before reaching out a hand to touch the smooth surface of the Pocketwatch, avoiding Harry's trembling, bloodied fingers. "It's sort of cold, I guess."

Harry realised this was a futile test. Waves of agony caught his chest, causing his nose to bleed further, despite the magic he used to try and manage that. He set the watch down on the ground, drawing in a deep breath. In one swift, sure moment, he pointed his wand at it.

"_Stupefy!_"

There was a flash of light and a crash. The Pocketwatch skidded across the ground. When Harry went to retrieve it, he saw a new dent in the watch's surface. His stomach lurched in anxiety, his head pounding and aching as he realised, in one swift moment, that this couldn't be a Horcrux any longer. He kept his eyes shut tight. He could see the meeting room with several Death Eaters looking into Tom's eyes. He could feel Tom's pause, his curiosity.

Harry could feel something was lost and empty in the Pocketwatch. He felt more lucid, more pained, as if locked corners of his mind had just been opened for the first time, reminding him of thoughts and feelings he had silenced long ago. He concentrated on his breathing, taking in deep breaths.

"I n-need... need you to create a distraction," he told Nott breathlessly. "Now. I – I need Tom distracted... Attack a Death Eater or – or..."

Nott didn't need him to finish the suggestions. He was a strong enough Knight to take orders without questions nor hesitation. His only concern was the bloody nose Harry pointedly ignored every few minutes. His eyes lingered on Harry's shaking limbs and the fits of coughing that overcame him.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"I'll be fine... please, just – just do what I ask..."

Although undoubtedly confused and alarmed, Nott nodded once. He watched Harry for a few more hesitant seconds before turning, swiftly, to leave the house. Harry was left alone, hoping beyond anything that Tom would not find him here tonight before he could get over his broken Horcrux.


	75. Lycanthropy

75 – Lycanthropy

Harry felt as if the room around him was being hurtled through the air, spinning at indirect points, swirling before his vision. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing hard. His head pounded as if it was full of too much blood, as if it might burst open at any moment from the pain of his burning scar. His stomach lurched in agony and anxiety, with neither a moment of pause nor a clear explanation of which wordless memories flickering through his mind tormented him most. Behind closed eyelids, his dizziness and remorse grew ever worse.

He was only vaguely aware of the Pocketwatch he clutched in one hand, which he squeezed to release stress. The gold was warm against his sweating, shaking palm, telling him that he had become slightly more human. He resented his growing soul in the moments of conscious thought he could grasp. He resented the pain of guilt and regret, the process of redemption. From a fist, his pulse beat against the broken Horcrux as if the course of time itself radiated from his heart. This clock bore no cogs or ticking hands. Only stars. Only magic. A constant reminder of time slipping by...

With unease, Harry became aware that he had to get up. He rested against cupboard doors, his head tiled back. It felt heavier than usual and it ached badly. His mind was full of too many troubles, he thought. Too much pain... He became aware, again, that he couldn't be found here. He didn't know how much time had passed since Nott stood nearby, talking to him, but it can't have been long. He reached a hand up to his head, clutching at his scar. All he knew was that Voldemort would be here soon if he did not leave. _Voldemort_, he thought. _Voldemort again_...

_Darkness swam before his vision. He was trying to remain calm by keeping his eyes locked shut, his ears open. All this security, all these vigilant Death Eaters, and still they could not spot an Order member ready to attack them? He was angry. The pain was gone, but new irritation curled his hands into fists. _

"_What do we do, my Lord?"_

_Light slid into his eyes when he lifted his gaze, finally, to the surrounding Death Eaters. He could attack them now for their idiocy, but what good would this do? Their ignorance was deep – too deep for him to accurately eradicate. Avery stood bravely before him, the only Death Eater willing enough to bear the news without delay. _

"_Search for intruders nearby," Harry answered in a low hiss. His voice was unusually cold, yet familiar. "Pray you don't come back here empty-handed..."_

_The Death Eaters all stood up at once, eager to begin their hunt. It was then that Nott became visible, standing above Travers, who looked as if he had been slashed with a knife in several places. There was no need for panic at the simple wounds, but the knowledge that Dumbledore had struck with the Order again was infuriating beyond compare. They must have followed the Death Eaters. Dumbledore, the old fool... darkness swam forth again..._

The high, dark ceiling of the old bedroom faded into Harry's view once more. It wasn't an entirely comforting sight. Even if Tom was distracted now, he might decide to leave the wounded Death Eater and Nott at a moment's notice to find Harry. He might notice his absence and wonder, suddenly, what could be distracting him elsewhere. There was only one thing Harry could do now. Gathering his remaining strength, he stood up, stumbling and clutching his head once he was on his feet. Darkness clouded his vision, but this time it was due to nothing but dizziness and nausea.

He clutched the Pocketwatch in one hand and leant against the cupboard. There was no way he could leave a broken Horcrux here, not when it was warm and dented; Tom might have caught a glimpse of his mind and he may have seen the Pocketwatch. He didn't yet know of the connection Harry shared with him, but he might still check this hiding place in a day, in a week, to silence the strong suspicion that something was wrong. Harry focused on his breathing for a moment, before taking out his wand.

Willing his determination in powerful bursts, Harry summoned a candlestick from across the room. It would not be missed. He tried to think what magic he'd need to use on it. His head was still pounding and spinning. If he got this over and done with and if he cleaned himself up, he'd be safe... The first thing he did was transfigure the candlestick into a weak replica of the Pocketwatch. It looked almost exactly the same, except it was made of silver instead of gold and it didn't work like a normal watch – the stars and runes inside changed at random, unsure how to act convincing.

Any close study would tell Tom this watch was a fake, but Harry had no choice but to settle with it for now. Using a trick so cherished by leprechauns, he transfigured silver into faux gold. He may have been able to find real gold and morph it, but there was no time. He cast one last charm on the fake Pocketwatch to make it cold before sliding it into place in the cupboard, putting the real watch in his pocket. He closed the drawer, stumbling across the room to crash onto the bed, aching with the change his soul had gone through tonight.

In the time it took for Harry to regain some energy, he concentrated hard on any foreign thoughts or emotions that might shine through his mind, warning him of Tom's movements. He found nothing out of the usual. Tom was furious at the Death Eaters, but his thoughts never turned to the bothersome sense of foreboding that surely caught his attention. Harry lifted his wand to clear the blood from his face. His head and heart ached, but the room had stopped spinning. Nauseous and exhausted, he got out of bed.

The broken Horcrux was a heavy weight of guilt in his pocket and mind when he returned to the Chimera Hideout that night, hidden under the Invisibility Cloak. Tom was ordering his Death Eaters around, demanding information and more effort from them. Nott was nowhere in sight, but Travers was resting in a chair nearby, fully healed and soaked in his own blood. A wave of relief and comfort found Harry when he headed for the bedroom upstairs. He wanted to go to sleep, but he resisted the urge, knowing there was still more to do.

He spent a small amount of energy hiding the Pocketwatch in a cupboard nearby, in a place he guessed Tom wouldn't look soon – not tonight, anyway. Tomorrow, Harry would have to find a better hiding place, somewhere further away. He couldn't let the thought take up too much space in his mind. It was too much worry, too much anxiety. He didn't know if he would rather fix this Horcrux by recreating it, or if he'd keep it broken forever to keep his twisted soul more whole. Whichever he chose, would he tell Tom about it? He didn't want Tom to question what had broken his Horcrux. He didn't want him to begin getting suspicious...

For an hour, Harry stayed in the bedroom, urging exhaustion to leave him so he could pretend nothing had happened tonight. It was with all the energy and effort he could manage that he went downstairs to find the meeting hall empty, the place in near silence. Tom sat alone at the large, dark table everyone sat at during meetings. He looked up from his work when he heard Harry approaching, but he didn't notice anything unusual about him.

"Is everything alright?" Harry asked, standing a few paces away.

"Barely," Tom answered in a scathing tone, turning back to his notes. "There was another attack. Travers was chased by someone, a member of the Order of the Phoenix. It was fortunate Nott was nearby; the Order would have captured Travers for the Ministry to take care of..."

"When did this happen?"

"In the last two hours. The Order must have tracked our movements, following Travers to London. Our Death Eaters were fools not to notice they were being watched. After everything we've taught them, after everything that's expected of them? Security is of the upmost importance and still they do not proceed with caution..."

Harry walked idly towards the table, placing his hand on the back of a chair, but he didn't yet take a seat. He knew he was safe for the moment because Tom was blind with rage, but he felt he might be pushing his luck if he stayed here for too long. The Death Eaters incompetence, no matter how real or unreal it was, left Tom weakened and distracted by anger. A list of excuses to leave swam to Harry's mind, but before he use any of them, Tom noticed his hesitance.

"Do you not wish to sit?"

"Oh... I dunno, I was just thinking."

Tom's eyes narrowed. His inclination to suspicion and scepticism grew stronger than usual when he was frustrated – and he was clearly very frustrated about the day's events. "Where were you tonight, when all of this was happening? You disappeared halfway through a meeting."

Harry was unnerved by his curiosity, but he spoke before unease could touch him. "I was upstairs, reading."

This was the wrong answer. Tom looked warier still. "Reading, when all of this is going on around us? When the Order of the Phoenix is so eagerly thwarting us?"

Harry stepped forwards, taking a seat at the table to stall an answer. "I thought you might want time to yell at the Death Eaters alone," he said. "You know it's difficult, having me around when they're in trouble. They get curious when you avoid blaming me. I was waiting for you."

To his relief, Tom's eyes visibly softened. This answer made sense and it suggested a certain amount of good judgement on Harry's part. Tom's distrust wore off, being replaced by something like sullen brooding that shielded his amusement.

"However foolish the Death Eaters may be, I shan't let it affect what we have," he said shortly. "I shan't let it affect everything we've worked for, everything we've gained through years of careful planning, power, and persistence... Come, let us plan our response to Dumbledore's foolish attacks."

As Tom beckoned him forth, conjuring a new chair beside his own, guilt found Harry cruelly, twisting itself like a knife in the depths of his heart. He had no choice but to follow Tom's request, standing up to take the chair. Several rolls of parchment depicting maps, written notes, and detailed plans of attack were flattened out across the table, resting amongst pots of ink and delicate quills. How many of tonight's plans alone would he have to divulge to the Order of the Phoenix, he wondered?

Tom wanted to seek revenge against Dumbledore for handing Weiß over to the Ministry of Magic. With trust and open confidence, he described all of his plans to Harry, explaining how the growing number of Giants under their control might terrorize Britain and how they might, eventually, be able to turn the Ministry against the Order. Tom's anger grew weaker when enthusiasm took over in a twisted mix of revenge and power. Harry's guilt grew painful the more time he spent listening.

How many of Tom's ideas might he pass onto Dumbledore in secret, to protect the Order from crumbling? And if he told Dumbledore nothing, how many other plans would the Order discover when Harry and Nott gave reports of the Death Eaters' movements? Too many, Harry felt. Even while he and Tom crafted a masterful plan together, he felt like a poising dripping slowly onto these rolls of parchment. Tom opened up to him fully, but he gave nothing back beyond a knife to Tom's exposed, lonely heart.

In fear of breaking down under any further remorse, Harry realised he had to avoid seeing the Marauders and his mother from this point on. There was only one thing he could do to avoid them. He spoke to Nott very briefly the following day to ask when Dumbledore would most likely show up at an Order meeting alone. Nott suggested visiting Bones' cottage in the middle of the week, which he did. He found that the Order Headquarters was indeed very quiet and there were no Marauders around, but Dumbledore wasn't here.

"Do you have any idea when he might show up?" Harry asked Edgar Bones, who sat with Dorcas Meadows and the Prewett twins at an old wooden table.

"He's supposed to be here already," Bones answered. "I reckon he won't be longer than twenty minutes."

"Alright, good. Thanks."

"Take a seat, if you like. We're just waiting for the others to show up."

Harry thought it over swiftly, before nodding and pulling up a wooden chair.

He hoped Dumbledore would be amongst the first to return. If the Marauders came here, it would be difficult to leave quickly. The idea worried Harry deeply, but more than this, he worried that the Prewett twins might recognise who he was. The more time he spent around them, the more he risked influencing memories of when he killed their father. They were talking to Dorcas Meadows, their tone light and uncaring.

"I reckon those Death Eaters are taking on more than they can handle," said Fabian, clearly intent upon belittling his enemies' abilities. "What with fear of the Ministry keeping them on constant alert, I wouldn't be surprised if half of their arrests come from them breaking down under the pressure alone."

"What about the Death Eaters who aren't so weak?" Meadows asked him. "Their constant watchfulness will only make them stronger."

"I guess we'll just have to take care of those ones ourselves," Fabian answered, grinning.

"You've seen the way they fight," Meadows reasoned. "You know they're very strong."

"But we keep defeating them, don't we? We keep fighting them of."

She couldn't argue with that. She smirked, leaning back in her chair.

"I heard you fought well in the last fight," mentioned Harry, driven by curiosity. He surprised even himself when he spoke to the Prewett twins. "I don't think anyone expected you to ward off so many Death Eaters with the others. It was brave of you – all of you."

Dorcas, Gideon, and Fabian all looked at him, stunned.

"Thank you," Gideon said, appearing genuinely moved. "It was – well, it was all we could do, seeing the Longbottoms targeted like that."

Harry disliked the reminder of Frank and Alice Longbottom. He knew they wouldn't have this sort of safety forever.

"I'm not looking forwards to the next fight," Bones admitted, sounding unsettled. "If they're how the Death Eaters reacted to a surprise attack, I can't imagine a planned one."

"I don't think they've gained enough information to plan a full attack on us just yet," Meadows reasoned.

"When they do, we'll be prepared for it, anyway," added Fabian.

"And what if we aren't?" asked Bones. "If we aren't prepared, we won't stand a chance. We clearly haven't been trained as much as them."

"I don't think you're unprepared," said Harry, speaking honestly. "If you can fight against Voldemort and win even in a surprise attack, you've done better than anyone could dream."

The four sorcerers flinched and looked up at the sound of the name. Bone's eyes widened and he seemed, for a moment, completely lost for words.

"But – but he wasn't... I mean, he – You-Know-Who – wasn't in that fight, was he?"

Harry realised, suddenly, that they didn't know this. Dumbledore, surely, had noticed Tom in the fight, but the others might not have. Dumbledore had kept this a secret, probably to avoid scaring the members of the Order of the Phoenix. His caution was foolish, in Harry's eyes – the Order members in front of him weren't terrified or discouraged. They looked nothing but amazed and inspired.

"Yeah, he was there," Harry told them. "I thought you all knew."

"Did you see him?" Bones suddenly asked, turning to the Prewett twins.

"If I saw him, I didn't recognize him," Fabian answered. "A lot of those Death Eaters fought like mad."

"Surely he wasn't amongst those fighting Dumbledore?" Meadows asked. "I doubt he would have needed others to help."

"Nah, we know that was Dolohov and a few people who helped him before he was killed," Fabian answered.

"Have you seen him?" Gideon asked Harry, his brow furrowed. "You look like you've faced quite a few rough battles."

Harry hadn't expected this question. He thought inexplicably about the amount of times he had stood with Tom alone, discussing love and power, the Dark Arts and their way of living. He nodded once, not meeting Fabian's brown eyes. "Yeah, I've seen him."

"What's he like?"

"Like any Dark Lord, I suppose. Pretty dark."

Fabian smirked.

"I'd hate to meet him," Gideon said, shaking his head at the thought.

"I doubt you will," Harry assured him. "Half the Death Eaters don't even see him unless they've done something that displeases him."

Gideon seemed tempted to ask how Harry knew this, but he weren't foolish enough to. Rumours of Voldemort always travelled far, anyway.

"If you ever did see him," Harry carried on, "it'd probably be the last thing you ever do. Voldemort doesn't waste time before wiping out his enemies."

"Don't – don't say his name," Bones stammered, looking around as if he expected a party of Death Eaters to burst through his front door any second now.

Harry had barely noticed his slip. He was so used to hearing Tom address himself as "Lord Voldemort" that it no longer bothered or scared him. He was probably the only person besides Dumbledore who felt this way, he realised.

"They say the name is cursed," Fabian remarked, explaining Bones' fear. "I don't know if there's any truth to it, but I doubt it's worth the risk."

He might have been wise to fear the name, Harry realised. He thought about how he had run away with Ron and Hermione at seventeen and how they had been captured when the name 'Voldemort' was spoken. Tom hadn't made his name Taboo yet, but one day soon, it might hold a lot of power. Harry was about to mentioning this to the four sorcerers, to explain that fearing a name gave it too much strength, when a sound made him pause.

Down the hallway, the front door was opening. There was a faint _click_ and a rattling of bells. Against his better judgement, Harry froze with the four Order members. All of their eyes were wide, their ears strained. Meadows reached slowly for her wand. Footsteps approached...

"Ah!" a voice called pleasantly from the hallway. It was Dumbledore. "I see I'm not the first one here."

A sigh of relief passed through the Prewett twins. Meadows relaxed from her tense state and Bones still looked as if he was going to be sick. Harry realised, suddenly, what power the name 'Lord Voldemort' held already. If Dumbledore noticed the previously strained atmosphere of the room, he was either used to it or unfazed by it entirely. He was with Elphias Doge.

"Shall we wait for the others before beginning this meeting?" asked Dumbledore.

"I think so," Meadows answered. "We are too few, so far."

Harry stood up, looking at Dumbledore.

"Ah, Jonathan. It's good to see you here. Is there news?"

"Sort of," Harry answered slowly. "I was wondering if I might be able to talk with you alone, before this meeting starts?"

"Certainly. Let us walk."

Dumbledore indicated the back door of the house. They headed outside, leaving the conversations that started up amongst the other Order members. Harry much preferred the calm, open atmosphere of the outside world. There was a large stretch of countryside visible past the garden of this small cottage, where meadows and forests stretched for miles and mountains towered in the far distance. It was a crisp, frosty winter's evening and the sun was touching the earth's horizon. Sharp winds carried faint snow through the air, obscuring the farthest view.

"What is troubling you, Jonathan?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes focused on the winter shrubbery that greeted them as they walked. "It's uncommon for you to participate in any Order meeting, most of all so early."

Harry wasn't sure how to word his request. It would seem strange if he specifically asked to avoid seeing Remus, Sirius, James, Peter, and Lily for the rest of his life (or theirs, more conveniently). He found a way around this directness by saying, "I'm not sure if I can show up at these meetings, anymore. Tom is suspicious, I think. I'd be better off passing on information through Nott, but that might mean the information I give you is slower."

Dumbledore thought it over calmly, contemplating the sight of a large cherry tree before them as they walked onwards, stepping on hard, frozen earth. "If Lord Voldemort's vigilance is growing stronger, it is indeed logical that you should visit us less often."

Harry could see strange, wriggling magical moss clinging to the cherry tree. In the distance, fir trees bowed and nodded in the wind. "So, you don't think it will cause problems if I supply information less often?"

"No, I don't think that should harm us too much. Assuming, of course, that you still warn us if Voldemort plans another attack."

"I'll warn you about that, yeah. Or Nott will, really."

Dumbledore inclined his head gently, watching as silver sunlight broke through mist and clouds above them. "I rather thought being involved here might do you some good, Jonathan... but it is perhaps best that you do not get too involved in the plans we're crafting here."

For the first time, Harry was taken aback. He looked at Dumbledore, who's blue eyes were fixed on a bird flying overheard. Did Dumbledore not trust him? Did he want to use Harry as nothing but a one-way feed into Voldemort's plans, into his heart? Harry knew it was probably guilt that drove him to this confusion, but he couldn't help it. He began doubting Dumbledore.

"It is a grave situation," Dumbledore said, not seeming at all bothered by it. "It is dangerous, having you so involved with the Death Eaters. The only person currently in more danger than you is Christopher, I believe."

Harry had no idea how fond or distrustful Dumbledore was of Nott, he realised. He couldn't tell if Dumbledore was more interested in Nott's misfortune or in his use to the Order. Bitter winds billowed around them, making Harry shiver. "I just hope he stays safe..."

"Even as a Werewolf, he is safe amongst us," Dumbledore assured him tranquilly. "He's given us some very valuable witches and wizards through talking with a young wizard, Remus Lupin, and offering him the same protection."

Harry nodded somewhat impatiently. He knew all of this and he wasn't keen to talk about the Marauders. He soon found, however, that Dumbledore had more to say about them.

"You knew about Remus Lupin, did you not?" he inquired. "It seems that you knew he was a Werewolf long before that information could be available to you... You have predicted many events, in fact, that could not have been mere guesses."

Harry didn't like where this was going. He clenched his jaw, pulling his cloak in closer against the harsh winds.

"How did you predict these events, Jonathan?" Dumbledore asked gently.

He had theories, Harry was sure. Avoiding his eyes and looking, instead, at the frozen grass, he answered slowly, "I can't really explain that..."

Dumbledore was waiting. What was he supposed to say?

"But I... I might be able to explain it some other time," he said, unsure how truthful his own words were. "In the future."

This might have been a good enough answer; Dumbledore was calm and unfazed. Even if he might be waiting for an answer with burning impatience in secret, Harry felt there was a possibility he might forget to ask again. If Harry could help it, he'd avoid ever admitting why he had known about the existence of the Marauders so soon.

"Did Nott know about Remus Lupin's condition prior to your knowledge of it?" Dumbledore asked, "Or was it you who informed him?"

"It was me," Harry answered, seeing no harm in being honest about that.

Dumbledore nodded once, as if this fitted into a theory he had developed. "It is fortunate, for both of them, that this Order supplies them with a safe place to be."

Harry couldn't deny that. More often than he would be willing to admit, he felt a tremendous amount of relief that the Order of the Phoenix could protect Nott and Lupin for now. This brought his thoughts to the Wolfsbane Potion he was brewing...

"We should likely get back to that meeting," Dumbledore said, perhaps noticing how quiet Harry had become. "Unless you don't wish to stay?"

Harry could tell that Dumbledore didn't want him to stay. "No, I have to get back, I think... There's too much risk in staying around here."

"Then I shan't keep you distracted any longer," Dumbledore concluded, smiling.

Harry wasn't sure how genuine his smile was. Perhaps Dumbledore was just glad to see him leave, or glad to hear he'd never return to the Order meetings. Harry left Bones' Cottage with a troubled mind. He became very aware that his finished Wolfsbane Potion had to be tested soon, especially if Nott was now the only informant visiting the Order. He'd need a way to stay safe. Harry wasn't willing to test the potion on him, even if his life was suffering badly from this condition. It wouldn't be worth the risk – not when death was a very possible option.

Harry knew Nott was stalling everything in his his life – including his own wedding – due to lycanthropy. They rarely discussed it, but Harry could see pain in his eyes when people spoke about Evadne or his engagement, or even when Werewolves were discussed by the Death Eaters. No Ministry would accept them as normal witches and wizards and no Death Eater ever saw them as more than impure beings. Werewolves were given only two options: join a clan and kill or be killed. Most Werewolves would do anything to get their hands on a potential cure or relief, but was it right to kill some of them for it? Would it be right to save Nott and let someone else take the risk?

With each passing full moon, progressively larger groups of Werewolves were joining Tom, some of them new victims of lycanthropy, some of them old wolves who were finally impressed by the revolution. Stories of their killings grew brutal but fewer, as if even the Death Eaters wanted to avoid talking about the mass number of killings, choosing instead to discuss only the most interesting cases. In spite of his better judgement, Harry found himself listening to the names discussed. He knew who most of the Werewolves were and what they did...

One night, a week before the full moon, Harry stood with Black outside a grimy pub in Muggle London, waiting for Crabbe and Dolohov Jr to show up. They were supposed to be here any minute, to explain what had happened the night before – the Dark Mark had been found looming above an apartment building in London in the early hours of this morning without Tom's approval. Five Muggles had been murdered and Tom wanted to know who did it.

Muggles passing by on the street cast furtive, disapproving glances at Harry and Black, who stood in half-darkness near the pub's entrance. Harry knew the Muggles could see they weren't like normal people. Black was almost cringing away any time a Muggle came near him, as if he feared his magical ability might be sapped from him if he stepped too close.

"I can't understand why they're staring at _us_ like that," Black remarked, glaring at three Muggle men who kept looking back and staring as if they couldn't believe their eyes. "If they only knew of the power our world possesses..."

Harry refrained from commenting. While Black surely believed these Muggles could sense his superiority, Harry rather felt it was the way they looked, not the power they possessed, that caught Muggle attention. As wizards, they stuck out quite obviously here. It didn't help that Black was dressed in the finest wizarding suit made of purple silk, with a strange, glowing flower pinned to it. Although this look was fashionable and represented royalty amongst wizards, Harry wasn't sure it had quite the same effect on Muggles.

"I'd be glad to teach them a little lesson in the art of magic," Black added in a low voice. He glared at almost all the 'filthy' Muggles around him, including those who didn't notice him. "Perhaps the Dark Lord should expect a few more unauthorized attacks tonight..."

Harry smirked before he could stop himself. Black was calmed at the sight of it, as if Harry had given him approval to hate the Muggles around them. It was then that Harry saw two brutish figures moving through the crowded street, stopping every few seconds to avoid Muggles as much as possible. Dolohov Jr and Crabbe had arrived.

They weren't happy to be meeting here. Crabbe had his nose scrunched up and Dolohov Jr kept glancing around wildly, as if he expected Muggles to jump on him and attack at any second.

"It's good to see you made it here alright," said Black as they approached. Harry noticed a certain degree of snide disapproval in his tone.

"Yeah, it's lucky," Dolohov Jr replied, his dark eyes reduced to slits momentarily when a Muggle passed in front of him.

"How long have you been waiting amongst filth?" asked Crabbe.

"Too long," Harry answered. "Do you have news?"

"'Course, yeah," said Dolohov Jr. "Turns out it was just Mulciber after a few too many drinks."

A voice chuckled behind Crabbe. Harry noticed, then, that a third man had accompanied the Death Eaters here tonight. Harry didn't recognise him. Black followed his gaze.

"Who's this?"

"One of them wolves," Dolohov answered, glancing at the man. "He decided to help our little investigation, following blood trails."

The unknown wizard bared his teeth at a crowd of four Muggle girls and three men passing by. They swerved around him, some of them glaring, others laughing drunkenly or staring in fright. In the light, Harry recognised this Werewolf as Jacan Procyon, murderer of three known Muggles and one wizard 'blood-traitor'.

"How did Mulciber break into that Muggle flat?" Black asked, carrying on in a businesslike tone.

"I've no idea. If the Dark Lord wants to know, he'll have to find and question Mulciber himself."

"You couldn't find him?"

"Nah, he's been missing all day."

"Well, I doubt he's got himself killed. We'll know where he is when news comes of another few freshly murdered Muggles."

They all seemed to know the truth in this claim. Harry didn't think much of it – his mind was occupied by thoughts of how perfect it was that a known murderer and Werewolf should appear right now, when he needed one most. With a mix of guilt and pressure, he wondered whether this man would be missed if he disappeared for a little while...

"Is there anything else our Lord might need to know?" inquired Black, addressing Dolohov Jr.

"Well, we saw some Ministry workers investigating the building after we'd already left. He might want to know that they're pretty curious to find out what happened."

"I think he'd expect as much," Harry murmured, tearing his eyes from the Werewolf. "We'll be able to find out if or when they find something."

"We should go, in case we catch any more Muggle attention," Crabbe remarked, glancing around as yet more people stared.

Black turned to Harry. "Should we bring this news back to our Lord?"

Thinking, suddenly, that he'd be wasting an opportunity if he left with Black, Harry shook his head. "I can go tell him myself. I'm sure you have better things to do tonight."

He seemed to have guessed correctly. Black's expression softened as if this was a great relief.

"We don't have to go back there, do we?" Dolohov Jr asked, his eyes drifting in the direction of the pub. He'd never drink here, but he clearly liked the idea of celebrating a long day of investigations.

"You don't have to," Harry answered. He became very aware that the Werewolf wouldn't follow the Death Eaters tonight. "I'll save you the risk of being yelled at by the Dark Lord. I'll tell him I let you go."

Dolohov Jr laughed thickly and joyously, seeming more like his dead father now than ever. Crabbe was equally as approving. Harry saw Procyon look around idly, clearly thinking about where he'd go next. Harry had a plan.

"I'm glad all this worked out," he said abruptly. "I'd better go now."

"Good luck talking with our Lord," said Crabbe, his tone a cross between pity and laughter at Harry's luck. He was a very new Death Eater, Harry mused.

The others said their farewells and soon Harry was making his way through the Muggle crowd, disappearing into it. Ignoring the strange glances people shot at him, he made his way to the nearest side-street, which was cast in shadows. He reached into his pocket and waited for a group of Muggles down the road to turn the other way. When he felt they were distracted, he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak with both hands and threw it over his shoulders, disappearing from sight.

One Muggle had stopped in the street, staring at where Harry just was. In the horrid orange light of the street lamps, the Muggle kept watching, his mouth agape, but there was nothing left to see. Harry hurried back to the main road, hoping Black, Dolohov Jr, Crabbe, and Procyon were still waiting around. The two young Death Eaters were gone and Black was saying something to Procyon, who nodded in understanding. Black soon turned away.

Harry advanced towards Procyon, almost bumping into several Muggles in reluctance to take his eyes off the Werewolf. It wasn't likely that he'd Disapparate in public, but there was no telling how careful or careless Tom's followers might choose to be. Harry didn't know what his full plans were when he drew near Procyon, but he knew nobody would see him missing any time soon. No one would ask questions about where Harry was right now and Black, Crabbe, and Dolohov Jr had no reason to suspect he had turned back to follow Procyon tonight.

The Werewolf was walking casually towards the street. Harry walked several paces behind him. He could see every movement the Werewolf made while he remained undetected. He wished, not for the first time, that Tom had ordered them to meet in a less crowded place. It was difficult to navigate around Muggles without catching their attention. Harry soon withdrew his wand to create a soft, subtle barrier around him that Muggles would drift around absentmindedly. The Werewolf wouldn't notice the lack of people behind him.

Harry knew who Jacan Procyon was. His name came up often in Death Eater discussions and when he was spoken of, each new story proved to be more gruesome and inhumane than the last. He was almost as bad as Fenrir Greyback and Gavin McDarline, in Harry's opinion. The Death Eaters weren't allowed to talk about their work or to share names of other Death Eaters, but talking about Werewolves was the exception. Tom's clan grew in numbers steadily and names did almost nothing to help Aurors capture the murderers amongst them.

Procyon turned so abruptly, Harry almost missed it. He headed down a shadowy street. A middle-aged Muggle man headed straight for Harry and almost crashed into him, seemingly. Due to his direct approach, he didn't know whether to go to the left or right of the invisible, magical shield. He stopped dead instead. Muggles were bumping into him, becoming agitated and suddenly aware of the gap where Harry stood. Before their sudden curiosity grew to awareness and before Procyon noticed the cluttering people, Harry slipped into the side-street too.

He thought, at first, that Procyon was trying to avoid something he had seen up ahead, but it became clear from his haughty, bothered expression that his patience for Muggles was merely wearing thin. He wanted to be alone. What he didn't know was that Harry wanted this too. The street grew darker the further away they got from the main road and in solitude, Procyon believed he was growing safer every second. As a Werewolf and a follower of the Dark Lord, he believed no one would dare attack him.

Harry gripped his wand more tightly under the Invisibility Cloak, preparing for what would come next. It would be easy to attack Procyon, because confidence grew into a weakness in the actions of the arrogant. He believed that because he was able to attack weaker people in his beast form, he must be superior and must therefore unbeatable. He didn't realise there is greater power in intelligence and awareness. Feeling as if he shouldn't waste a moment more, Harry attacked.

"_Stupefy!_"

Procyon was down in one movement when the spell struck. The muffled crash of his heavy form hitting the ground didn't catch the attention of anyone, not even the people slumbering and relaxing in the flats up above. Harry advanced towards the Werewolf's unmoving body, taking off the Invisibility Cloak for a better view. This attack was so easy, it baffled Harry to think the Ministry struggled to capture Werewolves in their human form. He wondered dully if the Ministry would even care about his immoral actions tonight. To them, morality mattered nothing compared to results; they wanted Procyon dead and they likely didn't care how it was done.

Harry pulled on Procyon's shoulder, making him roll over onto his back. He was out cold. Harry wasn't sure what he wanted to do next. It was as if he was acting out steps of a plan that became clear only when he was close to the next step, looking at it through a fog. He had his attempt at the Wolfsbane Potion waiting in an abandoned house that he could Apparate to with Procyon. He knew his actions were wrong, but if he did all of this for the right reasons, would that make it okay? He didn't want to hurt this wizard or to leave him harmed for the rest of his life. His sole motivation was making Nott and Lupin and every other Werewolf's life better.

So, focusing on his belief that his actions weren't immoral, Harry took the Werewolf's limp hand in his own and stood up. He span on the spot, Disapparating from London in an instant. He arrived at an empty stretch of countryside where no artificial lights surrounded them, so the stars above would have been crystal clear if the moon wasn't shining brightly. It was exactly a week before full moon. The circumstances were too perfect for Harry to completely ignore.

He levitated Procyon's limp body through the air and headed for the entrance to the empty house. Once inside, he produced a thin mattress for the Werewolf to rest on. He then searched in his pockets for any items that might cause him to escape. There was nothing but a sack of gold and a wand. Harry took these away, heading into another room to lock them in a chest for now. There were only three rooms on the bottom floor of this tiny house, one of which was occupied by this chest and a large cauldron on a table with ingredients and books scattered around it.

Harry turned towards the cauldron, which was empty. The Wolfsbane Potion was being held in several small phials secured on a rack nearby. This abandoned house hadn't been used in decades and none of the Death Eaters had ever been here, so Harry's potion and ingredients were entirely untouched. He took one of the phials full of potion and returned to the main room. He couldn't afford to waste time.

He'd have to wake Procyon up now. He hesitated for a moment when he realised the Werewolf might recognise him, but he decided not to wear a mask; his voice could be recognised, anyway. He planned to modify the wizard's memory once this was done, so everything would be forgotten. He had learnt advanced magic concerning memory through Tom and it would be the most convenient solution. He approached the resting wizard.

"_Rennervate_."

Procyon's eyes slid open. He appeared dizzy and unable to see for a moment, but he tried to sit up, swaying where he was.

"Where... where am I?" he croaked. "Did you – did you attack me?"

"I had to," Harry murmured, seeing no harm in being honest. "I needed a Werewolf and you were one."

Procyon stared, his eyes darting around the room every few seconds. "Where are t-the others?"

"They went home and out," Harry reminded him. He looked away, choosing instead to pay attention to the phial in his hands. "Remember?"

"But you – your su-supposed to be talking t-to –?"

Harry was barely listening. He uncorked the Wolfsbane Potion, catching Procyon's full attention. The potion emitted faint green smoke.

"W-what is that?"

"A remedy," Harry answered in a low voice.

"For..?"

"Lycanthropy."

Procyon was astounded at first, then dubious.

"It hasn't been tested yet," Harry explained. "It's a brand new potion."

He prepared for Procyon to be suddenly terrified or angry, but he found no trace of these reactions in his face – in contrast, a wonder-filled look misted over his eyes. Harry realised, with a start, that Procyon was nothing short of amazed. He was a murderer and a proud Werewolf who grew stronger each passing month, but a possible escape from his condition tempted him and made him feel lucky. Harry realised in a whirl of relief and disbelief that this didn't have to be a terrible, criminal act. This was a glorious discovery, in Procyon's eyes, an unheard of opportunity.

"You're going to test it on me?" the Werewolf asked, sounding delighted.

Harry was momentarily mystified by the change in situation. He had prepared himself to sedate Procyon, to fight him off, to use defensive magic against him, so the thrilled tone and eagerness he showed threw Harry off quite a bit. It was then that he realised he could have made a deal with almost any Werewolf without capturing them against their will. They all wanted this potion to exist, so apparently the risks meant nothing to them.

"If you – if you want to, yeah," Harry answered slowly. He held the phial in one hand, his wand in the other. Procyon's eyes were locked on the potion.

"Why would I want to miss an opportunity like this?" he asked, mesmerized.

Harry gave no answer. He didn't understand why this potential escape or relief should enthral Procyon. He thought Tom's Werewolves were proud and angry because they enjoyed being these fearsome beasts. Maybe, he realised, they were only proud because they were given no other choice. Despite the pain and regret Harry had witnessed in Nott in relation to his lycanthropy, he realised now that he didn't know how bad the illness was for an actual Werewolf.

"You'll be taking a big risk by testing this potion," Harry explained, driven by sudden honesty and fairness. "This potion was just a theory a few months ago. You'll be the first person to ever try it."

"I'd be willing to take those risks."

"Are you sure? I don't know what it will do – it could paralyse you, impair you, cause you to develop some sort of illness, poison you, or even kill you. It contains aconite, or wolf's bane."

"I reckon I've seen my fair share of life," Procyon answered calmly. "I don't have much to lose, anyway, and I might not have much choice, seeing as you knocked me out and dragged me all the way here for this."

Harry wanted to say he still had a choice, but he wasn't entirely sure if that was truthful. He had prepared himself to force this potion onto Procyon and they both knew it. Stalling for time, Harry conjured a simple wooden chair, taking a seat.

"My whole life's been a risk, since I got infected," said Procyon, speaking more to himself than to Harry. "Any day now, I could get captured by the Ministry. Any month, I could lose control and do something I really regret, so why not gamble a bit more? Even if I go all-in. It isn't as if I'd be missed." He laughed at the thought. "It might be a quick death, anyway."

His careless view on all of this went against everything Harry had feared about immoral actions and death. To this Werewolf, living a life of pain wasn't worth it, and if he had a chance to change this world's view or to change this illness, it was worth the price of any risk.

"I hope you know, this won't cure you forever," Harry explained. "It only manages the affects of lycanthropy – it stops you from mentally turning into a beast. You'll have to take it every night for a week before the full moon."

"That's still a better cure than any," Procyon reasoned. "And if it works, you'll give me some more of the potion? For later use?"

Harry hadn't thought this far ahead. This situation was moving too fast for him to fully comprehend. He realised quite shortly, however, that it was only fair of him to give Procyon this cure, if it worked. He only wondered how it might change Tom's wolves. "I'd be willing to do that, yeah. Or I could teach you how to make it – the knowledge is more valuable than anything."

Procyon nodded slowly, thinking it over. "This could change how the Ministry thinks of us, you know. I could walk a free man, again."

"I'm not sure how soon the Ministry would forgive your murders," Harry said before he could help it.

The Werewolf grinned boyishly. "Well, they don't have to know about that, do they?"

Harry didn't suppose anyone would rat him out. Humour didn't comfort Procyon for long, however. Reality caught up with him when he saw the commiserating look in Harry's eyes.

"We only do all that because we're left with no choice," Procyon said. "All of us. That's the truth of it. This illness, it takes over. It starts ruling more than you'd ever think possible. What choice did I have, but to join people like me, to give into being a Werewolf? My clan is my protection. I choose to accept my illness, to accept inhumanity, because struggling against it just isn't worth the risk."

There was something genuine in the way he spoke. Harry didn't feel the need to comment on the things being said, even if it was changing his view on Werewolves. Harry watched Procyon closely, thinking. It felt strange, but somehow right, to talk to this wizard now like nothing bad had happened.

"How are we going to do this, then?" Procyon asked, moving on form his sentiment. "We may as well get started, if I need to take this a week before the full moon."

"Tonight is the first night you'll have to take it," Harry told him. "So, whenever you're ready, just drink this and we'll see what it does."

"If it doesn't kill me, I'll have to take it all week?"

"Yeah, every night."

Procyon wet his dry lips, staring at the potion with a daring, prepared look. "Pass it here, then."

Harry did so at once. The potion emitted soft smoke and for a moment or two, the two wiards did nothing but watch it, transfixed. Then, in a whirl of spontaneity, Procyon raised the phial to his lips.

"Let's just hope this works."

He drank. It was a long, visibly uncomfortable action; Procyon's face screwed up as if he'd never tasted something so bad. When he was done, he took the phial from his moth, urging Harry to take it while he gasped for air and let out a note of disgust.

"How do you feel?" Harry asked at once.

"That was bloody awful! You couldn't change the taste, a bit?"

He didn't look faint or ill. Harry thought he'd give it a few minutes to kick in, though. "Well, I wasn't exactly thinking about it in terms of taste."

"It's barely worth the cure," Procyon joked, laughing. "I don't feel any different."

"That's probably a good thing."

If anything, Procyon looked quite happy to be alive and well. Harry reached for the cork and plugged it back in the empty phial. If this potion really worked, if he'd managed to brew it correctly already, he felt as if everything was worth it. He wondered, suddenly, if this would cause a noticeable percentage of Tom's Werewolves to leave. He'd have to remain anonymous as this potion's creator, if so.

"What are you doing all of this for?" Procyon asked him eventually, leaning back on the thin mattress. "Is this a part of the Dark Lord's research?"

"No," Harry answered slowly. "It's... more of a personal project."

"You don't believe Werewolves are lesser beings, then?"

"No, I don't."

Procyon found this unusual. His eyes narrowed curiously. "I don't see why a Death Eater would try to help half-breeds like this."

Harry shook his head. "You're not a half-breed, though, are you? This is an illness."

"I suppose."

It was common for Werewolves to take on the labels other witches and wizards gave them, Harry felt. Perhaps Procyon indeed thought of Werewolves as less, like other people. Perhaps he believed it did change the value of blood-status and blood-purity, as if that even mattered. If that was the case, he'd probably start questioning how dedicated as a Death Eater Harry was. To cover his own tracks, Harry started talking.

"Death Eaters should believe in blood-purity, not in who's sick and who isn't," he said, thinking fast. "I honestly believe this is an illness and nothing more – it doesn't change your blood-status. The Dark Lord is powerful because creates new magic, he's more advanced in studying the Dark Arts than anyone in history, so isn't it right to carry on in his footsteps? To... to do more research into these things? This revolution is about changing the wizarding world, breaking out of wizarding suppression."

"But this isn't Dark Magic," Procyon mentioned. "This is a cure. What's that got to do with wizarding supremacy?"

It took Harry only a second to find a suitable answer. The lies came to him so easily, he surprised even himself. It was unnerving. "I'm trying to create purer wizards. I – I know this will sway cured Werewolves into believing in the Dark Lord, so maybe they can fight as Death Eaters, one day. That's hundreds of witches and wizards the Ministry has lost because of their hatred of beasts and their love of Muggles."

Procyon's brow furrowed and he shifted fully onto his back, so he could stare at the ceiling and think about this. "That's certainly something worth looking into... I'd do anything to see the world change like that..."

Harry knew he was convinced. He would probably just believe Harry was a smart, slightly insane Death Eater who brutally tested the extent of magical power whilst abusing the freedom and protection of Lord Voldemort. That was better than being a potential spy. He felt it was lucky, suddenly, that he had acted so irrationally by snatching Procyon. Any Death Eater would have.

"Let's just hope this cure actually works, before we start thinking about how it'll change the world," Harry murmured. "You still might get ill."

"I feel fine," Procyon assured him. He sat up on the mattress, propping himself up on his elbow. "How are we gonna continue testing this, anyway? Should I keep coming back here so you can see if I'm alive, or should I take those potions home with me?"

Harry had planned to keep Procyon locked up for a week, in truth. He realised now that it would save him a lot of time if this potion was tested elsewhere. If Procyon did it on his own, Harry could significantly reduce the risk of Tom seeing he was gone.

"Yeah, you might be better off taking the Wolfsbane Potion home with you," he said. "Maybe you should write down the results of the potion, as well, so there's some documentation."

"To send you it through owl?"

This seemed a logical step. If Procyon died in the next week, the information could be taken by the wrong hands. "Sure, yeah. In fact, give me your address and I'll send you an owl tonight with the place you should send your notes to."

He assumed it went without saying that he'd have to set up a safe address for this to work. He wasn't going to risk receiving this information at any of the Death Eater Hideouts, in case Tom or one of the Death Eaters found the letters and became a little too intrigued. Harry thought he might be able to use an abandoned house, or his and Tom's unused house, or even the Order headquarters without complications.

He summoned a piece of parchment and a quill. Procyon heaved himself up off the bed to take it.

"Write your address here. I'll go get the potions and your belongings."

Procyon nodded. Harry turned away, in the direction of the back room. He thought it best not to tell Procyon he had locked his money and wand away in a trunk. He retrieved them absentmindedly, levitating them through the air. Turning to the desk where his cauldron and ingredients rested, he grabbed a small case padded with silky material and set the six phials of potion inside it, closing it. He wondered, for a moment, if it was wise to give away the potion so easily...

"Who should I address these letters to?" Procyon asked when he returned to the main room.

"Jonathan," Harry answered. "Jonathan Smith."

Procyon smiled. "Hiding something, are you?"

"Why would I be?"

"About your name. I've never heard them refer to you as anything but 'Our Second Lord'."

Harry slowed to a stop, startled. He supposed the name 'Jonathan' was probably too unspecific and informal for someone of his position, but to be considered second to the Dark Lord... He didn't feel like it suited him.

"You're almost as feared as him, I reckon," Procyon carried on idly, thrusting the parchment and address into Harry's hands. "I can't say it's all that surprising."

Harry took the address, still unsure what to say. The address seemed valid. Even if it wasn't, he'd be able to track of all Procyon's moves from this point on. Did the Werewolf know this? Did he, perhaps, fear Harry, causing him to take these tests without question? If he did, he'd never show it.

"Here's your wand and your money," Harry said, levitating the two items forward, "and here are the potions."

Procyon wouldn't be able to run with the Wolfsbane Potion and turn a profit from it – not without the knowledge of how to brew it. There weren't enough potions in that case to last through even one full moon. From this, Harry had to assume Procyon was making a real deal with him.

"Thanks," Procyon said, taking the case from mid-air.

He pocketed his gold and reached for his wand, placing in the sleeve of his robes. When he looked up, he seemed healthy enough and in good spirits. He grinned at Harry as if tonight's events had been an adventure very worth it.

"What you're doing here is revolutionary," he said, "which seems only fitting, given how the world is changing. It's rare to meet wizards who value Werewolves and even rarer for those wizards to not be one himself. I respect that. If this test don't work, I wish you luck in sorting it out."

Procyon reached out a hand for Harry to shake. It was a form of agreement, he realised, an unbreakable vow without the use of magic. He accepted with little hesitation, feeling Procyon's muscular hand around his own.

Harry wouldn't normally put his trust in anyone, lest of all a follower of Lord Voldemort, but somehow he knew Procyon was being honest. He saw more sincerity in this Werewolf's smile than he'd ever seen in Dumbledore or in the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Procyon was an honest crook and an honest murderer, but he was willing to be brave to stop hundreds of Werewolves becoming what he had become. There was odd, pure honesty in that.

– X –

Back at the Chimaera Hideout, several Death Eaters were waiting around for their Lord to return from a small mission. Harry was glad to see Tom's absence – it meant he could pretend he had returned here earlier than he really had. Tom would have no reason to suspect he had been anywhere but in London with Black and the others.

Harry felt calm when he walked past a table where several Death Eaters had begun a card game. Nott was standing across the room, almost hidden by the bulky forms of Goyle and Avery. Without catching the attention of the others, Harry drifted towards him, glad to see Avery and Goyle had begun arguing about something insignificant.

"Hey," he said, stepping forwards to catch Nott's attention. They wouldn't be overheard nor particularly noticed here. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Nott answered. He seemed to mean it, but he looked pale and ill, like he always did in the days that led up to the full moon. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I am, thanks. Listen, I was wondering if I could ask you a favour? I need a safe address to receive some letters at."

Nott's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"It's for research," Harry explained shortly, refraining from glancing around in case he caught the Death Eaters' attention. "Related to, er, your condition."

Nott understood at once. He nodded. "I'd be happy to let you use my address."

"Alright, brilliant. Thanks."

"So you've – you've completed the potion?"

Harry was relieved that he had a safe address and he felt a need to be honest with Nott. He would have preferred to keep it a secret that he was testing the potion on someone else, but it was too late now. Nott would figure it out on his own.

"Yeah," he said. "I found someone willing to take it."

It was impossible to tell what Nott thought about this. He nodded once, his tired eyes staring into Harry's own for a long moment. "That must have been dangerous."

"No, it isn't yet."

"But will you be there?" he asked. "When he... the test subject..?"

Harry gathered Nott meant 'will you be there when he transforms at the full moon?'.

"I'll be there, yeah."

Nott glanced to their left, as if he wanted to say something he hoped no one could hear. "But you're sure you won't get hurt?"

It was neither a plead for caution nor a request for reassurance. Nott knew he was smart and strong enough to avoid mistakes. He was asking this for an unsaid reason. Before Harry could work out what it was for, he answered, "I'm sure."

He thought this answer might have worried Nott. He seemed eager to change the subject, telling Harry something else that was on his mind. "If there's anything else I can do to help, all you need to do is ask."

Harry could tell he was being genuine. He nodded once in thanks. "I'll pick up the letters at the next meeting, yeah?"

Nott would understand he didn't mean a Death Eater meeting. "I'll be sure to bring them."

To ensure they weren't found talking when Tom returned, Nott left shortly after this, disappearing into a crowd of Death Eaters. It would be a few days before Harry could safely take part in another Order meeting, but he knew he'd be able to get a clear idea of the Wolfsbane Potion's success through several day's worth of letters from Procyon. His only fear was that Procyon might get ill by tonight and never get around to writing a single letter.

Tom returned to the hideout less than twenty minutes after Nott drifted away. A lot of Death Eaters had news to bring him. It took almost another hour before he was free and in that time, Harry waited in the library upstairs, where he was currently hiding the Pocketwatch. He took up a book to read, taking a seat on a comfortable black couch. When Tom came upstairs, he appeared exhausted and agitated. His dark eyes stared out of an enchanted window.

"We've been running into more trouble than ever with our trades," he said, "yet the heart of our problems, the true challenge we face, still resides in our quarrels with the Order..."

This was all unsurprising and not at all news. Harry closed the book in his hands. "Black and I found out what happened last night, with the Dark Mark looming above London. It was Mulciber. He had a few too many drinks, I think."

"That's nothing a few words with him won't fix... He didn't return here, with you?"

"No, I haven't even seen him. He ran off again last night. I expect he'll be here in a day or two, though – you know what he's like."

Tom certainly did. He paced the room, his dark eyes thoughtful and annoyed.

"Aurors started an investigation on the bodies found there," Harry told him, "but that's hardly unusual. We can have someone at the Ministry throw them off, if anything makes them suspect Mulciber again."

"It's all the same," Tom responded shortly. He was unwilling to give the problem much thought, which Harry felt was probably for the best. "His attack shan't harm us. If anything, it may have shaken the Ministry further."

"As if they need to be shaken any more."

Tom turned to look at him, his pace slowing. He heard something odd in Harry's tone. "What do you mean?"

"Half the Ministry is struck trembling at the very thought of you, Tom. You've made even the bravest Knights scared – and it isn't just them who fear your name, anymore. Almost everyone seems to."

"As they should," Tom said delicately, after a short hesitation. He seemed almost surprised to hear it. Harry assumed no one had dared to speak to him about this.

"Some people seem to think your name is cursed," Harry carried on, thinking about how the Order reacted to it. He was curious to see what Tom thought. "I don't know what they fear might happen if the name 'Voldemort' is spoken, but they're terrified. They seem to think you'll show up, somehow, like the name summons you."

"Good," said Tom, perhaps pretending to be unfazed now. "That's how is should be, is it not? Perhaps I shall make their fear a reality..."

"How would you do that?"

Tom's red eyes turned to his, full of thoughtful mirth and mischievousness. "I could curse the name as readily as I cursed the Defence Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts..."

Harry learnt back in his chair, thinking it over. Tom's eagerness to go through with this impressed him, a bit. "You think you could do that again? That wasn't easy."

"It would be advanced magic, very advanced... Yet can you imagine the impact it would have? We could know who speaks my name and when. We could use it as a tool, to track down anyone foolish enough to become familiar with the idea of Lord Voldemort..."

"It's not a bad idea," Harry admitted, wondering now if he was to blame for the creation of the taboo.

"It would be perfect... Complicated, but I shall find a way..."

If Tom managed to create this magic now, Harry wondered why Dumbledore had encouraged people to say the name 'Voldemort' and not 'You-Know-Who' when he was a child at Hogwarts. Was it to encourage a larger number of people to use the name between wizarding worlds, so when Voldemort rose again, he wouldn't have this power?

"What have the Death Eaters been calling me?" Harry asked, the thought striking him suddenly.

"Why would they call you anything?"

"Well, they have to call me something. What name do they refer to me by? There was one Death Eater, just today, who called me 'Our Second Lord'."

"Truly?" Tom asked, suddenly alert. A smile broke across his face.

Harry paused. He had no idea why this idea would please Tom. "Yeah, but I don't understand it."

"Why ever not? You are not one of them. They can see this."

"What do they see me as, then? I'm not their Lord."

"Well, if they have deemed you their Second Lord, they surely accept you as something close to an equal to me."

An uncomfortable knot felt like it formed in Harry's stomach. He paled at once and hoped his nervousness didn't show. Shaking his head and standing up, he said, "That's not true, though."

The corners of Tom's lips twisted up. "I don't believe they are quite wrong."

Harry hated to hear this. He wasn't going to allow that assumption to stick in Tom's mind if he could help it. Why should he be glad to hear and assume that Harry was almost as powerful as him? Normally, he hated competition. Was it merely that Harry was on his side?

"I don't support such a childish title, however," Tom carried on, thinking it over more seriously. "Perhaps we shall fashion you a new name, one full of a greater meaning than 'second'. As convenient as it has been to refer to you as 'Jonathan', it is an exceedingly outdated name..."

Harry had no opinion. He drew in a deep breath, looking out of the enchanted window. "I don't want a new name. I don't want them to know me as anything."

Tom tilted his head to the side a little, surveying him. "If that is what you desire... perhaps we shall leave you nameless."

"Do you think that would work?"

"Most certainty," he agreed softly, "if that is what you desire. There is power in anonymity, great power. They cannot categorize and become familiar with that which they cannot name. Familiarity inspires calmness and disregard. A constant indefinability inspires fear and disarray..."

Harry could see the logic in this. For the first time, he was interested, until humour caught him. "Are you trying to make me a secret weapon?"

Tom smiled, taking slow steps forwards. "Not a weapon, no. You are more powerful than anyone dares to believe, for I have taught you lessons in the art of magic more advanced and fearsome than common mortals can comprehend. You have learnt things that my darkest followers could only dream of learning. You have power that they could never hope to obtain, and still you are learning... You are not a weapon to be used, my love. You are a warrior who does not yet need to fight. Even you, seemingly, do not understand what power you possess..."

Tom's sincerity and pride in this belief was clear. He stood only a foot or two away from Harry, gazing upon him as if he were a wizard of great reverence. Harry believed he could indeed be a good fighter one day, but he was still unsure who he might be fighting for. Tom had confidence in him that was like ice to his heart...

"So, how will I stay anonymous?" Harry asked, keen to change the subject slightly.

"Well, it is a convenience that will create itself," Tom told him gently. "The Death Eaters may refer to you as 'Our Second Lord' for now, but soon the name 'Jonathan' will be entirely forgotten. When you begin fighting in this war, none will know you by name. They will know only your power... If, of course, they live to tell the tale."

Harry smirked before he could help it. "I'm still not a murderer, Tom."

"Ah, but in war, nobody murders. You can influence many deaths still."

He said it as if this was a desirable goal. Harry found it easier to say nothing when Tom turned away, walking across the room. Harry was about to voice his thoughts on this war, before he saw where Tom was headed. A cupboard, where the Pocketwatch resided. Harry stepped forwards at once.

"What are you doing?"

Tom turned, his dark eyes curious. "I'm merely getting drinks."

"I'll do it," Harry said at once, closing the distance between them. He placed a hand on Tom's white fingers to open the cupboard door himself.

Tom was suspicious. His red eyes narrowed.

"You've had a long day," Harry said in what he hoped was a calming tone. "I'll do it."

In an instant, Tom's suspicion dissolved. He gave a low hum of laughter, his eyes lingering on Harry for a moment, before he turned away. He took a black armchair across the room. Harry opened the cupboard further and saw the Pocketwatch hidden in a corner. He had to stash it here earlier before he went out, knowing only too well that Tom would have checked the main cupboard in their bedroom for useful artefacts if the Death Eaters needed him.

He knew he was wasting a lot of time and energy by keeping this Horcrux hidden so close. It was the reason for most of his anxiety and guilt and by keeping it here, he risked Tom would find it and discover that he was lying and hiding things once more. A lot of things could go wrong if Tom grew suspicious. He might begin to wonder just how much truth Harry was concealing and the thought alone caused far more stress than it was worth. Harry didn't know how much more lying he could stay on top of, so he decided that night that he was going to have to keep the Pocketwatch on him until he found a permanent place to keep it.

Even as several days passed, the watch stayed in the pocket of his robes. He was planning a secure location to keep it in, but he wouldn't be able to hide it before finishing off his duty to the Wolfsbane Potion. Tom was working with the Death Eaters this week more than ever, so Harry found an easy time to visit the next Order meeting Nott was likely to attend. When he arrived at Bones' cottage, he found Sturgis Podmore, the Prewett twins, Elphias Doge, and Marlene McKinnon sitting around, waiting for more arrivals. He decided to take a seat, waiting for Nott.

In the time he sat waiting, Harry thought about Tom and his broken Horcrux. He was tempted, quite often, to destroy the Pocketwatch entirely, to settle with an undamaged duplicate for however long he'd need it, but he wasn't sure if this was the smartest idea. If he made the Pocketwatch a Horcrux again, however, he'd likely break it with remorse alone, which risked sudden death. If the Pocketwatch was gone entirely, it would be one less thing to worry about. The thought bothered him so wholly that he barely noticed the conversations going on about him.

He was about to stand up, to wait outside instead for some fresh air, when he looked up and found Fabian Prewett watching him. Inexplicably, in that moment, he realised Fabian had owned a watch much like his, once. In fact, Molly Weasley had given Harry that watch for his seventeenth Birthday... Could it be that the two watches were the same? Was this why Harry had had such a huge sense of familiarity when Tom first presented him with this gift? Harry reached into his pocket for the broken Horcrux.

Fabian Prewett's watch had been dented – that much Harry could remember. He had dented this Pocketwatch when he threw a spell at it, testing it as a Horcrux in a rush. A lot of wizarding watches looked quite similar and Harry found it hard to remember being seventeen, but he believed, fully, that there had to be a connection. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard Fabian say, "Nice watch."

He looked up blankly, bewildered by the strength and power of time.

"My dad used to own one like it," Fabian carried on, explaining himself. "It ended up going to my uncle before Gideon and I reached seventeen. It was quite a shame."

"Yeah, I... I heard about your father," Harry said slowly. "I'm sorry that happened."

"Ah, well, you know what Death Eaters are like. It's not as if we won't seek revenge for it."

Fabian laughed in a dry, sad way. Harry gathered from his nostalgia and interest that he didn't own a watch to replace the one his father used to have. An odd mix of guild, wonder, and anxiety pushed Harry into doing something unexpected.

"Listen, do you want to keep a hold of this?" he asked, reaching out his hand. The Pocketwatch rested peacefully in his palm, glinting in the light. "I don't have any use for it, really. You might like it more."

Fabian was bemused, but clearly honoured. It didn't help Harry's guilt much – it made him feel worse, slightly, to take advantage of this opportunity. By giving Fabian this watch, he'd be fixing his problem with the broken Horcrux without destroying or fixing it. It would still exist, just a long, long way from Tom's reach, in the hands of the least expected wizard. Fabian reached out his hand.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes fixed on Harry's with a serious, grateful look.

"This is dented," Gideon commented, laughing lightly and breaking the staidness.

"It's rare," Harry explained. "It's important. You should hold into it."

It felt somehow natural to see the watch in their possession. This was a selfish truce to the Prewetts, on Harry's part. It was the only apology he could give them without explaining his actual crime. It felt better.

Before either of the Prewett twins could say a word more, another Order member arrived. It was Nott. He appeared worn out and sombre as a result of the approaching full moon. Harry stood up, saying a few short words to the Prewett twins so he could speak to Nott alone. They headed into the other room.

"I have those letters," Nott began, reaching into his pocket for a small bundle of envelopes. "There was no post today, but I assume it was just delayed."

Harry took the letters, his brow furrowed. He knew owl post got delayed often in this war, but if he was missing the fifth letter from Procyon, he had no idea what might happen tonight, at the full moon. He'd have to go visit Procyon himself, to get a clear idea on the situation. He ripped open the letters, keen to read the information here and not back at the Death Eater Headquarters. Nott watched him silently.

The first letter read:

_Dear Jonathan, _

_ The second dose of potion wasn't so bad. Could have been worse, anyway. I can't feel any noticeable changes, but since you mentioned before that that's probably better, I'll take it as a good sign. You can expect a more detailed letter if this starts having an impact._

_-J. Procyon_

Harry reached for the second letter, hoping to get a more interesting description.

_ Dear Jonathan,_

_ I'm almost starting to get used to this. Can you believe that? It's a horrid taste, sure, but if that's all it takes to cure this disease, I reckon it's quite worth it. You might be able to change the taste in later brews. That would be a relief. I have a bit of a headache, but I reckon that's just the smell of the potion. I'm sure you'd be familiar with it. _

_-J. Procyon_

The third letter was equally as short and direct:

_ Jonathan,_

_ I took the third potion an hour ago. After taking it, I felt fine and I was going to write you one of these letters, but nausea took over a bit. Decided to re-write this. I thought the horrid taste and smell caused this headache, but this has been going on for over a day now and I feel close to being sick. I'm not so sure what's happening, but I'll tell you tomorrow of this carries on._

_-J. Procyon_

The forth letter was as vague as the others had been. Procyon's handwriting grew shaky and faint in places:

_Jonathan,_

_ I'm not sure it's working. I woke up this morning feeling more sick than ever and I reckon I've caught a fever. Sweat and trembling and that. Even as I write this, my vision is going all wonky. I know this has never been tested before, but is this supposed to happen? I've drunk the fifth potion and I reckon I'll drink the sixth one tomorrow as well. I have to, don't I? There's no point turning back now. We'll see if this works._

_-J. Procyon_

Harry's heart sank in dread. The last letter was missing, which could only mean one thing, if Procyon was getting quickly ill. Forcing a fifth potion on himself could have done any number of bad things – Procyon could have been poisoned, he could have altered himself in some way... Harry was willing to bet on the first guess. In which case, he didn't expect the fifth letter to ever be written.

"I don't think it worked," he told Nott in a low voice, knowing he was too polite to ask.

"How can you tell so soon?"

"It was a dangerous potion to start with. I think it made him ill – if the last letter is being delayed, I doubt it'll bring good news..."

Harry could image Procyon in some shapeless apartment in London, drugged by the poison, struggling more than his pride would allow him to admit. He would have vomited far more often after a few more potions and Harry was sure the sweating and trembling would only have gotten worse. What would have happened next? Would have have resisted the last potion, even going to St Mungo's to cure himself, or would he have forced it upon himself, like he said he would? Was he too ill to write or had he left this world behind already?

Harry hated to think about Procyon being dead. More than this, he hated realising at a slow, sluggish pace, that this meant he was still unable to protect Nott. It could have been Nott who took all of these potions, suffering silently and believing blindly that Harry's abilities could be trusted. He decided not to talk to Nott about this, nor about the guilt that haunted him when he wondered what might have happened. He'd need to revise the potion, to guess what had gone wrong and why.

Before he could visit Procyon the next day to check if he was alright, an article in the _Daily Prophet_ told him everything he needed to know. Aurors had been summoned to Procyon's residence when several of neighbours heard horrific screams and howls from his flat. This happened as early as five O'clock in the evening. To the confusion and bewilderment of every expert on the condition of lycanthropy, Procyon had faced an early transformation. He had died before the Aurors even attempted a fight.

The report went on to say that Procyon was a known Werewolf with ties to the Death Eaters and Aurors had been chasing him for several months. The Ministry was unable to comprehend why he had transformed early and why he had been seemingly poisoned, but Harry felt it would only be a matter of time before the Wolfsbane Potion phials were discovered. It would make it pretty obvious that Procyon was attempting to cure lycanthropy – or something along the same lines. Unless the Ministry somehow discovered who created this potion, however, Harry felt that nothing more would come out of their investigation.

He was forced to put the problem of the Wolfsbane Potion aside for a while, knowing only too well that if he brewed the potion the same way he had last time, the results would be no different. He had to write up theories on what could have gone wrong in the potion and how he could change it. This meant he would have to record several new trials of the potion to test which ingredients and methods of preparation changed the outcome. It would be a lot of work, surrounded by a lot more death and illness...

There would be Werewolves amongst Tom's pack who would happily sacrifice themselves if they knew about this potion, but Harry was unwilling to initiate more deaths so casually. Although almost everyone else in the wizarding world believed the lives of Werewolves were less valuable, he didn't share their view. It would risk his soul being warped further and he knew Tom would see the connection to poisoned wolves and the Wolfsbane Potion instantly. He'd have to think of a better way.

Weeks after Procyon's story was released in the _Daily Prophet_, Harry discovered that someone had seen more in the crime than the average person bothered to look for. He learnt this through the Death Eaters, who were standing outside a hideout with him one evening. Some of them were only here to pass on messages, but those who were waiting for Tom were discussing a shared story.

"There's a funny little wizard in Knockturn Alley asking questions lately – surely you've seen him?" asked Avery, glancing around at the other Death Eaters. "He's well out of place there."

"I haven't been there in ages," Mulciber murmured. "I didn't see anyone."

"Well, there's a weird wizard there."

"Do you think he's with the Ministry?" Goyle asked. "Or he's an Order spy?"

"Nah, I wouldn't go that far. If he is, he's certainly doing a bad job of hiding it."

"How come?"

"He's down there asking after Werewolves," Avery explained, laughing. "Right in broad daylight! He says he heard something in the _Prophet_ about a potion – I dunno what he's on about, but it's mad."

"I reckon I saw him," one Death Eater admitted, chortling. "I'm surprised he's still breathing. He's insane."

"I reckon he is, yeah."

"You haven't been using the Cruciatus Curse on him, have you, Mulciber?"

Harry heard Mulciber laugh. "Not that I can remember, no."

"You should see how people look at him," Avery carried on, grinning. "The way he's acting now, I'd be surprised if he isn't murdered in two days. I reckon that he-..."

Harry stopped listening as Avery began to describe the public's reaction. If this strange wizard was looking for whoever tried to cure or poison Procyon and if he was interested in talking about Werewolves and the article in the _Daily Prophet_, surely he had figured out some valuable information? Information, moreover, on the study of lycanthropy?

Before Harry could evaluate the situation fully, an unexpected, searing pain in his scar burst into action and sent him into disarray. He let out a low note of shock and reached a hand up to his forehead, his eyes clenched shut. He caught a vision of Black standing before him, watching bravely as he spoke bad news. Dumbledore had fought the Death Eaters again...

"Are you alright?"

Harry opened his eyes. He was still standing in front of the Death Eaters, who stared at him blankly. He lowered his hand at once, trying to act normal.

"I'm fine," he lied. "It's just a headache..."

Despite his calm tone, Avery's eyes rose to his forehead, which was clearly visible. _Great way to hide your identity,_ Harry thought bitterly to himself. _Show half the Death Eaters you own this scar, I'm sure they won't remember it when The Boy Who Lived has one just like it. _He tried to flatten his hair over his forehead casually. It reminded him of being a child, watching people gawk at him in wonder and fright.

"Did – did you feel that?" Goyle suddenly asked, alarmed.

Avery seemed close to answering 'no', before he flinched, looking down at his left arm.

"Something's up," Mulciber commented thickly.

"Reckon it's the Order?" Goyle asked.

"There's only one way to find out."

The three wizards, along with many others, took out their wands. They seemed almost excited and glad for a reason to respond to Tom's summoning. Despite knowing that nothing crucial was likely to happen tonight, Harry found himself nervous and tense. He reached for the Elder Wand even though he wasn't going to follow the Death Eaters out on a mission tonight. The wizards around him all Disapparated into thin air, leaving him here to wonder what the Order had done.

Perhaps it was too much guilt and remorse that made Harry fragile to the situation going on, but he found himself restless and disquieted. He went out to find Tom and the Death Eaters before they even returned to the Chimaera Hideout. He learnt quickly that two Death Eaters had been attacked and captured by Sirius Black and the Potters. Tom was infuriated and no Knight or Death Eater was able to call him down in the slightest.

"The Potters have defied me _thrice_, but they _shan't_ do it again..."

With dread, Harry realised Tom was keeping track of who was in the Order of the Phoenix and how many crimes they had all committed against him and his followers. He made it clear to every Death Eater that he would personally kill every single witch or wizard following Dumbledore if he had to, so in urgency and desperation, Harry decided to visit Knockturn Alley the next day. He went there in search of the strange wizard who might have information of value for him. If he wanted Nott to stay alive as a spy, he'd have to act now...

For once, Avery had neither lied nor exaggerated his story about the strange man. He was dressed in an orange suit with a yellow top hat, talking quite obviously to the dark witches and wizards who passed him by. Harry might have found the sight amusing if the situation weren't so grave. He leant against a shadowed wall of an alleyway, watching the wizard for a few minutes. The wizard spoke openly and obviously about Werewolves, from what Harry could hear. Most of the witches and wizards walking by believed him to be quite mad.

Harry decided to approach the wizard, stepping out from the shadows. The wizard was heaving a great sigh, staring up at the shop sign above him that swung in a soft breeze. The shop itself was closed due to bad business (which was related to rivalry in the Death Eater trades, Harry knew). When the wizard finally noticed Harry was here, he seemed a little startled.

"Why, hello sir!"

"I heard you're looking for someone," Harry said in a low voice, cutting this conversation short. "More specifically, you're looking for anyone involved with that poisoned Werewolf featured in the _Prophet_ three weeks ago."

"Why, yes!" the wizard said at once, more nervous than ever. "I've been interested in following some leads for my research."

"You're looking to transform Werewolves early?"

"No – no, quite the opposite! I believe the way the _Prophet_ presented the story was, er, mislead... Whoever created this potion clearly wanted quite the opposite outcome to the potion – I've been all through the Ministry, trying to gather information on what that exact potion contained, but all they will tell me is it contained wolf's bane, thus it poisoned the poor Werewolf. Tragic, quite tragic..."

Harry considered this, idly glancing at two witches who passed him with cruel, menacing scowls on their faces. "You're looking to create a cure for lycanthropy, aren't you?"

The wizard was alarmed. "How did you -?"

"You're shaking," said Harry calmly. "You're nervous. There's no way you're a dark wizard."

"Yes, well – well..."

Harry turned towards the man, hoping to keep his back entirely to the street without it looking too suspicious. Not that that was uncommon here. He decided he should speak openly about this situation, because this wizard wasn't an Auror and Harry would know if he had joined the Order of the Phoenix.

"That potion was experimental," he said. "It was a test. If I had had the choice, I would have been there with that Werewolf and I would have stopped him from drinking all those potions, but time wasn't on my side. The test was successful, until the last few days."

"You – you're the creator?" the wizard whispered, amazed. "You created this potion? The – the –"

"Wolfsbane Potion," Harry finished, hoping the name would stick. "Yeah, I created it. I used references from Hesper Starky, mostly, to draw theories on how the moon's phases would affect the brew. I'll need to do a lot more testing before it's finished."

"But this is fantastic!" The wizard beamed. "I have been trying to develop this potion for years!"

"You have?"

"Well, in theory, yes! But I would never have the right resources to begin such an experiment – no, never."

Harry could guess as much from the fact that he stood in the middle of Knockturn Alley looking for dark witches and wizards by verbal request, rather than through connections. There was no way this man knew any actual Werewolves.

"I'm Damocles, by the way," the wizard said, reaching out a hand.

"Smith," Harry murmured, accepting the handshake.

"Pleased to meet you, greatly pleased!" Damocles expressed, smiling nervously. "Now... would you like to get a drink, to discuss this research you've been doing? I would be thrilled to discuss theories!"

Harry thought it might be advisable for them to get out of Knockturn Alley before someone attacked Damocles for the sheer fun of it, but he didn't want to go to any public place. He explained this casually and to no surprise, Damocles did not hesitate before inviting Harry to his house. Although he was clearly somewhat witless and too trusting, Harry found that he wasn't lying at all about the research he spent his time on.

Damocles knew precisely what he was talking about concerning his work. He seemed relieved to find Harry not only understood every word he said, but also added deeper theories and details to the things he spoke about. Harry was beginning to believe that this was the man who created (or at least took credit for) the Wolfsbane Potion. The more they talked about it, the more his suspicion was confirmed.

Harry decided to stay in contact with Damocles. He promised to send him some of the research papers he had worked on (because he was, quite simply, glad to get rid of that evidence), and when he did, he and Damocles discovered that their studies interlink in odd ways, with coincidences and secure connections. It became immediate apparent that if they combined their research, they might be able to create the Wolfsbane Potion properly.

Damocles was highly skilled in the art of potion-making and he knew ways to test potions without feeding it to any living test subjects. Harry was tremendously relieved to hear it, even if Damocles added hastily that he'd be glad to see it tested on a real Werewolf some day. Harry knew this wouldn't be a problem. With a lot of work from both of them, they were able to solve their previous problems with the Wolfsbane Potion. Harry made a deal with one of Tom's wolves the following full moon and they found, to their astonishment and joy, that the potion was successful.

Harry couldn't express to Damocles how much this research meant to him, but he said openly and regularly that he didn't want any credit for this project. He ignored it when Damocles persisted that he should take at least some credit. Damocles had brewed this potion with a lot more skill than Harry could have managed and they both knew it well. All Harry needed was the knowledge of how to create this potion, as well as a few phials for the next full moon. Damocles handed all of this over readily. Although Harry could rarely see him after their research was completed, he spoke to Damocles often through letters.

Harry wasted no time before meeting up with Nott when the potion was successfully brewed and tested. He found a chance to see him a week after the last full moon, near midnight. Nott, to no surprise, was alone at his house. He let Harry in happily, but before he could so much as invite him to sit down, Harry told him the Wolfsbane Potion was finished.

"And it's been tested," he said breathlessly. "It worked."

Nott stared at him, astounded. "Truly?"

"Yes," Harry said, grinning. He saw wonder fill Nott's bright eyes.

"Nobody else died, I hope?" Nott asked, genuinely concerned.

"No, not at all," said Harry honestly. "I had better theories this time, better tests – with Damocles, I really think I've sorted this out."

He seemed barely able to believe it.

"So, do you want to try it?" Harry asked, grinning widely. He hadn't felt this happy and this accomplished in years. "This month? I could try to be there, when you test it at full moon."

Nott agreed at once. "That would be brilliant."

Harry beamed at him again. "I have to go back now, but I'll send you a letter with an address where we can meet. I'll talk to you about it soon."

"Alright."

Harry turned in the direction of the door, about to leave.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

Nott hesitated for a moment, appearing at a loss for words. A serious look crossed his face.

"Thank you," he said in little over a whisper. "For all of this."

– X –

Harry was unusually calm from that day on. He felt satisfied, for once, and he relished in the feeling, never knowing whether it was finishing off a long project or helping out his only friend that delighted him most. He felt that he was safe for the first time in years. Because of this, Tom too was becoming more serene, but this was both a good and a bad thing; with a level-head, Tom punished his own followers less, but he was more able to create strategic plans against his enemies. Both sides of this war were steadily growing stronger.

For two weeks, Harry planned on making up an excuse to leave the headquarters at the next full moon. He found this wasn't at all difficult. With all of the fights and missions going on, it was hard for Tom to keep track of who was where and when. Harry was glad to keep his promise to Nott and he was keen to see the Wolfsbane Potion's power once again. Nott had taken regular doses of the potion throughout the week with no bad side-effects, which gave Harry hope.

Nott appeared exhausted and ill when Harry arrived, but that was due to nothing but the approaching full moon. They were meeting in a dusty, deserted old house where three Muggles had recently been killed. A few local people had cleaned out the place with chemicals that stung Harry's nose and made him pause momentarily. Nott had turned off the painful Muggle lights above them, leaving nothing but wandlight and a few candles. It highlighted the boarded-up windows around them.

Two armchairs rested in the centre of the room, one already occupied by Nott. Harry took the second one, switching his lit wand to his left hand to reach into his pocket for something – the last phial of Wolfsbane Potion. Nott took the potion from him without saying much beyond 'thank you'. He uncorked it and a few wisps of blue smoke rose from the bottle, disappearing into the air. Nott drank the potion, wincing against the unpleasant taste. Harry wondered what Procyon would have thought of this one.

"It's certainly stalling the process," Nott mentioned, visibly tense. He set the phial down on the wooden floor. "I'd normally be gone by now."

"The moon isn't up yet," said Harry, "not fully, anyway. This is normal."

"Well, it always felt different before. I.. I suppose I'd be more scared, normally."

Harry wondered why Nott didn't feel as scared now. Was it, perhaps, because he wasn't alone? Or because he trusted the skills Harry and Damocles possessed? Harry took in Nott's appearance in more detail, wanting to understand him. He thought he could see scars and scratches on Nott's neck, hands, and shoulders, mostly concealed by his robes. This was common for Werewolves who were locked away in solitude during their transformations; with no prey and no other wolves to fight, they were forced to attack themselves in frustration. Lupin had always been the same.

"There's no reason to be scared," Harry said calmly. "It might take you longer than normal to transform tonight, but you'll stay sane. You'll still be you and you'll have control over your own actions."

Nott swallowed and closed his eyes as if enduring a moment of pain. There was no telling if his pain was physical or mental. Both were as bad, in Harry's eyes. "What if – if this doesn't work?"

"Then you'll be safe here. It's just like any other month."

If he remained sane, Nott would be able to avoid hurting himself as well as anyone else. Despite the logic in this change, however, Harry wasn't sure whether it was an entirely good thing – he knew that the process of transforming hurt Werewolves badly. Some of them, he thought, might be unwilling to gain back their sanity with this potion if it meant more pain. It depended entirely on whether open wounds or the act of transforming were more painful – and whether a Werewolf preferring attacking others instead.

"And – and you?" Nott asked, straining against a particularly painful stab of discomfort.

"What about me?"

"You'll be safe?" he asked. "You'll – you'll be fine, even if I can't keep control over my own mind?"

Harry watched him in the dim light, seeing his blue eyes never waver, even through the pain. This was a test, Harry realised. Nott was looking for something, again, in his answer.

"Of course I will," Harry answered. "I'll be safe."

He was a highly trained Knight and he had worked with Werewolves before – all of which Nott knew well. What was it that made Nott curious and confused? What was he waiting for Harry to say?

"Tom would kill you for this," he murmured. "Especially if you caught this..."

"I won't catch lycanthropy," Harry said, sure of it.

"I don't suppose it would matter if you did..."

Harry had no idea what to make of this claim. Nott either trailed off on purpose or got lost in thought – it was difficult to tell. He sat forwards in his chair, burying his face in his hands and breathing heavily. Harry hoped that his pain would at least end when the physical transformation into a Werewolf was complete.

As if to distract himself from the inevitable pain, Nott decided to carry on talking.

"It's strange," he said, "that you're so confident with all of this."

"Shouldn't I be?" Harry asked.

Nott reacted with something close to a shrug. He rubbed his face again.

"What makes you think it's strange?" Harry inquired. This had to be what his curiosity was about.

"Most people flee from Werewolves, as you know. They hide in terror, never wanting to associate with us, lest they should become one of us. Most people fear their own lives..."

They had discussed this plenty of times already. The Death Eaters were prejudice and hateful towards Werewolves, but Nott knew Harry wasn't. He knew what he was like.

"I explained once that if you were around me during one of my transformations, I could kill you," Nott said, clutching his head with his hands and speaking with his eyes closed. He breathed heavily, concentrating hard on his words. "But your answer was strange. You said that I couldn't."

Harry became very still. He remembered the conversation Nott was referring to. He had hoped, in vain, that Nott would let this conversation slide, but he never seemed to miss details and mistakes like this. In a weak attempt to keep this delicate subject from crumbling down, Harry didn't say a word. He waited. Nott didn't seem to expect a verbal response. Shaking and sweating, he carried on talking.

"I'd say you were just brave, just confident in your power, but I know you're not like the Death Eaters. You find deeper strength in what you know and – and what you believe in. I don't think you're fearless when it comes to death. It's always been an obsession of the Dark Lord's, as well as murder, but he isn't fearless of either."

Harry knew exactly where this was going. Dread held him close.

"Killing always meant so much to the Dark Lord," Nott mentioned, his eyes shut tight, "more than anything else, especially when it came to who you killed... He was obsessed, he – well, you know what he's like. We all knew... There had to be a reason for his obsession over your kills. There's only one reason to explain it on top of your bravery of death and danger. The more I think about it, the more I – I believe you have nothing to fear..."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, breaking a spell of his own tenseness. Frustrated and not at all keen to carry on this careful avoidance of the point, he asked, "How do you know about this kind of magic?"

Nott shook his head, his expression worsening. He neither looked up nor sat up. "When it comes to studying the Dark Arts, you're bound to come across Horcruxes eventually..."

The word send painful anxiety coursing through Harry's chest. He glanced at the door of this empty room as if he feared they might be overheard. It slipped his notice, for a moment, that it was their minds and his own connection to Voldemort that were most dangerous, not their surroundings.

"This isn't something you should get interested in," Harry said in a low voice. He knew Nott wouldn't have discovered this if he hadn't shown him the Pocketwatch and hadn't tested it in front of him. It was a fatal mistake.

"I know that," Nott murmured. "I know not to go looking for information on this."

"He'd never allow it. He'd kill you for even knowing that – that it exists."

Nott nodded shortly. Only one thing seemed to bug him. He sat up in his chair, breathing out. "Is it – is it broken, for you?"

This was an impossible question to answer. Although his darkest secret was now known, Harry couldn't bring himself to admit that not only did he have a broken Pocketwatch for a Horcrux, he had a unbroken Mask and Sword hidden away elsewhere too. In a weak attempt to smooth the situation over, he lied.

"No. It's... It's still fine."

Nott nodded as if this was what he expected. He was distracted by pain and he leant forwards again.

"Don't... Don't get involved with this," Harry said in a serious tone. He desperately wanted Nott to forget about this conversation entirely. "It's not worth knowing."

"I know."

Nott was a skilled Occlumens, but Harry couldn't stand risking conflict and death between Nott, Tom, and himself. He trusted Nott deeply, but the less people involved with Horcruxes, the better. Knowledge could be turned into power and power meant danger, in Harry's opinion. If Tom knew what power Nott possessed with this information, there would be nothing to stop him eliminating such a huge threat.

The subject was dropped from this point on. Harry helped Nott through the process of his transformation and he found that even after Nott became a Werewolf, he was fully conscious. He was able to control his own wrath and pain, despite how horrid these emotions were even to a mindless being. Nott was visibly grateful of the Wolfsbane Potion from that night on.

It was a relief to many when Nott and Evadne had their wedding soon after this. Nott was partially free from the hell that had been forcibly pushed upon him and it was clear to Harry that for the first time in his life, he was truly happy. He had a traditional wedding, to please his parents, but it was full of a lively happiness that few mistook for pure-blood pride. Harry was invited and he attended the party alone. There was a empty seat near the front that he couldn't help feel might have been left for Lestrange. He never said a word about it.

Soon after the wedding, it became known amongst pure-bloods that Evadne Nott was pregnant. Harry was glad to hear it, especially when he saw how happy it made Nott, but as a few early months passed, he began to doubt how good this world might be for a newborn child. Theodore Nott was going to be born into a time of terror and tragedy, of pain and suffering. Harry couldn't ignore how powerfully the Dark Arts were taking over Britain and he was sure Nott thought about it too. He decided that he wanted to do something to make things better.

He had been informed that Dumbledore was recruiting people to the Order of the Phoenix. Almost every member of the Order was searching for strong witches and wizards to contact, but Harry felt he might be able to catch the interest of a wizard few people ever connected to. Mad-Eye Moody. He had known Adar Moody for a short while working at the Daily Prophet, so it seemed only logical to try and talk his son Alastor into joining Dumbledore's society.

Frank and Alice Longbottom were both highly-trained, respected Aurors, but after explaining his connection to Adar, Dumbledore agreed Harry might have a better chance of convincing Alastor to join the Order. Moody was a powerful Auror who was greatly feared by many and he would be a crucial addition to this side of the war. It alarmed Harry a little that he hadn't yet joined. He couldn't ignore the possibility that it was he, and no one else, who had to recruit Moody.

It was almost impossible to single-handedly track down an Auror as highly trained as Moody, but Harry still knew how to contact his father. He wrote to Adar a few times, asking how to contact his son. He left Dumbledore to send Alastor Moody the first invitatio to the Order, but it was his job to meet Moody and discuss details that Dumbledore didn't dare explain in letters. Nobody had any suspicions that Moody might be untrustworthy, so Harry was free to give away any detail necessary to convince him.

They met in a seedy pub in central London, where wizards often gathered in large groups amongst Muggles who were too drunk and oblivious to notice the strange behaviour around them. When Harry entered the pub, it took him several minutes to recognise that Moody was sitting at a table in the back corner, half-hidden in shadows. There was no mistaking him – even now, he had one magical eye that zoomed wildly in its socket. His normal eye was fixed steadily on Harry, waiting.

Harry approached the table, noticing at a closer range that Moody's nose was undamaged and both of his legs were whole. He shook Harry's hand firmly when he introduced himself. With effort, Harry tried to avoid wondering just how much truth Moody could see and sense in his appearance and actions. They said very little for the first few minutes of their meeting, as if both of them were trying to assess the characteristics of the other through stories, memories, and rumours. Both of Moody's eyes were fixed on Harry now.

They ordered two Muggle drinks. Harry let the silence drag on. He knew that while he wondered how Moody's life had been so far, Moody was surely wondering why Dumbledore had sent Harry of all people to talk and why, quite simply, he looked so weary, dark, and eerie. Harry thought, at first, that Moody didn't trust the way he looked, but he realised after a while that his questionably dark characteristics were a point of interest. Since Dumbledore had allowed him to join the Order of the Phoenix, Moody knew there had to be a large variety of witches and wizards there.

They spoke of Dumbledore's letter and the Order's offer. Harry had a feeling that Moody's mind was already made up when they started talking; the questions he asked were slight and the way he spoke of Dumbledore suggested he had high respect for him. He knew Dumbledore was a powerful wizard, renown for defeating Gillert Grindelwald. He knew, too, that the Order of the Phoenix was a strong organisation that was having more luck than even the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in hunting and defeating the Death Eaters.

"There are a few major advantages to the Order," Harry said at one point, trying to give Moody a clear idea of why Dumbledore's society was so important. "We can supply you with information that no Ministry yet knows, to help you chase down individual Death Eaters. You can bring the Ministry messages and warnings safely, as long as you you help us to keep track of our enemies. We could use your skills."

"What makes you think you can do a better job than the Ministry?" Moody asked, curious but callous. "We have the finest trained witches and wizards of the age working as Aurors."

"It isn't the Aurors that are a problem," Harry explained calmly, "it's the Ministry itself. We have quite a few Aurors working in the Order, but Dumbledore thinks the Ministry is unsafe. It's a known fact that not all employees there are against wizarding supremacy. They're not vocal about it, but they're weakening the Ministry from the inside by supplying our enemies with vital information."

Moody seemed to know this already. He surveyed Harry with his normal eye, cracking a complacent smile. Harry decided to carry on.

"Dumbledore formed this Order because he wanted to give the strongest sorcerers of the age a chance to fight this war. He wanted to be sure that as long as our enemies stand, we'll stand too."

"It's one hell of a fight you're putting up," Moody mentioned. "No matter how much or little Dumbledore's Order does, it's given people hope. That's a vital strength."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Even if you're not interested in joining us, we–"

"Not interested?" Moody repeated, laughing in disbelief. "We'd better get you a lighter drink if you're skipping to conclusions like that."

"I just mean, if you don't feel as if you're interested in anything other than the Ministry–"

"The Ministry isn't safe, is it? You've just told me that. I've known it for years. In the offices alone, we have to keep constant vigilance on the information flowing in and out, on the people walking in and out, on the cases closed and opened, on the crooks captured and freed. That alone is enough to drive a man insane."

"I know," said Harry truthfully, suppressing a smile at the sound of 'constant vigilance'. He wondered, for the first time, how Peter Pettigrew was going to remain a spy in the Order while Moody was so alert, efficient, and paranoid. "It's just, some Aurors work for the Ministry because it's a decent job, not because they really care how many criminals are caught."

Moody shot him a steady, serious look.

"You see this?" he asked, pointing to his magical eye. "Death Eaters. I got a spell right to the eye in an early fight with them. No hesitation, no reluctance. They fought with sheer determination, skill, and wrath."

His magical eye twitched into a direct position a few times, but it seemed as if Moody's paranoia caused it to jerk and spin wildly at the sight of any movement across the room. If Harry wasn't so used to it, he might have found the sight unnerving.

"Years ago, these sort of wounds were common," Moody carried on, "but this war grows darker with each passing day. You'd be lucky, now, to walk away from a fight with nothing but a wound like this and a small tale to go along with it. The Death Eaters are merciless. They've been cursed a few times too many and have been brainwashed a fair bit more. But I've still got my eye on them."

The corners of his lips and eyes crinkled in mirth, breaking the seriousness of his words when he sat back in his seat. He took a deep swig of his drink. Harry realised it was lucky that no one had explained how close he was to the Death Eaters. Moody was clearly angry at Voldemort's followers and he was keen to carry on his fathers work by taking out as many of them as he could.

"Why did Dumbledore send you to convince me?" Moody asked in a serious tone, his real eye narrowing. "He could have been here himself."

"I asked Dumbledore specifically if I could be here," Harry answered. "I wanted to be the one to talk to you."

Moody clearly didn't see why. Hastily, Harry carried on.

"A long time ago, I knew your father. I... I suppose I was interested in seeing how much like him you were."

Moody seemed to buy the lie – and if he didn't, he wasn't bothered enough to question it. "You're too young to have worked with him," he observed. "Unless, of course, you worked against him."

"I met him when I was younger, when we were both working as editors for the Daily Prophet. We talked often. He even offered me a job as an Auror."

"So why aren't you one?"

"There were other things going on in my life," Harry answered. "I didn't always agree with the Ministry back then, even if I can see how important fighting for this war has become."

"Aye, and I don't doubt your judgement," Moody murmured, as if this fit into some assumptions he had made. "The Ministry isn't entirely clear-cut, these days."

For the first time, Harry was surprised. His brow furrowed. "In what way?"

"This war has changed things," Moody growled. He stopped for a moment, as if wondering how much he could say. Since he trusted Dumbledore's judgement, he seemed to decide that Harry could be trusted too. In a quiet, gruff voice, he said, "Ever since what happened to the Leach Family, the Ministry has been frail, as Dumbledore clearly knows. There's been a few changes, lately. Nasty changes."

"In staff?" Harry suggested, thinking that perhaps Moody feared Death Eaters were replacing Ministry Officials.

"No, not just that. It doesn't matter who's in charge of the Ministry, not when problems arise from much deeper issues. This war has hardened the good nature of many. We've tried to fight fire with patience and justice, but it's done us no good – now the Ministry is going back to what Nobby Leach wanted. We're going back to fighting fire with fire in the hope that if we become more powerful and feared, we can overthrow the Death Eaters."

An unsettling feeling of trepidation caught Harry. He found himself hanging on every word Moody said, dreading, for the first time, that Voldemort had pushed the Ministry too far. "What have they changed?"

"Quite a few things have changed in the Ministry these last few years, but nothing like this. The Death Eaters have become so brutal that if things stay the way they are now, we don't stand a chance against them. Under Crouch's rule, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is close to giving us permission to use the Unforgivable Curses. Imagine that, eh? A Ministry using spells darker than half the criminals we hunted twenty years ago ever used."

It was impossible to tell if Moody was more fascinated or appalled. Harry had been told at a young age that Moody never killed anyone if he could help it, but for the first time, he wasn't sure how truthful that was. He had known, too, that the Ministry allowed Aurors to use Unforgivable Curses at the height of the first Wizarding World War, but he had never for a moment realised what repercussions such violence might have had.

Moody seemed convinced about joining the Order of the Phoenix, so Harry ended their meeting as shortly as he could, saying he would tell Dumbledore the news so the two of them could continue making plans. He left the pub and returned to Tom and the Death Eaters with fright and nagging discomfort as his only company. He couldn't help but wonder how many innocent witches and wizards might die or be tortured at the hands of the Aurors now.

The wizarding world was desperate for a way to find and hunt down the Death Eaters, to stop them causing terror, but Harry didn't for one minute trust the Ministry with the lives of the public. No Auror was cruel enough to willingly kill an innocent man or woman, but how many of them would make the mistake of attacking too early, killing and torturing the wrong people? Possessed men and women could easily take a Killing Curse during a fight if an Auror was convinced, fully, that they were a Death Eater. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair, justified, or even logical.

If the public couldn't trust the Ministry to keep them safe, who could they trust? No matter how dark and powerful the Death Eaters had become, it wasn't right for a Ministry to follow Voldemort's lead and use force, murder, distrust, and hatred as their first motivations. No matter who the Ministry picked as their enemies, they were betraying their own people by willingly using the Unforgivable Curses against them. Was this why Dumbledore had formed the Order of the Phoenix, Harry wondered? To keep a sane group of powerful wizards together?

Harry spent a little while believing this. He believed the Order would win this war through being stronger than the Ministry, through using the light arts to tackle the dark, but he soon realised that this hope was hollow. Dumbledore couldn't have possibly guessed the Ministry would turn this sour – he knew only that the Ministry was full of spies. What was more, Dumbledore and the Order was eager to get as many Aurors on their side as possible. This seemed an innocent desire, until Harry realised something more.

Dumbledore now had a very, very valuable weapon on his side: Aurors who could legally kill, possess, and torture the Death Eaters. As long as Moody and the Longbottoms brought captured enemies to the Ministry on their own, or if members of the Order of the Phoenix explained what the Death Eaters were doing before a fight broke out, no further questions would be asked. Harry watched the progression of violence with a silent, watchful eye on both halves of this war. He realised, for the first time in his life, that everyone fighting was equally as corrupt, desperate, and angry as their enemies.

The first time a Death Eater died at the hands of an Auror, all of Tom's followers were at a loss to understand what had happened. Rumours had sprung up months before about a few Death Eaters following the Aurors willingly, as if possessed, and a few of them even swore they had been hit with the Cruciatus Curse during a fight, but few people ever believed it. It was only when Wilkes was hit with a straight Killing Curse in front of witnesses that they finally took it as the truth. Wilkes' death was so simple, so easy, that many of Tom's followers found it hard to believe. The Aurors were now their equals.

Tom was furious to hear the news, to nobody's surprise. He was stressed and deranged to see several more Death Eaters walk into the hands of the Ministry under the Imperius Curse or through forcible capture, if they weren't just killed on the spot. He began training his Death Eaters more than ever to resist the Imperius Curse, but it was difficult to train them when they were so used to following orders and when the alternative punishment from the Aurors was death or torture. Tom had no greater weapon.

Now that Dumbledore's followers could legally preform acts of Dark Magic that Voldemort had used for years on end, the dynamics of this war shifted. Harry couldn't imagine how valuable he would have been to Tom if he had decided to become an Auror at the age of eighteen. It would have caused complications occasionally, but Tom would have been thrilled to watch him artfully save Death Eaters and spoil Auror missions. Harry decided to not mention it so early, lest it should anger Tom further.

On some level, Harry felt immensely guilty for recruiting Alastor Moody to the Order of the Phoenix. He was the most powerful Auror the Ministry had and everyone knew it. With his power as well as the ability to use the Unforgivable Curses, Dumbledore now had a huge advantage over Voldemort – as if having two Death Eater spies wasn't enough. All sides of this war were twisted and all of them believed they were fighting for what was right, but no one was as stressed and enraged as Tom himself.

Harry knew it was pushing Tom too far. He obsessed over plans and schemes almost every waking hour of the day and no matter what his Death Eaters succeeded in doing, it was never enough for him anymore. His followers were being murmured at a faster rate than ever and for the first time, he feared he might lose this war. He only ever spoke to Harry about this, of course, but Harry felt as if some of the wiser Knights and Death Eaters sensed his fear. It made Tom paranoid and irritable. It was unsurprising when he began to fear for his own safety.

He had plans to hide the Diary Horcrux away, somewhere safe. In wrath against Dumbledore, he decided that no matter how difficult it might be, he wanted to keep another Horcrux at Hogwarts. Many of the Death Eaters had young children upon whom Tom could depend to sneak the Diary inside the castle, but if he wanted to be cautious and wanted to use a very trusted Knight's child for it, he'd have to wait a few years. Tom didn't want to wait. That's why, at just the right time, he was thrilled instead of furious to hear that a Death Eater was applying for a teaching post at Hogwarts.

Severus Snape wanted to work at the great castle, but he felt it was wise to inform Voldemort of the decision before he went through with it. Voldemort saw his chance at once; if Snape became a teacher at Hogwarts, he would now have a very valuable spy within the castle walls. Snape would be able to supply Tom information on Dumbledore's movements more often than he could dream. Even if Snape took the Defence Against the Dark Arts post and lasted for nothing over a year, Tom would be satisfied. His Horcrux would be planted. He'd sent more Death Eaters up there the next time a post opened up.

Time was passing by too quickly for Harry to take. He knew what was going to happen during Snape's interview, but in spite of his knowledge of the future, he hoped childishly that time would change. He hoped that he might have created a new pathway in time, or that he might be able to even after this. In caution, he kept the Mask Horcrux and the Invisibility Cloak close to him. He knew he wouldn't need them yet, but he was scared. He had to remain calm, because he was hurting closer and closer to his past whether he liked it or not.

Late one cold, rainy night, Harry sat calmly in the Chimaera Hideout with Tom and four Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange amongst them. It was a surprise even to him when Severus Snape barged through the doors unannounced; it felt too early for his arrival. He was supposed to be halfway across the country, sitting through an interview with Dumbledore, but here he was, panting and drenched in rainwater, searching for the Dark Lord in desperation.

"My Lord," he began in a strained, breathless voice that was shockingly unlike his usual drab tone, "it is urgent that we speak!"

The four Death Eaters standing up glanced at Snape in curiosity, then looked back to their Lord for reassurance. Tom didn't pay attention to a single one of them. He straightened up in his chair. "What has happened?"

"I have news from Hogwarts, my Lord!"

"Already?" Tom asked softly. His words were calm, but Harry could feel he was tense. Snape's appearance here tonight couldn't mean good news.

"It is news from Dumbledore," Snape panted. "My Lord, it is urgent that we speak!"

After a moment's hesitation, Tom stood up. He didn't take his eyes off of Snape. "Then speak."

Snape's eyes darted to Harry and the four Death Eaters. "My Lord, it might be advisable if we spoke alo-"

"Speak now, or not at all," Tom hissed. "What news has Dumbledore called forth?"

Taking in a deep, shaking breath and standing up straighter in nervous respect, Snape spoke. "My Lord, before meeting with Dumbledore in Hogsmeade – before discussing the open teaching post – another interview took place. An interview between Albus Dumbledore and a Seer, a descendant of the renown Cassandra Trelawney."

"Dumbledore desired to learn his fortune?"

"No, it – it was in the interest of finding a Divination Professor, my Lord, at Hogwarts."

"What use have I for this news?"

"My Lord, I overheard the interview between the two!" Snape explained in a desperate rush. "I wished only to learn more about the Seer herself, as did Dumbledore, but the interview took an unexpected turn. A true prophecy was foretold – a prophecy predicting the downfall of the Dark Lord himself!"

There was a rush of gasps from the four Death Eaters, then silence. Deathly silence that rang throughout the room. Tom's eyes were wide, his senses alert. Harry's head was spinning and he stared, transfixed, at every movement Tom made.

"The downfall of Lord Voldemort?" Tom inquired in a whisper.

"Yes, my Lord!"

"You overheard it? All of it?"

"Y-yes, my–"

"Then speak!"

Hesitating and stumbling, Snape tried to gather his thoughts. He swallowed many times, not daring to meet Tom's eyes.

"The Seer foretold that – that the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him – born as the seventh month dies! She said either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives..."

There was no hiding the horror that Tom felt. He stared, never moving, never blinking. At this very moment, it was becoming apparent to him that those who defied him, those who opposed him, were birthing a child strong enough to vanquish him completely. The four Death Eaters were thunderstruck and petrified. Snape looked for a moment as if he had struck gold, but he didn't dare share his happiness too openly. He couldn't possibly know that he had just succeeded in killing Lily Potter in his dedication to the Dark Arts.

Harry was the only one who knew the true significance and meaning of this prophecy. To the others, this meant they might rejoice in discovering this information so early. They might believe they could stop the Dark Lord's downfall, they might think they could overcome fate. Harry knew better. The last part of the Prophecy, the unheard conclusion, flooded to his mind before he could stop it. _The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..._

"My Lord," called a breathless, alarmed voice. Bellatrix had dared to speak. "You cannot... My Lord, you cannot truly believe in this Prophecy?"

Tom shook his head to one side as if delirious and distracted. "If Dumbledore believes in it, it would be foolish to deny the possibility..."

Bellatrix's huge eyes darting from her Lord to Snape and back. "My Lord, if Dumbledore knows about this, he will do everything in his power to make sure this – this child is protected! What are we to do?"

Before any answer was given, Harry became aware of a burning, throbbing pain in his scar. He closed his eyes, reaching up a hand to his forehead, but it was too late; he was flooded with terror, wrath and hatred that was not his own. He could see the room swimming before his vision. He caught a glimpse of the petrified Death Eaters, who looked to him for reassurance. He dragged himself from Tom's mind the moment he realised what was happening.

Bellatrix's question was answered by words Harry didn't catch. He worried, now, that Tom had seen into his mind too. If he had, he would have felt the overwhelming anxiety and fear that greeted Harry cruelly. Would these be normal emotions, to Tom? Would it be a rational reaction to the Prophecy? Tom didn't seem to notice anything unusual. He was too distracted by the news and too determined to find a solution to care.

Harry became aware, suddenly, of another pair of eyes on him. Snape had glanced over when he flinched against the pain of his scar. Had the Death Eaters seen both Harry and Tom move simultaneously, with no explanation? Harry was unsure what else could have caught Snape's attention, until he saw a flash of unexpected anguish and wonder in his expression. He had seen Harry's eyes. He looked away, thinking of Lily Potter.

"There is still much we can do in response to this prophecy," said Tom, speaking to the Death Eaters. All of them could feel his anger, they could see it in his burning eyes, but still he sought a solution to the news. Nothing could make him pause or hesitate. "If we seek those who have thrice defied me, we will merely have to wait until July to see which of them birth a threat. We will have spies at the Ministry, at St Mungo's, awaiting the birth. We will know..."

"And when the child is born, my Lord?"

"You needn't fret so much, Lestrange. When the child is born, he will be defenceless and frail. We will know who the parents are and we will be sure to murder the child before he has a standing chance. Dumbledore underestimates our power. He underestimates how efficient my Death Eaters have become, and how quickly we will cut down possible threats..."

He was reassuring the Death Eaters, calming their nerves while he fuelled his own hatred of Dumbledore. Harry wondered how much fear and anxiety Tom was hiding. He had felt a fair amount of terror and dread within him. Later on, he might admit to his weaker emotions, but for now he was determined to act as if this was nothing but a failed threat. He took power in knowing he had caught this problem before it could get worse and the Death Eaters soon matched their own emotions to his.

"I will help you, my Lord!" Bellatrix declared strongly at once, stepping forwards. "I will hunt down and discover the name of any Phoenix follower who poses a threat – they are bound to birth such a child!"

She bowed before the Dark Lord proudly. It was a moment or two before Lucius Malfoy followed her lead with a weaker speech. "I too will serve you more loyally than ever, my Lord. No child can suppress the strength of this revolution..."

Black was the next to bow, but he said nothing more than, "I too will serve you, my Lord."

Rosier stepped forwards, gazing upon Tom bravely. "If Dumbledore is in search of a rival against you, my Lord, we shall protect you or die trying..."

He bowed and Snape followed. Harry didn't know what to make of any of this. Were the Death Eaters hiding their doubts, or did they truly believe Voldemort was invincible? Tom gave a low hum of laughter, looking at his followers with a wave of pride and tranquillity.

"You are very loyal Death Eaters indeed... With your bravery on top of the watchfulness I expect from you, we shan't allow Dumbledore's secret to grow into a threat. It is little under a year before this child's birth. We will wait until he is born, then kill him when we have the chance..."

One year. That's all Harry had until his own birth, until the Chosen One became known to Lord Voldemort. He was unsure what he would do with the precious little time he had left. The truth was coming ever closer and he could no longer pretend nothing was happening. This was a more dangerous time than any he had faced; it was the conclusion of the first wizarding war. He wouldn't be able to hide the truth. His time was almost up.


	76. Avery

**Dear readers,  
**I feel I owe you all an explanation. My sudden disappearance from writing was not planned; after the arrival of my eighteenth Birthday a month ago, I hit a deep realisation of how I want to live my life, so my Birthday present to myself was walking out the front door of my old house and never looking back. I'm currently in the UK again, facing new challenges, taking on new responsibilities, but despite a few troubles and setbacks, I honestly couldn't be happier.

My writing and your dedication to it has been at the back of my mind constantly over the last few weeks. I have all the newest chapters planned out, but not yet written. This four thousand word update isn't enough to make up for the time I've been away, but I want you to know that I'm eternally grateful for the patience and dedication you've all given me, even as TVoV grows to a slow closure. I hope you'll continue to enjoy my stories as you always have, for I'll continue to write them for a long time.

Thank you for your patience,  
_-Angstier_

* * *

76 – Avery

Avery had never been good at latching his attention onto any situation for long. He sat slumped at a table full of Death Eaters, his eyes growing glassy as he listened to stories about the most recent crimes in England. He was here to bring news to the Dark Lord about a traitor he had silenced with Mulciber, but – likely due to the several drinks he had had already – he was finding it hard to remember what, exactly, the traitor had been named, and why it was so important for him to wait in this dark, icy entrance hall with the others.

"...but I strung them Muggles up," someone said confidently, "right there in the underground! Then I goes to Rosier, I goes – 'How do you reckon anyone'll ever find 'em here?' Do you know what he said to me? He said, '_With filth like that, I don't reckon it'll be long before someone smells 'em out, dead or alive!'_"

Laughter broke out across the table; dark, muffled chortles. Avery found the corners of his lips twisting into a faint smile, but he wasn't sure why. He couldn't grasp the joke. The thought slipped away and he grew bored, his eyes unfocused on silver a goblet clutched between his cold fingers.

The Death Eaters were waiting in the freezing entrance of the Chimera Hideout, their small group crammed onto a single stone table that visitors were asked to sit at. It was the only seating area in the entire entrance hall, even with its vast corridors and high ceilings that echoed every small sound. The ceiling looming high above was too high to see and the edges of the room – if there were any – were distant and shadowy. Travers theorised that Dementors could be nearby, wandering the corners of the room and spreading this unnatural coldness. Nobody doubted the possibility.

In the last fortnight, Voldemort had tightened the security of all of his hideouts with neither a warning nor an explanation of why. Meetings were limited, reports had to be blunt, and only a handful of people ever seemed to see the Dark Lord anymore. When Death Eaters gathered around to give the latest news these days, they weren't allowed past the entrance hall. They had to speak to high-ranked followers who were flanked by several guards. The guards patrolled the corridors, wandering in and out of the mist nearby. It was unnerving, Avery thought.

If he didn't know any better, Avery would say Voldemort had become paranoid. In the last few weeks, he spent the majority of his time locked away in his safest hideout, speaking to hardly anyone, refusing all visitors, directing captured enemies to other locations. Avery sometimes thought that his Lord didn't trust his own Death Eaters, but what stopped him from vocalizing this suspicion was simply that all the others refused to question it. "Who would doubt the Dark Lord?" they'd ask. "Who could compare to his power?" Since Avery had no answer, he got nowhere with his theories.

A lot of Death Eaters believed the Dark Lord's distance was a good sign. They grew excited at the prospect of their Lord creating new hideouts, or taking further steps to overthrow the Ministry, or building greater weapons to use against Muggle Britain. Other, self-absorbed Death Eaters fell silent at the Dark Lord's changes, believing that his encouragement of separation and secrecy was essential for security and protection. Avery hated this opinion and refused to believe that Death Eaters should hide who they were. It was against everything he stood for. As a sworn worshipper of the Dark Lord, he was proud to state openly who he was.

Whatever use Voldemort had for secrecy, it was always discussed amongst Death Eaters in the rare instances when they met up in groups lately. Even amongst the table Avery sat at now, new theories were being born and passed on. Today's topic focused on the puzzling mystery of why several young Death Eaters – Bellatrix Black, Lucius Malfoy, and Severus Snape amongst them – had grown secretive lately and why they had become some of the Dark Lord's favourite followers overnight. It outraged and enraged everyone who noticed it it.

"I'm telling you, they must have done something _really_ important for our Lord," Mulciber slurred the for tenth time tonight. "Something _really_ wicked."

"Like what?" asked Travers.

"I wish I knew. All I know is, they must have done something _really_ great."

"Do you reckon our Lord sent them on an important job?"

Mulciber breathed thickly, slowly, thinking it over. "He could've done."

The others were unconvinced. Lestrange spoke his thoughts first, sounding drab and impatient.

"The Dark Lord assigns jobs to us all," he snapped. "He wouldn't give such young Death Eaters an important job on purpose. If these new recruits found a pathway to victory and won the Dark Lord's favour, it was fortune that took their hand and lead them onwards."

"What does that mean?" asked Avery.

Lestrange turned to him, his eyes narrowing. "It means they got lucky, you buffoon."

"Oh." A look of concentration passed Avery's ham-like face. He shrugged heavily with one shoulder. "I 'spose that makes sense."

Lestrange turned back to the others, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"Our Lord's new favourites are too young to possess much talent," he said bluntly. Avery thought he heard a tone of pride in Lestrange's voice now. "They likely struck luck by finding themselves a member of the Order of the Phoenix, or even an Auror to interrogate."

"Is that enough to gain our Lord's favour?" asked Mulciber, looking interested. "That wouldn't be so hard. We could track some of those wizards."

Lestrange's gaze was cruel when he turned it upon Mulciber. "We're all already on the hunt for Phoenix followers and Aurors, Mulciber. Virtually no one but you has failed to grasp that."

Mulciber responded with a sour expression. "Where's the wizards you've captured, then?"

Lestrange didn't answer. He hissed through his teeth, an old Slytherin sign of warning.

"Capturing an Auror or Phoenix follower alone wouldn't be enough," mentioned Travers, ignoring Lestrange. "They would have to be tortured for information, surely. Maybe the new Death Eaters found out something important."

The others seemed to agree. Avery wasn't sure why. He took a swig of alcohol, waiting.

"You've seen how furious the Dark Lord gets with the Order of the Phoenix," Travers carried on darkly. "The only question that remains now is: What's he looking for?"

Nobody answered. Avery's mind wandered to memories of Voldemort's new favourites growing proud and entitled. He knew everyone around him must have realised something had changed.

"Maybe there's a secret hunt going on," Mulciber suggested in a low voice. "Maybe – just maybe – we should figure it out for ourselves."

Mulciber was amongst the most brutal and idiotic Death Eaters around, but Avery felt a sudden sense of instinctive anxiety and thrill – a rush to figure it all out. He wanted to be one of the Dark Lord's favourites. All the others seemed to feel exactly the same.

"You know... I heard a rumour," Mulciber carried on slowly.

"Yeah?" a few others responded.

"Yeah," Mulciber agreed. He was quiet for a moment, building a deeper atmosphere of suspense as he licked his lips in thought. "It's been passed on a bit, so I'm not the only one who knows, but I heard Black's been leading a secret group."

"Black?" someone repeated.

"Which one?" asked Lestrange.

"That woman," Mulciber answered. "You know the one – that woman who's not been 'ere long."

"Bellatrix Black?" Travers suggested.

"That's the one."

"It's _'_Lestrange' now."

"Whichever," Mulciber slurred. "My point is, she's been picking out special Death Eaters and sending 'em on private assignments. Who knows what for, but this could be a part of what the Dark Lord's after."

"Does the Dark Lord know?" someone asked.

"Does Black explain what's going on?" another asked more eagerly. "Does she let 'em in on the secret?"

"I doubt it," answered Nott calmly before anyone. "Whatever secrets Bellatrix Lestrange is keeping, she's clearly sworn loyalty to the Dark Lord. If she knows what he's after, that information is her worth and it's why she's favoured amongst us all."

"But how do _we_ find out what the Dark Lord's after?" asked Travers.

Nobody answered. Avery took another swig of alcohol and over the brim of his goblet, he glanced at the others, trying to suss them out. After this meeting, a war was going to break out amongst this group. They all knew it. A sense of competition was straining the air. All of them would hunt alone to win the Dark Lord's favour, but few of them would succeed. Some of them, Avery thought, would go begging to Bellatrix Lestrange, but he knew better. If Voldemort wanted Phoenix followers and Aurors, Avery would supply them. He'd find a trail and follow it, and if that didn't work, he'd go after Severus Snape, who looked like the weakest favourite. It was bound to work.

Lestrange straightened up in his chair slowly, a prideful, mischievous look on his face. Avery would have missed it if Nott weren't sitting opposite him; Nott's bright eyes were fixed on Lestrange as if he was about to do something interesting. Lestrange never did, sadly, but Avery barely noticed it in his drunken state – all he cared about was the sudden realisation that Lestrange was the father-in-law of Bellatrix Black. If he didn't respect Lestrange so much, Avery might have seen this as an opportunity to abuse that connection. Lestrange glanced up and fixed his eyes on Nott, who swiftly looked away.

"I might join up with Black," said a new follower. Even Avery was surprised by his stupidity. "I really might."

"No chance," said Travers flatly.

"What?"

"You've got no chance. She won't take you in, you've got nothing to offer."

"How haven't I?" the young man demanded, suddenly angry. "Do you think I –?"

Several voices hissed at once, silencing the young recruit. Echoes surrounded them, telling them a door had slammed shut in a muffled bang down the hallway, followed by footsteps. Two guards, who stood by pillars in the nearby shadows, grew tense. They clutched their wands and straightened up formally. Every Death Eater knew what this meant. Someone had arrived to hear their reports.

Avery heaved himself up into a half-decent position in his chair, a hand slipping from his goblet. The others had grown still. They recognised these footsteps. It wasn't the hurried sound of a high-ranking follower, but the slow, calmed footsteps of someone far more powerful. In spite of his better judgement, Avery felt low, burning anxiety in the pit of his stomach. A silhouette was heading towards him. The Death Eaters were transfixed. Their Lord had arrived.

A young Death Eater, slouched at the end of the table, stood up nervously when he realised what was happening. Voldemort approached, his hollow eyes sweeping over the table and the nearby surroundings. He paid no attention to it when the young Death Eater bowed and said, "My Lord!"

Avery sensed something was wrong. He always felt this way around the Dark Lord, but since he was particularly drunk, he felt something must have been particularly off tonight. Voldemort was dressed in black robes of the finest design and held himself with perfect composure, appearing taller than even the most brutal Death Eaters. By now, many people had stood up to greet him.

"My Lord, it is an honour to see you," said Travers.

"We didn't expect you in person," said Lestrange. "There is much news, my Lord."

"I trust you haven't grown impatient?" Voldemort asked them all gently.

Avery glanced around, bemused. A moment ago, that's precisely how he had felt: relieved that their waiting was over and impatient to get this meeting over with. A few others grew nervous. There were a few faint claims of: "No, my Lord! Of course not, my Lord..."

Voldemort grew quiet. His dark features appeared more defined than ever against his pale skin and hollow cheeks, turning his once traditionally handsome face into a skeletal, almost freakish exaggeration of what it once was. His black hair had been combed back, but fell loosely in some places as if he had run his spider-like fingers through the dark roots recently. He didn't seem impressed tonight. The Death Eaters continued talking in the hope of pleasing him.

"My Lord, I have the latest Ministry reports," Lestrange began clearly, sounding calm. "If I may speak with you in private, I –"

"That will not be necessary, Lestrange," Voldemort interrupted. "I am here for a very particular reason..."

For the first time, Avery wished he was sober. He had an awful feeling about what was coming and his fears were confirmed when Voldemort's eyes fell upon Mulciber. It was in that instant that Avery realised he'd made a terrible mistake.

"It appears," said Voldemort in a cold, slow tone, "that some among you have taken it upon yourselves to initiate unauthorised attacks yet again..."

Avery told himself he _knew_ it was a bad idea from the start to agree with Mulciber's plan. He shifted where he stood. Voldemort's eyes fell upon him. He struggled to swallow both fear and disappointment – he meant his latest attack to impress the Dark Lord, but Voldemort was already angry with him. He couldn't think of a single thing to say now, so he played dumb.

"You mean that traitor we tortured, my Lord?"

Voldemort's expression was deadly. "That's exactly what I mean, Avery..."

His tone was enough to give anyone a desire to run away. Avery couldn't take his glower: the dim lighting only made Voldemort's bloodshot eyes gleam a deeper crimson. Thinking as fast as he could and realising his plans had failed, Avery chose to lie.

"We never killed him, my Lord. I swear. Mulciber and I, we were only after information."

Voldemort's eyes bore into Avery's with the intensity of several suns, he felt, piercing him in a way that unnerved him deeply. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought the Dark Lord could read his mind and see the truth. Voldemort's extreme intelligence made him rarely miss a trick.

Avery had, in fact, killed the traitor in a way so gruesome that he suddenly felt he couldn't repeat it to anyone. As if Voldemort had found what he was looking for, he took a step forwards, closing in.

"Who gave you those Orders?" he demanded coldly. "Who in the world sent you after my traitor?"

Avery didn't answer. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't say it was Mulciber. On instinct, Voldemort turned mechanically towards Mulciber, who shifted where he stood. Voldemort could sense his fear. His eyes reverted to slits, his glare more piercing than ever. "Who gave you the orders?"

Mulciber's mouth was agape and he fumbled with his words. His plan to impress the Dark Lord alongside Avery was ruined and he wasn't sure what to do. Avery grew suddenly envious of those ruled under Bellatrix Lestrange. As well as those who had more alcohol.

"There – there weren't any orders, my Lord," Mulciber murmured. "We sort of thought... well, maybe you'd understand."

No words could convey Voldemort's fury. The very air seemed to turn to ice, causing a few others to shiver and shift away. Voldemort gave every indication that he wanted to curse Avery and Mulciber for their idiocy, but he didn't let anger overpower him so easily. Not yet. Before he even reached for his wand, the echoing sound of a door opening and closing drifted down the hall. Voldemort seemed to know who it was. He turned his attention to an approaching figure.

Avery didn't think the night could get any worse. His Second Lord had arrived, stepping from the shadows with a calmness that was almost as unsettling as Voldemort's wrath. He had grown as pale as the Dark Lord, with messy hair that was equally as black, but it was their eyes that set them apart. If Voldemort had not fallen silent at his arrival, Avery felt things would have been better, but Voldemort always waited. The two Lords exchanged a look that seemed to pass a thousand messages Avery failed to understand. There was no one on this earth that Voldemort valued more than _him_.

What terrified Avery so much about _him_ was that he had no name. For years, he had drifted at Voldemort's side, never mentioned by the newest Death Eaters, rarely spoke of amongst the oldest. When Avery was fresh from Hogwarts, the Dark Lord's favourite was referred to as simply 'Jonathan', but 'Jonathan' had stopped suiting the strange, green-eyed young man who trained alongside the Dark Lord long ago. He had shed his name as surely as Voldemort shed his own, but the difference was that Jonathan never took up a new title. The Death Eaters had no choice but to refer to him in recent years as '_Our Second Lord_'.

"How nice of you to join us," Voldemort greeted softly.

Jonathan faced the Dark Lord with a look of calm familiarity. Avery was unable to understand it.

"Who are you angry with?" Jonathan asked.

"I should think it obvious."

"Mulciber?" Jonathan suggested. "And Avery?"

Avery couldn't grasp how anyone could stand in front of Lord Voldemort and speak to him so calmly, asking blunt questions with no fear of repercussions. Some of the others had mentioned before that this is why Voldemort admired Jonathan; he showed no fear.

Voldemort smiled coldly. "Indeed. It comes as no surprise, I am sure, that the pair of them should betray my rules yet again..."

Jonathan turned to Avery and Mulciber, studying them. He didn't show signs of anger, nor surprise. He remained calm. Always calm. Rarely did Jonathan speak his opinion, but when he did, it was valued highly. He was Voldemort's most praised follower for a reason. Only rarely, in a drunken moment of true genius, did Avery come close to realising what that reason actually was.

"It appears they took initiative with one of our traitors," Voldemort carried on, his burning gaze unsettling the silent Death Eaters nearby. "What is more, they have taken it upon themselves to cover up their story, to lie to Lord Voldemort."

"I ain't lying!" said Avery at once, panicked. "I swear, my Lord. I ain't lying! We only tortured him for information, we didn't think –!"

"You dare to lie to me again, Avery?" Voldemort asked in a scathing hiss. "You dare to interrupt me now?"

Avery fell silent. Even Mulciber looked mortified.

"Have I not made my instructions for you clear enough?" Voldemort asked. "Have I not shown you the consequences of causing obvious trouble?"

Avery couldn't answer. He couldn't look at the Dark Lord. He thought about the man he had killed and what a magnificent show he had put on in a dance toward death, dressed in little else but fire that horrifically bunt and scorched his exposed skin. Avery hadn't seen the problem, at the time, but he realised the Dark Lord wasn't happy. Not only had this man been a traitor, but he was a known blood-traitor too, so why should Voldemort be angry?

He looked up and found Jonathan watching him. There was that same cutting stare in his expression that Avery knew so well in the way Voldemort looked at him. Only, Jonathan's piercing green eyes grew grey instead of red when he found what he was looking for. Avery didn't understand it. Jonathan looked _disappointed_ of all things. Suddenly Avery felt ashamed.

"I have wasted enough on this," Voldemort said in a cold tone. "Your punishment will come soon enough, Avery, I assure you... Now, as you wait here, I shall speak to the others. Who here has the most important news, I wonder?"

Nobody gave any objections to Voldemort's plan. Jonathan nodded stiffly in understanding, saying nothing, but studying the Dark Lord for a time. Avery thought he might be able to make up a story with Mulciber quickly, if Voldemort spoke to the others in a different room. His hopes rose when Voldemort summoned Lestrange forth and began walking away with him. For the next hour, Voldemort took his followers one by one and asked them for information.

The hour was painfully dull for Avery, but it was nothing compared to the catastrophe that took place in the duration of his meeting. He knew Voldemort had kept him and Mulciber waiting for so long to weaken them; by the time Avery had a chance to speak, he was tired and too anxious to lie. Voldemort learnt the truth and Avery considered himself lucky that the Cruciatus Curse wasn't involved. Why, exactly, Voldemort was so angry remained a mystery to Avery; the Dark Lord mistook his pure hatred of Muggles, Mudbloods, Squibs, and blood-traitors for idiocy. Even if he caused more trouble for Ministry-bound spies than anyone, Avery thought he was doing right.

As soon as the meeting was over, Mulciber headed out the door of the Chimera Hideout without a backwards glance. Avery would have followed him, if it weren't for the half-goblet of alcohol and a few spare coins he had left at the table. He had won that gold in a fair bet of a gruesome game involving a few abducted Muggles, Dementors, and a chance of souls being taken. He meant to take the money and head directly for the nearest pub, but voices called him out of his fantasy and distracted him. It was Voldemort's voice.

Looking up, Avery saw Voldemort and Jonathan speaking quietly in another section of the entrance hall, which was partially obscured by pillars from this angle. Clearly, they thought they were alone and they didn't realise their voices echoed right into Avery's abnormally large ears. Despite his fear of being punished further, Avery decided to listen.

"...I cannot bring myself to put faith in any _fortuneteller_, least of all one who decides to work alongside Dumbledore," Voldemort voiced irritably. "If what she says is true, I cannot grasp it."

"Prophecies are made by chance, not choice, Tom," Jonathan observed. "Real ones, anyway."

"So you believe in the Prophecy?"

Avery could see Jonathan sitting in a chair in profile. Voldemort was staring down at him, suddenly very interested. Jonathan dropped his gaze, staring dead ahead for a moment, his eyes flickering. Curtly and stiffly, he nodded.

Voldemort was deathly silent. Jonathan seemed to notice. When he looked up, however, he held Voldemort's gaze with such calmness, it startled Avery. It was unnatural, how he could look upon the Dark Lord with eyes that softened.

"I haven't lost faith in you," he said quietly. "Even if the Prophecy is true, we have a huge advantage over Dumbledore already by knowing his plans. We're safe. We can protect ourselves."

Avery expected Voldemort to be furious that Jonathan was somehow doubting him, but he wasn't. His accusatory glare faded. He shared a long look with Jonathan that carried meaning Avery couldn't understand. Then, to much surprise, Voldemort smiled.

His teeth appeared sharp, his grin unnatural and inhumane. Avery got the sudden deep desire to turn away and keep walking.

"I suppose you are right," Voldemort said gently. "Dumbledore has lost his only weapon..."

Jonathan smiled back softly, but did not laugh. He breathed out a haze of warm breath in the cold.

"Come," Voldemort hissed, noticing the temperature now. "Let us speak in further privacy..."

Jonathan nodded silently, standing up. There was nothing to indicate what he was thinking. He stepped forwards and – Avery knew he saw it wrong – brushed a hand against Voldemort's as he passed. Voldemort smiled and hissed something Avery couldn't catch. He then followed Jonathan through through a tall, metal door, leaving nothing behind but a muffled boom.

Avery decided to count the Galleons in his pocket before leaving, sure he had bought a few drinks too many.


	77. The Chosen One

**Dear readers**, I'm sorry it took me so long to update! This is probably one of the hardest chapters I've ever had to write, emerging during a busy time in my life. I hope it is sufficient enough. x

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77 – The Chosen One

"There's one last thing I should mention. We've got a message here – for the Dark Lord himself."

Crabbe's tone was prideful in an attempt to express the importance of what he was about to say, but Harry didn't respond immediately. He didn't even look up. A trickle of blood, crimson and smooth, wove its way across the floor and threatened to collide with the hem of his robes. He stepped back from a nearby body, feeling Crabbe's piggy eyes on him.

"Who says I'm visiting the Dark Lord tonight?" Harry asked quietly.

He wasn't sure why he said it. He took childish enjoyment in the way Crabbe shifted where he stood, far more unsettled now than he had ever been by the corpses at their feet. He avoided Harry's question.

"I reckon the Dark Lord should hear this sooner rather than later," he grunted. "It's a direct message from Lestrange."

Harry knew Crabbe didn't mean Raphael, Rabastan, or Rodolphus. The only 'Lestrange' who left messages lately was Bellatrix. She was amongst the only followers who knew about the Prophecy and her early knowledge of it had motivated her to become a leader amongst Death Eaters. She was searching for defiant enemies of Lord Voldemort.

"What did she say?"

"She wasn't making sense," Crabbe explained. "I decided not to ask questions, though. All she said was to tell the Dark Lord something about births in the McKinnon family."

Harry thought this over, twisting the Elder Wand in his hand distractedly. He knew the McKinnons were inevitably going to end up a large target for the Death Eaters to hunt in search of families connected to the Prophecy, but he had never imagined they would be tracked so soon.

"Why doesn't Bellatrix tell him that herself?" he asked.

"Well, you can see the work she did here tonight. She probably wasn't thinking right."

"Where did she go, do you know?"

"No idea. I don't see why it was so important in the first place."

Harry glanced again at wizard who lay slumped and crumpled before him. This man had clearly been interrogated shortly before his death, but instead of telling her Lord about it directly, Bellatrix had chosen to leave in a hurry. Harry couldn't imagine why. Any information she had uncovered on the McKinnons was already invaluable and it would give her tremendous praise. To calm his nerves, Harry chose to rule out the possibility of Bellatrix finding the McKinnons tonight. It was too early...

"So, can you tell the Dark Lord for us?" asked Crabbe.

Harry didn't want to, in honesty. This was the first time he had left the Chimera Hideout in days and he had no intention of going back there to initiate what would inevitably lead to months of Tom obsession over the McKinnons. He straightened up where he stood, shaking his head once.

"You'll gain praise if you speak to the Dark Lord about this," he said. "These murders won't anger him. I've other things to do..."

"You're – you're sure?"

Crabbe's eyes were wide with possibility. Behind him, Goyle and Dolohov Jr were alert for the first time.

Harry stepped back, his expression blank. "Take the credit."

Crabbe's thick lips curled into a wide smile. "Brilliant!"

Harry nodded stiffly, barely paying attention. There was a scramble of footsteps as the Death Eaters grouped together, discussing how best to present tonight's events. Now they knew this information was important to the Dark Lord, they were excited and eager to be a part of it. Harry was repulsed by their greed; he turned away, trying hard to ignore it as they stepped through pools of blood and knocked stray limbs aside upon passing by. He focused his attention on the nearest corpse.

It struck him as unsettling that Bellatrix had left her victims so scarred. Drying blood smeared the faces of these men, spreading out across the floorboards. The Cruciatus Curse would have worked well enough for interrogations, but Bellatrix hadn't used it, despite the havoc that violence caused and the infuriating Tom felt when his Death Eaters murdered too often. Harry wondered what gave her such confidence and what could be keeping her on a hunt for information when she'd already found valuable leads on the McKinnons. Her actions had grown unpredictable, lately.

Although Bellatrix was a leader amongst Death Eaters, she often didn't care when others got carried away with their work. It was a flaw that Tom refused to blame her for; most of the Death Eaters she controlled had virtually no idea what everyone was looking for, so they began vicious attacks on innocent people in a desperate, clumsy search for traitors and foes, torturing whoever got in their way, killing whoever else resisted. What was strange now was Harry knew Bellatrix had killed these men herself. The thought bothered him so deeply that it was a moment before he realised he was alone.

In the dead silence the Death Eaters left behind, Harry became conscious that this was a crime scene. This realisation was heightened when the room suddenly erupted in blinding emerald light. He withdrew his wand in alarm, but this wasn't the light of a Killing Curse; in the deafening silence, no soul had uttered a word. The emerald light surrounding him filtered into the room through the windows nearby. It illuminated the bodies at his feet in a pale, ghostly way, warning him that the Dark Mark had been sent up. The Ministry would be sending Aurors this way.

Harry started walking. From his pocket, he withdrew the Invisibility Cloak, draping it over his shoulders. He didn't look back when he reached the hallway, nor the front door of the house. The world outside was lit up in tones of green and black, the fresh snow glowing in an unnatural radiance. There might have been people screaming from houses nearby, panicking, but if there were, Harry didn't notice. He walked out the front gate, raising his wand... but he hesitated. Where was he meant to go from here?

Running footsteps and one deafening '_crack_' after another told Harry the Aurors had arrived. Obscured by hedges and fences, they were transfixed to the looming Dark Mark and the eerily peaceful house standing below it. They drew closer to the house, bursting through the front door and checking inside for signs of evidence. Harry kept walking calmly. He knew his footsteps were being imprinted into the snow, but wizards rarely paid attention to such details when magic was in use. The Aurors wanted to find a murderer and Bellatrix Lestrange had fled the scene long ago.

Harry thought very briefly of returning to the headquarters, but he was reluctant to. It felt like a very bad idea, suddenly, to leave Bellatrix alone on the McKinnons' trail. Assuming he had an excuse ready, Harry thought he might have enough time to send out a warning; Crabbe would doubtlessly pass on the idea that he was doing unsaid business if Tom asked. Harry decided he needed to speak to Dumbledore, to stop the McKinnons from being tracked. When the decision was made, he span on the spot, Disapparating in an instant.

He appeared in the heart of a large town, where Witches and Wizards bustled along a busy street. The change of scene made him feel dizzy – far more than the act of Apparition itself.

"_Excuse me!_"

A few people bumped into Harry, unable to see him under the Invisibility Cloak. Some of them nearly toppled over, looking around hastily for who or what they had crashed into. Harry ripped the Cloak off, folding it up and apologising in a low voice. All around him, people were unfazed by the snow that twirled down from the heavens and the sun that had set hours ago.

Harry hadn't seen a crowd of such happy people in years. Shops and stalls selling winter clothes, food, and presents were alight with candles and magical light, keeping this town strangely oblivious to the wizarding war going on. Nobody could imagine that low in the basement of a nearby residence, the Order of the Phoenix had gathered together to discuss their thoughts and theories on recent fights.

Harry started walking; he was catching people's attention by standing in the middle of a busy road, staring at everything around him. Nobody liked to see strange visitors observing their surroundings curiously these days, even here. He kept his head low and headed through the crowd, until he arrived at the Order headquarters.

A crimson door at the base of a staircase marked the entrance. It was protected under a Fidelius Charm, so only Harry could see it out of hundreds of people walking the streets. He headed down, intent upon leaving the cold, and knocked.

It was only a minute before someone answered.

"...telling you, you'll believe it when you see it, Prongs!"

Sirius answered the door. He attention was focused on the hallway behind him, where James was shouting something back at him. His familiar smile broadened. There was vibrant youth in energy in the way he stood, the way he held himself proudly and laughed openly. Harry could have stayed in this moment for hours. When Sirius turned, finally, to see who was at the door, his smile faltered. There was startled surprise in the way he stared.

"Ah, hello!" he greeted. "Come in. You're in luck – Dumbledore's just arrived."

Sirius acted cheery enough, but Harry couldn't stand that uneasy, burning interest in his eyes. Even as he beckoned Harry inside, he kept a distance from him, as if fearful.

"What brings you here tonight?" Sirius asked bravely upon closing the door.

They must be unaware about the Prophecy, Harry realised. No way would Sirius and James be so happy if they knew. Harry neared the end of the hall, where James stood with one hand on the door to the meeting room, staring. Harry dropped his eyes as he approached.

"I have news," he answered quietly.

"Oh?" Sirius pressed.

The door opened wider. James stepped into the room, glancing towards Lupin and Pettigrew as if in warning. Sirius passed Harry and wandered towards the Marauders too. Harry stood in the doorway, glancing at the ten or so people gathered here. Dumbledore sat at the head of the long table, studying him.

"Good evening, Jonathan," he greeted pleasantly. "Do you have news?"

Harry didn't answer immediately. He could tell by the calm, curious expressions on faces of the people nearby that not a single witch or wizard here knew about the Prophecy besides Dumbledore and himself. It unsettled Harry. This wasn't what he had expected.

"Is something wrong?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry couldn't take it. In a moment of impulsive indignation, he spoke the truth.

"Death Eaters found McKinnon's trail. They know she's a part of the Order now, so I think they're going to go after her family. You have to protect them."

Silence fell. Ten stricken faces glanced from Harry to Dumbledore and back again.

"What do you mean?" asked James at once. "Why would they go after her family?"

Harry didn't answer. He kept his eyes on Dumbledore, dissatisfied by the tranquil expression that remained on his face.

"It could be for any number of reasons," Lupin murmured. "The McKinnons are an especially close and especially large family, after all..."

Dumbledore stood up, putting an immediate end to the questions James was clearly burning to ask. He blinked a few times, standing straight.

"Thank you for this information, Jonathan," he said calmly, "but I rather think we should discuss this in further privacy."

Harry nodded curtly, hoping his bluntness might make Dumbledore admit the truth to his fighters. As he strode past, several eyes followed Dumbledore, who indicated to Harry that they should head back down the hall. They left the Order meeting without a single explanation of what was happening.

Harry entered a deserted room with Dumbledore. Although there were chairs nearby, neither of them took a seat. It was only upon closing the door that Harry caught the expression he was looking for; Dumbledore's face was grave and appeared older than ever in a moment of mistaken solitude. It didn't make Harry happy.

"You haven't told them about the Prophecy, have you?" Harry asked, cutting to the point now they were alone. "They have no idea."

Dumbledore cast Harry a steady, serious look.

"No," he agreed calmly, "I have not told them, but I rather wish to keep it that way."

Harry swallowed an urge to act upon his agitated, animated state of mind. "You should tell them."

Dumbledore remained impassive. "For what reason?"

"So they can fight."

This amused Dumbledore for the first time. The wrinkles by his mouth and eyes crinkled.

"Is that what you advise? You believe I should send out all of these men and women to fight Death Eaters while I decide the importance of the Prophecy? Should I inform them of a threat in the hope that they'll react kindly?"

"Well, yes."

"What will that achieve, Jonathan? How may that benefit our cause? You forget that there is not a more crucial time than this moment to remain calm and to inspire calmness in every fighter, for the sake of Order's protection. Voldemort, I believe, shares my logic."

"Well, Voldemort isn't exactly fighting himself, is he?"

"He is keeping his own fighters calm, if I'm correct in assuming so. Nott, for one, appears to have no idea about the existence of a Prophecy."

Harry had forgotten about this. Only five Death Eaters knew about the potential downfall of the Dark Lord, but that hardly made things better. "That's different."

"Is it?"

Harry clenched his jaw shut, glancing at an ugly dresser across the room. A yellowish lace cloth lay on top of an overly-polished wooden surface, threatening to slip away. "I don't want his fighters to be prepared..."

He thought Dumbledore would understand, but his response was swift and unfazed.

"Preparation comes in many forms, Jonathan. In this case, it is best to prepare our fighters by allowing them happiness for a short while longer. Even if you advised Voldemort to tell his Death Eaters about the Prophecy, I highly doubt he would consider the suggestion more than I am now."

Harry wasn't sure if this was meant to be an insult. "So, what, you're just going to follow the same tactics as the Dark Lord?"

Dumbledore smiled for the second time, only annoying Harry further.

"Do not judge me for coincidentally following his tactics, Jonathan. It is with a great deal of practical thinking that Tom made it so far at all. Do not underestimate the importance of assessing truth when sudden threat arises."

There was nothing Harry could say. He didn't think keeping followers in the dark was the right approach – not if either side wanted to build trust and stay vigilant. Tom was not calmed by his own caution, anyway; almost every night, he was shaken by the stress of his potential downfall. The only way he got through Death Eater meetings was by denial and suppression. For a fleeting moment, Harry wondered if Dumbledore felt the same.

"Why have Death Eaters chosen to pursue the McKinnons?" Dumbledore asked gently, his mind reverting back to the point of this conversation. "What do they believe they will find?"

Harry was reluctant to answer, but he knew he must. Feeling he had acted enough like a child, he gave the best explanation he could shortly.

"Some of the Death Eaters are searching for families that might produce a threat," he said. "Most of them hunt in packs, unsure what they're actually looking for, but they have leaders who know about the Prophecy. Tom's looking for signs of an equal..."

Dumbledore nodded slowly as if this all made sense. He didn't divulge what the news meant to him, however. Harry felt a moment of annoyance, swiftly followed by the realisation that nobody but him had any idea what was going to happen next. It was grave news that families were being watched. Harry understood it would only get more dangerous from this point on.

"Tom isn't going to give up searching until he has proof that the Prophecy exists," he warned Dumbledore, hoping to make him understand. "He hunt down any families connected to the Order in fear of them being linked to the Prophecy. It's nine months until July, Dumbledore..."

There was no trace of fear on Dumbledore's face, but all signs of lighthearted tranquillity faded. He was interested. He might even be worried.

"Whoever the parents might be," Harry carried on, "they're already pregnant with the Dark Lord's equal. You can't keep the Prophecy a secret if it risks information spreading. People will talk about pregnancies, they rejoice in them."

"Spreading information on the Prophecy will increase chances of betrayal," Dumbledore reasoned quietly.

"You don't trust your own people?"

"It is not a matter of trust, Jonathan. We must take the appropriate precautions."

"Do you know who's expecting a child, at least?"

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "Jonathan, I do not believe this is something to be discussed. It is crucial that Voldemort remains as disconnected as possible from news of the Prophecy."

"You think I'd tell him?"

Dumbledore didn't waste time answering. They both knew there were easier ways for Voldemort to gain information out of someone.

"We will not know who Voldemort's equal is until Voldemort figures it out for himself," Dumbledore explained. "To give away information would be to influence Voldemort's choice."

"I understand," Harry responded impatiently, "but –"

He stopped. He understood what Dumbledore was saying, (the Chosen One was quite literally _chosen_), but something startled him. Here Dumbledore was, openly informing him that he was waiting to see who Voldemort chose as his equal. While Tom was tracing trails on families linked the the Order of the Phoenix, the Longbottoms and the Potters were unknowingly carrying two children at risk of being targeted, and Dumbledore must have known it. He was openly withholding information on the Prophecy and waiting, perhaps, for Voldemort to hear that two families fit the criteria.

Harry wanted to believe that Dumbledore was nervous at the prospect of two pregnant families, but he had a nagging suspicion that it was curiosity rather than caution that influenced his actions. If Dumbledore wanted to keep everybody safe, he could tell the Order about the Prophecy and put the Longbottoms and the Potters into immediate hiding, so no Death Eater would know about their pregnancies, but Dumbledore had other plans. It was almost as if he was baiting Voldemort, ensuring that he'd find out exactly who the Chosen One is, no matter what it risked.

"What is it, Jonathan?"

Harry blinked a few times, forgetting where he was. He felt sickened. His mind was in a muddle and he couldn't stop seeing the sudden grey in Dumbledore. Protecting the Chosen One, preparing the Order, and writing out plans should be Dumbledore's top priority, but he appeared reckless, suddenly, and foolish. He was treating the possibility of defeating Voldemort with such forceful caution that he wasn't at all prepared. Harry had visited this cold town in the hope of gaining good news in the Chosen One's defence, but all he saw here was a prideful old man who cared more about curiosity than human lives.

"I suppose you're right," Harry lied expressionlessly. There was no other way out of this.

He wasn't sure if Dumbledore believed him. A strained moment passed, in which time Harry wondered if Dumbledore regretted informing him that Voldemort had to choose the Chosen One. He didn't suppose the detail looked obvious from this point in time. Harry decided to act bothered.

"I still think you should prepare the Order. You don't know what the Death Eaters are like now..."

Dumbledore nodded wisely, calmly. "When the time is right."

– X –

Darkness obscured Harry's vision, aided by the falling of heavy snow. There was nothing in the range of the Elder Wand's light to indicate where the secret entrance to the Chimera Hideout was; layers of faint white flakes against black was all Harry could see. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak in close with one hand, squinting through it. Although he saw safe for the moment and he was free to stay away from Tom's headquarters for as much as a few hours, all he wanted right now was to find somewhere safe to be, away from the Order of the Phoenix.

Dumbledore had inspired with him a sense of chilling despair and confusion for the future that had followed him all the way from the Order hideout. He couldn't shake the unsettling suspicion that the lack of caution put into the Order's protection would lead to death and destruction. Dumbledore had become reckless in private, unable to accurately judge what the Prophecy meant. The thought bothered Harry so much that even when he – miraculously – found the passageway into the Chimera Hideout, he was lost in thought. He passed guards without trouble, slipping into the entrance hall after removing his Cloak.

There were Death Eaters scattered across the hall, some of them speaking in small groups on their way out of the hideout, others awaiting a meeting with their Lord impatiently. Crabbe, Goyle, and Dolohov Jr were still speaking to Tom with a few others – the Lestranges, Wilkes, Rosier – which told Harry that the discussion about the McKinnons wasn't over yet. The Death Eaters were so focused on talking that they didn't notice Harry pass. He caught Tom's attention alone. Despite everything that had happened, the untroubled look in Tom's eyes calmed Harry more than anything else had.

He gave Tom a look to mean he'd be waiting downstairs; he had no desire to get involved with Death Eater meetings tonight. They would speak about it at length in private later on, as Tom so often enjoyed doing, in a room deeper in the hideout. Harry headed there now. Solitude comforted him as he slipped from the entrance hall, clearing his head and making him feel safe. He wandered through other parts of the building, accepting the disconnection that the hideout cast from the world high above. When he arrived at the room he was looking for, his ears strained against the weight of heavy silence.

Everything was deathly quiet down here. Harry stood staring at the large couches, high bookshelves, and tall windows across the room. He didn't feel like sitting down, so he wandered instead, mulling over the possibility of Dumbledore losing touch with the Light Arts. It was only a minute before he heard a door open behind him, followed by calm footsteps. Tom had arrived. Harry wondered what made him leave the Death Eaters so early; he noticed a dark shadow over his eyes. Despite appearing cool and unfazed earlier, Tom was stressed.

"Is there news?" Harry asked.

"None more important than that which you sent me," Tom answered. "Where did you go tonight?"

Harry produced a lie to stifle any chance of doubt. "I tried to track down Bellatrix Lestrange for more information on the McKinnons. I thought she might have been following a trail, but if she was, I couldn't pick it up."

Tom bought it. He gave no signs of approval or disapproval, he merely moved further into the room, brooding. He seemed to find news on the McKinnons both inspiring and worrisome. Harry kept his eyes on him.

"The information Bellatrix has given us thus far is invaluable," Tom said. "We shall begin sending out Death Eaters to investigate. We shall gather information on all families connected to the Order and observe them well..."

Harry said nothing, but turned away slightly. He knew the Order would stop them. There would be no struggle, no confusion; as soon as any Death Eaters approached a family involved in the Order, a threat would show up and they would back off. They'd tell Tom about the Order's caution and new tactics would be made, new plans put in place...

"Yet this is merely the beginning, I believe," Tom carried on, oblivious to Harry's serious expression. "There will be more families with connections to those who have defied me, more witches and wizards with the potential of birthing a threat."

Harry didn't know what to say. He turned to stare out across a rainy landscape of forests and distant mountains through a high window. He was trying to distract himself, but the view before his eyes made him feel uneasy. It reminded him of the view from Hogwarts Castle – a fact that can't have been wholly incidental. Tom had spent hours enchanting fake windows in all his hideouts, perfecting all of them. None discomfited Harry quite as much as this particular one. Rain splattered thickly against the window's thin glass, but it was silent. Tom forgot to finish off his enchantments.

"Do you object to my plans?" asked Tom.

"No," Harry answered honestly.

"Then what is troubling you?"

He was annoyed. Harry tore his eyes from the window to meet Tom's burning gaze. Since the Prophecy had been discovered, his temper was short; he worked nonstop to secure his own fighters and hideouts, determined to remain protected from the Order and Dumbledore. Although Tom remained as handsome as ever in Harry's eyes and although he stood proud and confident amongst Death Eaters, the Prophecy was changing him.

"I'm worried about the Death Eaters," Harry admitted. "I'm not sure they understand the changes happening around here."

This was not wholly a lie, but Harry only said it to avoid suspicion. It seemed to work. Tom stopped facing him so directly and drew in a deep breath, his hand rising to push back his dark hair. He then began to pace.

"It is their duty to bring me information in sworn secrecy," he said, his anger dissolving as quickly as it had arose. "If our followers are so prying as to make inquiries about my plans, they will face the usual punishments..."

Harry wondered darkly how Dumbledore might reword the same idea. "And if punishment isn't enough to stop their curiosity?"

Tom considered the question only briefly before answering. "Then we shall punish them more until they obey."

He continued to pace, troubled and distracted. It was upon watching the billowing of his black cloak that Harry realised Tom dressed well to leave a good impression for the Death Eaters, but he was unable to pay caution to the condition of his hair, which became messy the more he ran his pale fingers through it. This, alongside his temper, was the only clear indication to the others of his state of mind.

Tom took a seat on an nearby couch, as if to stop himself from walking and thinking in circles. Harry's mind wandered to thoughts of the Prophecy and the Death Eater's curiosity about it. It was in that moment that inspiration struck him. He realised what if he could get Tom to tell the Death Eaters about the Prophecy, maybe the Order would start to realise they had become personal targets to the Dark Lord...

Harry remembered the doubt Dumbledore had expressed at the idea of him convincing Tom to warn the Death Eaters about the Prophecy. He felt suddenly spiteful of Dumbledore and determined to implement a change to prove him wrong. He stepped forwards, casting a spell over his shoulder to fold over the drooping curtains of the enchanted window. In the torchlight, he headed for Tom slowly.

"The Death Eaters sense a change," he said. "You must have seen it in their minds. Despite your orders, despite how much you punish them for their brutality, they're still burning to know why you favourite certain people. They know something's happened."

Tom held his gaze, intrigued in a momentarily questioning way. "Why does this bother you?"

"You saw what a mess the Death Eaters made of their murders tonight," Harry explained, determined to influence a change of strategy. "You wouldn't have sent me out there to investigate if it weren't so bad."

Tom thought it over in interest, but it lowered his spirits. They had discussed the Death Eaters bad behaviour for weeks, unable to solve it.

"I admit," said Tom slowly, "that their work is clumsy in ignorance. They've grown brutal and careless, determined to gain credit... yet I rather think this is the result of dedication over disloyalty."

"It is," Harry agreed quickly, "but that won't stop them from noticing something's changed. They're attacking everyone in dedication to you, waiting to strike gold. I think it's getting out of hand."

Tom wasn't pleased to hear it, but he thought it over, looking away.

"Well," he said, "perhaps we could lessen their arrogance... It seems cruel to snatch Bellatrix Lestrange's crown so soon, but it may be wise for us to inform more Death Eater of the threat Dumbledore has brought to our attention."

"You mean, we should tell them about the Prophecy?"

"Precisely."

Harry held his breath, trying hard not to smile. This was exactly what he wanted.

"What our followers are searching for is praise," Tom carried on, "yet they're graceless in their attempts to discover what is considered valuable information to us. If they are all informed about the Prophecy, we shall have hundreds of Death Eaters individually searching for defiant enemies, knowingly sorting through information. They shall each bring information to me separately, they will each be able to blackmail, torture, and kill our enemies for information..."

Harry could tell Tom was excited at the prospect. A smile spread across his sharp features, his eyes alight with possibility. Harry advanced, taking a seat on the couch besides him.

"Do you really think this will work?"

Tom nodded and ran pale fingers through his dark hair. The prospect of organising an army and sending out hundreds of Death Eaters to search for the Chosen One thrilled him.

"This will be brilliant," he hissed.

Harry smiled back, but he found he couldn't relish completely in Tom's happiness. He hadn't expected him to be quite so enthralled. He realised, gradually, what a risk it was to show him a more powerful approach to dealing with the Prophecy. If sudden Death Eater attacks didn't prompt Dumbledore into rightfully warning the Order of the Phoenix, they might be at risk for no reason.

To calm his nerves, Harry chose to believe this was for the best of everyone. All he needed to do was warn the Order about an increase in Death Eater attacks. If Nott knew about the Prophecy – as he undoubtedly would soon – he could pass on information concerning any future raids that were planned. It would be a tremendous relief for Harry; warning the Order of the Phoenix about attacks would protect them whilst still leading them towards discovering a Prophecy had been made. For the sake of making sure everything went smoothly, Harry realised he needed to visit Nott as soon as possible.

The only problem was, there wasn't any time in which Harry could slip out of the Chimera Hideout undetected. Tom had grown protective and paranoid of his security recently. He took extra precautions to separate and isolate his followers, to watch out for spies, and to keep his many hideouts secure. The only time Harry was able to leave without drawing unwanted attention was during private missions Tom sent him off on to check on mistakes the Death Eaters had made. He was sent to inspire fear and order in the others.

Fortunately for Harry, it wasn't too long before one of these missions appeared. Late one September evening, Death Eaters summoned their Lord through their Dark Marks, requesting that he attend an urgent gathering. Tom, who had been summoned too often lately, was not pleased to be disturbed. He was in the middle of studying some very important information on the Bones family, information that could lead to the discovery of the Chosen One. It was the perfect opportunity for Harry to offer his help.

"I could go for you," he said. "I'm not doing anything at the moment. You've been working for hours."

Tom was surprised. He didn't, however, object to the idea. "Would you?"

"I'd be happy to. I haven't left the headquarters in weeks, anyway."

Tom nodded slowly, his tired eyes on Harry. "I would be grateful for it."

Harry rose to his feet, trying to avoid sounding too enthusiastic. "Where are they?"

"They've gathered in the Dementor Hideout."

Harry nodded once in understanding. He left a book he was reading on a table nearby, heading towards a dresser for his Invisibility Cloak.

"You must remember to gather full information," Tom added, turning back to his notes. A drop of ink had fallen on parchment and he carefully removed it by magic. "I do not wish to speak to anyone else but you tonight..."

"I understand."

Tom often enjoyed discussed the war alone with Harry, especially at this time of day. Harry fastened a travelling cloak around his neck and slipped the Invisibility Cloak into the pocket of his robes. He left the bedroom after a short goodbye and walked all the way up the hideout, meeting the guards on duty near the main entrance. Excitement and relief built within him as he exited the huge doors of the headquarters, stepped into the cool night air. He Apparated to the Dementor Hideout at once.

He intended to speak to the Death Eaters as quickly as possible so he could slip away and visit Nott's home without detection tonight, but when he entered the Dementor Hideout, he discovered a much darker scene than he had anticipated. Rosier and Lestrange greeted him at the door and asked no questions about where Tom was. They led him inside hastily, bringing him to the main room, where six Death Eaters sat and stood around the corpse of Cygnus Black.

Harry couldn't believe it at first sight. He stood in the doorway, frozen, staring. Cygnus was a Knight and one of the best fighters amongst Death Eaters. He lay pale and peaceful, his eyes closed and his breathing ceased.

"What happened?" Harry asked at once.

"Aurors," Avery murmured. "We got ambushed while chasing Bones."

"Were any others hurt?"

"Yes," Rosier answered. "Two others, but we've got the regular healers on them. There's no serious damage."

"One faced a pretty bad Cruciatus Curse, though," Avery mentioned. "I've never seen someone pass out after one round."

"What happened to Black?" Harry asked. "Why is he here?"

"I thought we could save him," a Death Eater murmured shakily. It was a young recruit, someone Harry didn't know. "We brought him here, but it was too late..."

"There was no chance," said Lestrange flatly. "He was hit by a Killing Curse."

Despite this, everyone here seemed to be in a state of disbelief. Death Eaters glanced at Cygnus as if they expected him to wake up at any moment, to carry on leading groups and fighting enemies. His lips were cold and blue.

"He was the strongest fighter amongst us," said Avery. "If this is what happens to someone like him, what's going to happen to the rest of us?"

Nobody answered. The room fell into a slow state of mourning – even Rosier and Lestrange refrained from commenting their opinions. They may have thought Avery was right. Harry forced himself to stop staring at Black, suddenly remembering why he was here. The Death Eaters needed to be told what to do next. They were discouraged and distraught.

"It's good you brought him here," Harry said to all of them. "We can arrange a private funeral, a proper burial for a Knight. We'll honour Black's death by saving his name and we'll make sure he's never identified as a traitor to the Ministry..."

This, hopefully, meant Cygnus's body would never end up in The Cave, where most deceased witches and wizards were stored as Inferi. A burial for a fallen Knight was an important thing amongst Death Eaters – Tom was sure to treat it as such. Harry glanced at the grave faces of the wizards around him, who were only slightly encouraged by his words. This wasn't going to be an easy death for anyone to accept.

"When's the funeral?" asked Avery suddenly.

"Tomorrow," Harry answered, guessing Tom would agree. "We'll meet at headquarters. Rosier, Lestrange, I expect you'll be in charge of Cygnus's body?"

The two Knights nodded.

"We'll bring him somewhere safe," Rosier swore.

"The rest of you, spread the word privately amongst Death Eaters, but no further. We'll leave it to the Black family to decide who else is told."

"Yes, my Lord."

Harry wasn't sure which Death Eater said it. It seemed to slip from them, an unquestioned show of respect.

"Bellatrix Lestrange won't be pleased about this," murmured Avery.

Nobody else seemed to have considered this. The group grew tense. Harry felt momentarily guilty for taking her father's funeral into his own hands, but he knew there was no other way.

"I have to return to the Dark Lord," he said in a low voice, intent upon leaving swiftly. "He needs to know what's happened."

There was no objections. Lestrange and Rosier began to move and took it into their own hands to take the body of their friend, their fellow Knight, to a safe location. Other Death Eaters were left to decide who should be told the news. When Harry left for Nott's house, he wasn't sure what to think. It felt wrong to organise communication to the Order of the Phoenix so soon after organizing Cygnus's funeral.

Nott was thankfully home when Harry knocked. He beckoned him inside and lead him to his living room, but Harry didn't take the seat that was offered to him.

"I can't stay for long," he said.

"Oh, of course," Nott agreed. Something like a smile found him. "Old habits."

Harry nodded politely, suddenly nostalgic for the days when he could visit Nott whenever he needed to. The comfort of his living room drew him in with its crimson furniture and the warmth of a burning fire. He wondered how many more times he'd visit this house before the war was done.

"Evadne is returning home soon, anyway," Nott added. "What brings you here tonight?"

Between the relief of leaving Tom's headquarters and the shock of Cygnus Black's death, Harry hadn't considered how he might ask Nott that he needed to bring more warnings to the Order of the Phoenix from this point on. At the mention of Evadne, Harry's heart sank.

He had forgotten that Christopher and Evadne were expecting a child. In less than two months, Theodore Nott would be born and Christopher would finally have a proper family. Harry realised he couldn't ask him to take on more work, because it would be difficult enough for him to be both a Death Eater and spy for the Order with a child and Lycanthropy to think about. Harry wasn't willing to risk Nott's life and the happiness of his unborn child for this, so he did the only thing he could do to avoid the problem. He shared some more important news with Nott.

"Something happened tonight," he said. "With the latest raid. Some of the Death Eaters were attacked, chased by Aurors. We lost Cygnus."

"Cygnus?" Nott repeated. "Cygnus Black?"

Harry nodded.

Nott didn't believe it. His eyes shone blue and wide. "What happened?"

"He got hit by a Killing Curse."

"You saw the body?"

"Yes."

"He was definitely dead?"

"It was a Killing Curse, Christopher."

Nott didn't want to believe it. He turned away slightly, shaking his head.

"The Knights are falling fast..."

Harry didn't need to voice his agreement. Only three Knights of Walpurgis remained now: Rosier, Lestrange, and Nott.

"Ever since the Ministry changed its rules, this war has grown unjust. Since the Prophecy was discovered too, I suppose..."

"You heard about it?" Harry asked, interested.

"Only this week."

At least this meant there was some progress, Harry mused.

"Do you believe in it?" Nott asked curiously. "This Prophecy?"

Harry hesitated. Honesty wasn't an option. "It's best to be cautious."

A strained look passed Nott's expression. It was difficult for him to accept that Voldemort's hunt for the Chosen One had become a necessity, especially when it meant he had to be involved in tracking and attacking his Order friends. What hurt him most of all in that moment, however, was the realisation that either the Order of the Phoenix would fall or Harry would be left alone in this world.

"There's a lot counting on this Prophecy, if it truly exists," he said. "It's changing people."

Harry said nothing. He wondered what theories Nott had on the course of this war. He wondered whether the Death Eaters feared it would be decades before a conclusion to his havoc was met – or whether Nott, knowing about Horcruxes, thought Tom's rule might last forever.

"They're both scared, I think," Harry said in a moment of honesty. "Tom and Dumbledore. There's no way to guess how much of the Prophecy is guesswork, how much holds power, and how much of it might come true. The only thing they can do is prepare for the worst."

"Which means more death," said Nott. "The Dark Lord's caution, as well as Dumbledore's, has cost the lives and safety of too many people."

So Nott agreed. Harry felt relieved to hear it.

"All I can think," Nott carried on faintly, "after everything that's happened, is this isn't the kind of world I want my children to grow up in..."

Harry watched Nott carefully, remaining silent. He knew Theodore was going to be safe, but he couldn't imagine what the stress was like for new parents. He tried his best to be comforting.

"Let's just hope the Death Eaters discover who the child of the Prophecy is before anyone else is killed."

"Yes," Nott agreed. "Then the world might change..."

Harry didn't doubt it. He fixed the travelling cloak around his shoulders, saying, "I have to return to the Dark Lord to bring him the news."

"So soon?"

"I can't stay long."

Nott nodded slowly. "Well, thank you for informing me of Cygnus's death."

Harry rather wished he could have spared him the news, in honesty. At the thought, he remembered why he had come here initially and how his plans were flawed. His mind became cluttered with thoughts on what he was supposed to do now neither Nott nor he could warn the Order about future Death Eater movements. He decided he couldn't leave without saying last thing.

"Since more people know about the Prophecy, there's going to be an increase in attacks... I need you to mention that to Dumbledore. He'll need to be on full alert."

"I know," Nott assured him. "I'll give the usual warnings and reports."

Harry hoped this would be enough. He couldn't bring himself to tell Nott that he couldn't contribute much help; he would try to find a way to slip out of Tom's headquarters without detection in the near future, to send out warnings himself in times when he wouldn't be missed. For good measure, he'd visit Dumbledore soon to discuss it too. This way, maybe Dumbledore would see his logic...

– X –

Harry returned to the headquarters swiftly from Nott's house, hoping he hadn't been gone for too long. When he arrived, the inner building was empty expect for guards, which was unsurprising for this hour. Tom remained where he had been when Harry left: poring over notes and official papers on the Bones family, alone. When Harry entered the room, Tom paused his writing, but didn't do more than turn an ear his way.

"What have our followers failed at this time?" he asked.

Harry didn't answer at once. He grew uncomfortable upon realising the weight of the news he carried. He unclasped his travelling cloak, stepping into the room, stalling for time.

"Well?"

"There – there was a fight," Harry explained. "With a few Aurors. The group you sent after Bones was ambushed."

There was no telling how Tom felt about this, except the grip on his quill tightened. "How many were hurt?"

"Two. They both survived and they're being looked after."

"Then why ever was I summoned?"

Harry couldn't begin an explanation. He had never delivered a death report concerning a Knight before. He wasn't sure how to deal with it himself.

"There – there was a death," he stammered.

"Has Avery finally met his greatest punishment?" Tom joked.

"It was Cygnus, Tom. Cygnus Black."

Tom froze where he sat, his breath halted, his expression shielded. Harry couldn't take that strained, stunned moment in which he remained perfectly still, his thoughts unknown, his reaction unpredictable. In an instant, there was the screech of a chair and Tom dropped his quill, standing up. He faced Harry with a furious expression, stressed in ways he was too used to.

"How could a group," he began in a hiss, "containing three of my strongest Death Eaters, my Knights, fail to foresee an ambush and fail to succeed in a fight?"

"You know what the Aurors are like, Tom. The Ministry is angry."

"Not as angry as they'll be," Tom promised scathingly.

Harry hadn't expected such a strong reaction. Tom was shaking where he stood, his teeth bared and his voice closer now than ever to the threatening whisper of his future self. It was only the safety of their solitude that allowed him to react so openly.

"What spells were used?" he demanded. "Who battled Cygnus and duelled him towards death?"

"I don't know. They would have told me if they knew. He was hit by a Killing Curse."

Tom's eyes seemed to gleam red. "The Ministry is still fond of its interest in the Dark Arts, I see..."

It seemed to amaze Tom as much as anyone. Harry wished it weren't so. "At least we know we've broken the Ministry in some way."

"A feat that is hardly worth the life of a Knight..."

Harry couldn't argue with that.

"Who contacted the Ministry?" Tom demanded swiftly. "Who summoned the Aurors? With all of this, I ask myself: has Dumbledore now influenced the Ministry's new change? Could Dumbledore have set a trap, warning Aurors, warning Bones? I wonder..."

Harry said nothing. He knew Dumbledore had contact with Aurors like Moody and the Longbottoms, but he also knew this was unrelated to the changes Barty Crouch Senior had implemented in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Unforgivable Curses were being used in desperation, not as a part of any plans. He wished he could tell Tom.

"If Dumbledore trusted the Aurors, I don't think he'd have an Order," he mentioned gently. "He knows we've infiltrated the Ministry. The Aurors are on their own."

"What if they knew about the Prophecy?"

"How could they know?"

"Prophecies are kept within the Ministry," Tom reminded him, "I've inquired into the matter with Rookwood. Although he has seen no signs of other Unspeakables being aware of anything, this does not rule out the possibility of Aurors being warned..."

"It's unlikely," Harry reasoned. "The Aurors fight dark wizards, they don't protect children of Prophecies."

Tom didn't agree or disagree; he clearly couldn't shake off his paranoia. Harry stepped further into the room, closing the distance, hoping to calm Tom's nerves. His expression was serious, in what he hoped was a calm, comforting way.

"There will always be death in war, Tom," he said. "That doesn't mean you've lost."

Tom turned, his eyes flicking between Harry's as if he expected something within them. He was tense, but not in anger, which confused Harry at first. The longer he examined Tom, the clearer it became to him from the way he winced and breathed harshly that he was scared. Harry was stunned.

Tom clenched and unclenched a fist as if he wished there were someone around to Curse. He was ready to fight the Ministry, to avenge Black's death. He seemed to be struggling with a thought and Harry waited.

"No matter how daring Dumbledore is in his attempts to kill my followers and weaken my defence," Tom said in a furious whisper, "he shan't defeat you and I. He shan't know our secrets. He cannot separate us, not in life, not in death..."

Harry was transfixed, rooted to the spot in an addling mix of dread, love, and dawning realisation. It was in this moment, as he stood across from Tom, listening to him speak, that he realised Tom's only comfort was the belief that they were in this together. He planned to fight this war protecting Harry and – supposedly – being protected by him. It was in this moment that Harry felt an overwhelming wave of grief for the pain he was inflicting through choice and through fate...

– X –

Tom's anger at the loss of Cygnus Black didn't fade that night, nor during the weeks that followed. He remained furious and determined in his attacks against the Ministry, sending out packs of Death Eaters, who were affected by Black's death in a similar way to the discovery of the Prophecy; some were angry and vengeful, while others were scared and doubtful. The anguish Bellatrix Lestrange alone felt at the news was unnerving. To avenge her father's death, she had grown violent and unstable, but there wasn't a single person who dared to question her commands.

It was during these weeks of havoc and shock, in a time when things were changing for the worse, that Theodore Nott was born. One November day, the news travelled from one Death Eater to the next, spoken merrily, for they were proud that another amongst them had produced a healthy, pure-blooded boy. Due to being stuck in headquarters, Harry was unable to see Theodore for weeks, but he listened to stories of the child with interest. When he eventually took an opportunity to visit Nott and Evadne, it was to find that Theodore had eyes as bright and blue as his father's. He had never seen such happy parents in a time of such destruction.

Harry passed on messages to the Order of the Phoenix alone during Nott's absence over the next few weeks, but he wasn't pleased to do it. He spoke openly to Dumbledore about being unable to visit the Order often and they concluded that this wouldn't be a problem, assuming Harry continued to send out warnings about major Death Eater movements. Guilt, as well as an inability to leave the headquarters often, stalled Harry's progress in almost every warning and report. After Dumbledore's refusal to be open to his own followers, he found it hard to put any trust in him at all.

Due almost entirely to Harry's spying, the Order of the Phoenix remained one step ahead of the Death Eaters in their hunt for the Chosen One. What Harry hated most about this was he found it unbearably easy to gain and pass on information. More Death Eaters had been informed about the Prophecy, thus there was less at risk of him being a suspect when raids and attacks were ruined. The Death Eaters inability to make any progress angered many, but it was nothing compared to how deranged it made Tom. Harry wished more than anything that he could stop this betrayal, now he knew this was Tom's greatest fear, but it was impossible to leave the Order without risking several lives.

As the Death Eaters faced further bad luck, Tom devised more elaborate plans and dedicated more time to writing lists and drawing maps on who was connected to his enemies, who had defied him, and who was most likely to produce a child by eight months' time. He focused his attention on the biggest wizarding families connected to the Order – the McKinnons, Bones, Prewetts, and Blacks – and began obsessing over them. If he couldn't reach them directly, he told Harry darkly on many occasions, he would send his Death Eaters to attack any relatives who weren't under Dumbledore's protection. To his dismay, however, he still made no progress.

"Did I not increase our chance of catching a threat by warning our followers?" Tom asked in exasperation one day. "Did I not set the Order of the Phoenix at a disadvantage by sending my Death Eaters on organized hunts while Dumbledore is doubtlessly keeping the identity of the unborn child a secret?"

Harry gave no answer, but he watched Tom in the dim, unnatural light of a library. He had been up all night and it showed in his drained expression, in the stress displayed in his clawed fingers, in the way he grew agitated at every little detail. This war was taking everything he had, but Harry didn't do a thing to help him.

"I sense betrayal," Tom muttered in an afterthought.

"Betrayal?" Harry repeated.

"Yes. If informing Death Eaters about the Prophecy did not strengthen my advantage, there must be a rat amongst my group... Who dares to betray me so? Who, moreover, has reason to give their loyalty to Dumbledore?"

If this wasn't enough to worry Harry, Tom decided that week to start sending specific Death Eaters on hunts to find any rats amongst his group. Nott, ironically, was chosen amongst others to sort through information and interrogate various followers. When Tom found no evidence of betrayal, he allowed his paranoia to subside for a while, but Harry knew this was far from the end. Tom's calmed himself by making sure the Death Eaters kept watch for traitors at all times.

Driven by paranoia, it wasn't long before Tom decided to begin hiding his Horcruxes. He did this more in fear than anything; it was the only way he could calm himself about the Prophecy and about Dumbledore's determination to defeat him. He spoke to Harry about it in length, concluding that he wished to hide his Locket Horcrux far away. Since The Cave had had been filled over the years with the bodies of their enemies and victims, he decided this was the best place to start. The only thing he needed was a creature to sacrifice to the Inferi.

Tom had planned to use their old House-Elf, Tweaky, in hiding a Horcrux within The Cave, Harry realised, but he had murdered him in a moment of rage, so he was in search of a new, living House-Elf. Every enchantment, protective spell, curse, and potion was ready within the Cave. Since Tom had a conveniently large following of pure-blooded witches and wizards, he decided to seek their help. During a small meeting in his main headquarters, he addressed his followers.

"Before we begin plotting against the Order tonight, I have a special request for one of you."

He had caught the attention of his followers, who were always eager to take private request in hope of obtaining praise. Tom scanned the faces of the nearest Death Eaters.

"Who amongst you," he began delicately, "has blood pure enough to bestow a House-Elf upon our cause?"

Nobody responded. Harry recognised many of the Death Eaters here as Purebloods, but they were reluctant to give up their family servants. Many of them surely realised this would be a permanent trade. Snape, who sat across from Harry, leant back in his hair, a shadow falling across his face.

"A House-Elf?" Crabbe repeated. "Why do you need one, my Lord?"

Tom turned a cruel, warning gaze on Crabbe. He fell silent immediately, his curiosity ceased.

"Any offers?" Tom pressed.

Still, nobody spoke. Harry saw Lestrange breath in heavily, shifting where he sat. Avery scratched behind his ear and Rosier averted his eyes.

"What about you, Black?"

At the question, Regulus Black turned to his Lord. The others stared at him.

"Do you not own a House-Elf?" Tom asked softly. "Will you not offer it to our cause?"

It was evident from his tone that Tom had planned this from the start. Regulus was a young Death Eater who was yet to prove himself. What surprised Harry, however, was the indifference he saw in Regulus's expression. There's no fear, no eagerness. He's a quiet Death Eater, an opposite to his cousin Bellatrix.

"It would be an honour, my Lord," he said.

He seemed to be holding something back in the way he spoke, something somber. Perhaps he, too, realised the risk of giving Kreacher up to Lord Voldemort.

Tom didn't notice anything strange about Regulus's behaviour. He was too satisfied with the idea that his Locket Horcrux would presumably be safe soon. As the meeting carried on and Tom said no more about his House-Elf request, Harry kept an eye on Regulus out of interest. Throughout plans discussed and events mentioned, he contributed nothing. He seemed, if anything, disinterested. This made Harry wonder if he was already on the path to questioning the Dark Lord. At Cygnus's Death, Regulus undoubtedly changed, but it may have had something to do with the Prophecy too. The more Harry thought about it, the more he felt that Regulus had faith in the Chosen One.

Harry didn't see Regulus again after that night and nor did he expect to. He avoided it when Kreature was brought to the headquarters and he declined an offer to join Tom in his endeavour to hide a Horcrux. He had no desire to watch Tom bring Kreacher The Cave, force a cured potion upon him, and leave him to the Inferi with the intention of never seeing him again. Regulus must have been cautious about the Dark Lord's request for a House-elf, because he was sly about summoning Kreacher home without detection and he was never seen by Death Eaters again.

The only thing that kept Tom from noticing Regulus Black's disappearance was a death that occurred soon after it. While Regulus's corpse was surely at the bottom of the lake, fights between Death Eaters and the Order were growing fierce. Tom's followers normally fought together, giving them an advantage against their enemies, but when Rosier decided to stalk and spy on members of the Order alone one day, he was met by violence from those who discovered his presence. His death shocked many and left his son Evan Rosier distraught.

Tom was deeply shaken by the news of another fallen Knight, but Harry watched him keep his composure flawlessly in front of the Death Eaters, who sought his advice. There was no funeral for Rosier, like there had been for Black, but Death Eaters gathered nonetheless in Tom's headquarters.

"Today we have faced yet another grave loss for our cause," Tom said quietly. "We have faced an unjust murder not of a Death Eater alone, but of a leader, a Knight amongst us. Let us mark this day as a reminder of the ferocity of our enemies and let us not forget the injustice we have seen. Let us not forget why we are fighting this war..."

Harry found himself affected by Rosier's death. It wasn't like Black's death, which had alarmed him due to seeing the corpse and the faces of the Death Eaters around him. Rosier's death shook him because he couldn't understand why the Order would kill a Death Eater so bluntly. He had a deep desire to slip away from the headquarters after Tom's speech, to visit the Order and ask about it, but he knew he couldn't. The Death Eaters filed out of the building and Tom headed deeper into the headquarters, giving an indication that he wanted to speak with Harry alone.

Harry followed him, ignoring thoughts of the open headquarters and the Invisibility Cloak in his pocket. Tom headed all the way to their library, where he paced the room and barely seemed to notice anything around him. Rosier's death was too much for him to take. He ran a clawed hand through his hair.

"What do we do now?" Harry asked, deciding he had to start from somewhere.

Tom didn't seem to hear him for a moment. He closed his eyes, his teeth gritted, his breath slow and harsh. "We kill whoever dares to associate themselves with the Order of the Phoenix..."

Harry walked slowly into the room, thinking. He had seen Death Eaters, Knights, Order members, and Aurors all die at the hands of the others, often for the wrong reasons, or for no reason at all. He had seen members of the Order commit crimes they'd never get away with if the Aurors didn't trust them and if the Death Eaters weren't so powerful. He'd seen good men turn bad while the line between wrong and right was smeared with the blood of fallen fighters. Though all that had happened, he realised it wasn't what you killed for that mattered to people, but who.

"The Knights are falling fast," Harry remarked. "I've never seen a war so dark..."

He could tell Tom was overwhelmed. He continued to pace without stopping, unable to think, unable to answer. Harry wondered what Rosier might think if he could have seen such pain in his Lord.

It scared Harry that so many people were dying so quickly and that a boy he had known since the age of eighteen was lost to him now, but it wasn't this which left so many people distressed. Rosier's death signified a change in all sides of this war, a new brutality from the Order of the Phoenix. The death he met was unjust, even if Rosier had committed as many crimes as any Death Eater during the course of his life. Harry wasn't sure what to think when fighters from all sides of this war did terrible things for their leaders. There was no light or dark side, only grey.

"Barely a day passes in which our followers are not clutched by the eager grasp of death," Tom muttered irritably. "We're losing Death Eaters and our plans are failing systematically... What detail am I missing from all of this? What could I have overlooked?"

Harry said nothing. His mind wandered to the faceless Death Eaters who came and went in masses, barely having an affect on his day even as they died for Tom's cause.

"Perhaps there is betrayal amongst our rank... Perhaps our followers have grown defiant, encouraged wrongly by the Prophecy to support Dumbledore..."

Still, Harry remained silent. He didn't know what to think about the Death Eaters and the Order anymore. He wasn't sure where he was supposed to be when he didn't believe in either of their causes. It came as a surprise to him when Tom stopped dead, turning to him.

"What are you thinking about?" he demanded.

Harry was mildly startled, but otherwise unfazed by Tom's forceful tone. It was only expected that he would react so strongly to minor annoyances after the death of another Knight. He thought momentarily of creating a lie to satisfy Tom's burning curiosity, but he decided against it. In a quiet, sure voice, he spoke the thoughts on his mind.

"War wasn't built for wise men. Even as immortal beings, I don't see why you spare this war the time..."

A stunned moment passed. Tom didn't move, but winced and stared in disbelief. He understood the scathing insult in Harry's words: this war had killed too many important people. It had slowed Tom's research to a standstill, interrupting the experiments he was working on, preventing his studies on the Arts. This war had become his life, an elaborate game he was addicted to. In this stunned, paused moment, Tom realised just how much Harry disapproved of it.

It may have been dangerous for Harry to speak his opinions so honestly, but he felt no fear. He didn't care how brutally honest he had to be to get his point across. Tom was searching for something in Harry's face, some answer to an internal question he couldn't bring himself to ask. He seemed panicked for the first time, wary of Harry's intentions. Harry allowed him to think what he may. He stood and left the room without another word.

Tom didn't do a thing. He stood very still, staring off into space.

– X –

A change happened in Tom after that night. Harry expected him to be angry about the bold, harsh things he said, but Tom never mentioned it. He never said a word. He remained furious almost all of the time and paranoid for the rest of it, but this was because of the lack of success in Death Eater work and in the difficulty of this war. He never expressed the quiet, unsaid feelings that built up inside of him in relation to the realisation that Harry didn't believe in war. It was enough to make anyone nervous.

Another change took place over the next few month that worried Harry equally as much as Tom's silence. The Death Eaters were being treated with a notable increase of brutality from Tom; a fact that appeared, at first, to be nothing more than necessary force. When Harry fell across a pile of notes scattered over Tom's desk one night, giving lengthy details about the whereabouts and movements of every Death Eater imaginable, he began to realise that Tom was scared of a rat being far closer to him than he first supposed...

The only thing Harry could do upon finding this information was stay watchful. It was difficult for him to gauge who Tom was keeping an eye on at what time, but he made an effort to divert his attention from Nott, who was already struggling as a new father. Harry was tremendously scared that Tom's obsessing would lead him to send spies on Nott during Order work, but he found that this was never the case. It was an unexpected and altogether quite random event that made him pay attention to Nott's strange behaviour for the first time.

During a discussion about Werewolves at the end of a Death Eater meeting, Dolohov Jr decided to voice his opinions about the great beasts that served Tom under the light of the full moon. With Death Eaters gathered around, he spoke his thoughts boldly.

"I'd happy kill 'em myself, if they weren't any use to us," he slurred. "Any creature that drinks Muggle blood ought to be considered a Mudblood themselves, I reckon."

Many of the Death Eaters laughed, not only at his conceited confidence, but in agreement to his words. The only person who did not smile was Nott, who tensed upon hearing it. The fact would have gone unnoticed, had Tom not been observing his followers closely, tracking their behaviour. To Harry's dismay, Tom's eyes lit up and lingered on Nott in a way that told him realisation had struck.

Only a day later, when Harry was talking to a few Death Eaters in the entrance hall, he saw Nott enter the building. He didn't stop to talk with people like he normally would, but headed instead for the inner corridors of the headquarters. Harry knew this could only mean one thing: Nott had been summoned by Tom. Doing the only thing he could think of in that moment, Harry apologised shortly to the wizards around him and followed Nott at a fast pace.

The inner headquarters was dark, but Harry knew which way Nott had gone. He followed a large corridor that lead to the heart of the hideout, ending up outside a small room holding nothing more than an old radio, a few chairs, and books. Through a door, which was left slightly ajar, Harry heard voices.

"My Lord, I do not understand –"

"The matter is simple, Nott. Your absence has formed a pattern around the waning and waxing of moons. Through careful study, I have observed and discovered your secret..."

Nott gave no opinion. Harry thought he heard the subtle sound of shifting feet, but nothing more.

"Do you deny it?" Tom asked.

"No, my Lord," Nott answered faintly. "I do not..."

Harry couldn't take the stress of standing outside, blind to Tom's expressions. He pushed the door open and walked into the room, scanning the situation. Neither Nott nor Tom were disturbed by his presence. They carried on talking in the hope that he'd understanding without explanation. Tom, to his relief, didn't look angry. If anything, he seemed proud of his own discovery and satisfied by Nott's timidity.

"How did this happen?" Tom asked, his eyes never leaving Nott. "How could you obtain Lycanthropy?"

"He's a Werewolf?" Harry asked, deciding it was best to feign surprise.

"It would appear so..."

"It was through our own kind, my Lord," Nott explained shakily. "I became infected whilst accompanying Werewolves with the others. I didn't believe Lycanthropy could affect me – it was a small area of infection – but..."

This was partially a lie. Harry hoped Tom wouldn't ask to see where the Werewolf's bite scarred Nott's arm, overlapping the skull and snake of his Dark Mark.

"How have you kept this information from me for so long, Nott?"

"I thought it imprudent to discuss the matter openly, my Lord... Illnesses like these aren't approved of by many. Werewolves don't often remember their transformations, so nobody knew I was harmed at all."

"Who bit you?" Harry asked. "Do you know?"

Nott barely looked at him. "I – I think it was Fenrir Greyback... It was difficult to tell, at the time."

Harry's question caused the reaction he had hoped; Tom straightened up slowly. Fenrir often got carried away and almost always failed to follow any directions given to him. Having Fenrir as the one behind this would distract Tom from asking why Nott had interrupted a Werewolf attack enough to get bit in the first place.

"Well," said Tom softly, "since you have proven yourself able to contain your condition without even my knowledge, Nott, I do not suppose it will be detected by the others. You remain a worthy, able Knight..."

Relief washed over Nott. He looked at Voldemort properly for the first time. "Thank you, my Lord. Of course, I shall continue to keep it a secret most earnestly."

He looked eager to leave and Harry hoped he would. The moment he made a move, however, Tom spoke. His voice was delicate, but his eyes bore into Nott's with curiosity.

"Have you truly kept this a secret from everyone, Nott?"

With a fearful expression, Nott froze. He didn't say a word.

"Your wife is surely curious," Tom carried on. "Unless... she supports all of this?"

Harry's stomach dropped.

Nott continued hesitating. He opened his mouth a few times, unable to compose a lie. "No, she... she knows, my Lord."

Tom was deadly silent. Harry's pulse escalated.

"She loves me," Nott carried on in a rush. "She... she understands."

Harry had to remain calm. He stood very still, telling himself again and again that signs of panic were too dangerous right now. He was tremendously grateful to be in this room.

"I see..."

Tom said no more than this. Harry hoped he had expected this reaction from Nott, who grew pale and looked ill by this point. Harry tried to warn him that he'd protect him now, that he'd be safe, but Nott never dared to meet his eyes. He tried to explain himself to Voldemort instead.

"There's – there's a cure now, my Lord. A temporary cure."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "A cure?"

"Yes. It's a recent discovery, a breakthrough for all Werewolves."

This, miraculously, seemed to be the right thing to say. Tom was interested. He was distracted, even, from the possibility of Evadne Nott being unlike usual Purebloods. Harry realised, with a huge sense of relief, that Tom would take news of a cure as a sign that Nott was ashamed on his condition. His reluctance to punish Nott for his secret was already a good sign.

"You may leave," Tom stated curtly, to Harry's surprise. "Carry on shielding this information..."

"T-thank you, my Lord..."

Without daring to look up, Nott turned away. If he was shaking, Harry didn't notice; he was out the door in seconds, leaving no room for further conversation. When they were alone, Harry turned to Tom.

"How did you find out he's a Werewolf?"

"Every full moon, Nott has been absent," Tom answered shortly. "Eventually, a pattern formed."

Harry let out a breath of humourless laughter, feigning disbelief. Nott's absence was a relatively minor detail amongst a huge amount of information on the Death Eaters. He worried what other information Tom could gain from observing everyone's habits. He was looking for another traitor with unstoppable determination.

"Why aren't you angry at him?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Tom did not answer at once. A shadow reached his face, fuelled by whatever was going on in his head. Harry thought, for a moment, that he wasn't so sure himself.

"We are running out of Knights," he responded eventually. "Rosier, Black, and Adelmar Dorn are dead. What am I to do, punish one of two remaining Knights? Nott is strong and intelligent enough to avoid conflict amongst our followers..."

Harry was bemused. "You don't agree with the Death Eaters, then? You don't think that makes Nott less of a wizard?"

He knew he was pushing his luck, but couldn't help it. Tom shook his head once, staring off into space.

"Despite our Death Eaters' distaste for Werewolves, I know better than to assume blood as pure as Nott's could be changed by illness. Lesser wizards have achieved as much with greater setbacks..."

Harry was astounded. He couldn't tell whether Tom was being serious or whether desperation changed his views on blood-purity, but he his hopes were rising. Before he could say another word, however, Tom turned away. Harry reached out a hand to stop him.

"Wait–"

Tom stopped. "What is it?"

His tone was scathing. He was glaring.

Harry stared, momentarily confused. "Where are you going?"

If his abrupt departure wasn't confusing enough, Tom's eyes did not soften, but turned instead to slits. His voice was a hiss. "You dare to question me?"

Harry let go of his arm – not in fear, but in bewilderment. He sought an explanation, but found nothing in Tom's eyes but cold disregard and something like recognition of his own harshness. Tom turned away before he could process what had happened. As the hem of his cloak disappeared around the doorway, Harry realised something had gone very, very wrong.

– X –

No opportunities arose even in the following weeks for Harry to ask Tom why he was so angry; whenever he came close to bringing it up, Tom was always much too busy or acted as if nothing had happened. In the times when Tom was normal again, Harry decided it was better to leave the matter alone, but it played on his mind and haunted him in private. It ate away at him and caused him to worry that something had changed. That is, until a far more unsettling problem arose, pushing the matter from his mind.

Harry thought things would go back to normal at least until July, but he found that as April approached, the Death Eaters were already making tremendous progress in identifying the Chosen One. Ministry spies often brought Tom information on the Aurors, but no reports had ever interested him as much as when news of two Aurors expecting a child became known to the Death Eaters.

"Who are the parents?" Tom demanded, addressing Lestrange and Malfoy.

"Frank and Alice Longbottom, my Lord," answered Lestrange, who was unable to adequately hide his grin. "Two Aurors suspected of having ties to the Order of the Phoenix."

"You're sure the child will be born in July?"

"There's a high chance of it, my Lord."

"Then we shall wait..."

Encouraged and calmed by the news, Tom made plans to keep a close watch on the Longbottoms from that point on. He sent Death Eaters within the Ministry to spy on them at work, seeking full reports of their whereabouts to ensure that if Dumbledore decided to hide them, he'd know. The only problem was, the Longbottoms' schedule never changed. Even as weeks passed, they did their usual work at the Ministry under the eyes of the Death Eaters, Alice remaining in the Auror Office due to her pregnancy.

Harry's fear of the Longbottoms being harmed by Death Eaters was swiftly being replaced by a fear of Dumbledore ignoring his responsibilities. When May approached and the Potters and Longbottoms still remained out in the open, Harry knew he had to do something. So, choosing a time when he knew Dumbledore would be available, he headed for the Order headquarters one cold night. Barely anyone was around when he arrived. He asked to speak in private and Dumbledore saw no reason to object.

They met in the same small room as before, with its dark wooden furniture and ugly, over-polished little dresser. As soon as they were alone, Harry jumped straight to the point.

"Death Eaters at the Ministry are interested in the Longbottoms," he said. "They know Alice is pregnant and they suspect she'll have a son by July."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed pleasantly. "Nott informed of about their suspicion a month ago."

Harry was unsurprised. He nodded curtly. "So, what's your plan for them?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The Longbottoms. When do we start hiding them?"

Dumbledore surveyed Harry over his half-moon spectacles, frowning. "There is no knowing yet who the Prophecy spoke of, Jonathan."

Harry stared at him blankly.

"The Longbottoms fit every requirement," he reminded Dumbledore. "They've defied Voldemort three times, they're enemies to him, they're pregnant with a child who'll be born by July –"

"We do not yet know whether the Longbottoms will have a son or daughter, nor whether the child will be born in July at all."

"But you know it's a possibility," said Harry forcibly. "What's the harm in protecting them?"

"If we were to put the Longbottoms into hiding, as I see you are suggesting, it would only give the Death Eaters more reason to suspect they're a threat, Jonathan."

Harry understood Dumbledore's logic, but he suspected it was a diversion. The Longbottoms had been pregnant since October – there was no way Dumbledore could have feared attracting Death Eater attention back then. He could have hid them months ago. Harry didn't understand why he was being like this. He grew angry at the idea.

He felt Dumbledore was baiting Voldemort. The more he thought about it, the more the theory seemed to fit; Dumbledore had frozen in virtually all aspects, waiting. Despite Harry's efforts, the Order still didn't know about the Prophecy and as far as he could see, they wouldn't know a thing about it until at least July. He wondered what Dumbledore's plan was, until he thought he found the answer.

"You knew the Longbottoms fitted the Prophecy's requirements months ago, didn't you?" he asked quietly. "You knew they were pregnant, that they defied Voldemort three times, that their son would be born nine months from October. Only, you never hid them. Because they weren't the only parents who fitted the Prophecy's requirements, were they, Dumbledore?"

The question inspired exactly what he intended it to; he had caught Dumbledore off guard. He stared with a cold, knowing glare, glad when Dumbledore froze up.

"If having one pregnant couple involved with the Order wasn't bad enough, a second couple, Lily and James Potter, only made things worse, didn't they? Because they're also expecting a son..."

Dumbledore's piercing eyes were wide, his skin turning pale. He suddenly looked as old as Harry had ever seen him. "How could you possibly –?"

"You know Voldemort is writing a lists, Dumbledore. He knows who's betrayed him and how many times. If he catches onto this, he won't stop at anything to kill each and every person who tries to hide the child of the Prophecy from him."

Dumbledore had never looked so stricken with fear. It was then that Harry realised what it must have been like to know that a man who stayed so close to Lord Voldemort was so aware of what was going on. Harry had seen past Dumbledore's fake, calm demeanour. When Dumbledore spoke again, his voice was unlike his usual tone. It was weak, desperate.

"Jonathan, it is crucial that we remain wary... We cannot act until we know Voldemort's choice."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. He had no faith in Dumbledore's plan and he didn't care about showing it. He couldn't bring himself to believe anyone was safe here. If Dumbledore was going to plead for him to agree, to act rational, he wasn't going to follow those commands happily.

"You're risking all of their lives, Dumbledore..."

That was all he needed to say. Dumbledore couldn't begin to imagine the weight of its truth. They didn't discuss the matter any more that night; Harry was too annoyed to stick around much longer.

Even as he left the Order headquarters, he spotted James talking with Sirius and Lupin in the meeting room, sounding calm and carefree. Nott stood nearby. Harry wondered what he thought about Dumbledore's choices on the Prophecy, but he didn't stop to speak about it. He left quickly to avoid the Marauders. Nott's bright eyes followed him on his way out.

– X –

Harry couldn't shake the grey he had seen in Dumbledore. Even as July approached and the Death Eaters awaited news of births from their enemies, the Potters and the Longbottoms weren't being hidden. The only detail that saved them from being attacked just yet was how quickly the month was passing with neither family giving birth. Voldemort grew agitated as no news of the child of the Prophecy surfaced. He greeted every new day with cruel impatience, punishing Death Eaters for their incompetence. He became cold and distant even from Harry, sharing his thoughts with no one.

For hours each day, Tom locked himself away, obsessing over everything to do with the Prophecy. Harry saw this, at first, as a perfect cover for him to disappear, but when his Order missions were complete, he was left to deal with Tom's growing deterioration. He barely ate anymore, rarely slept, and throughout the month grew ill and thin. They rarely saw each other for long anymore and when Tom spoke to him, he was too irritated and stressed to hold a conversation. That's why it came as a surprise to Harry when he awoke one night to find a candle burning softly in their bedroom.

It emitted gentle light over the walls and ceiling, illuminating the closest furniture. Shadows and contours outlined the shape of everything nearby, showing Harry that he wasn't alone. Tom sat on the edge of their bed, head in his hands, breathing slowly. It was a sight Harry was too used to by now. Despite how Tom exhausted himself over work, he could rarely ever bring himself to sleep anymore. In a few minutes, he would have to decide whether to come back to bed for twenty minutes or to begin obsessing over work for several more hours.

In his dazed, tired state, Harry felt a stab of sorrow he couldn't quickly make sense of. It was something in the way Tom's torso rose in fell in a vain attempt to calm his nerves. In the dim, cold light, Tom thought he was alone enough. Harry lay watching him for a moment, unsure whether to disturb his thinking. The fact that Tom remained here and not elsewhere made him wonder whether he wanted to be close to someone. Most of the time, he was too angry to stay near anybody. July was almost up and Tom couldn't identify his equal.

Harry sat up slowly. Tom didn't move, which he took as a good sign. Breathing out heavily and rubbing his face with one hand, Harry tried to decide what he should do.

"What's wrong?" he asked groggily.

Tom removed his hands from his hair slowly, raising his head. He stared at the ground, exasperated. "The month is almost up..."

It worried Harry equally as much, but not in the same way.

"Our Death Eaters are searching still, but they aren't doing enough," Tom explained. "Dumbledore and his Order are defiant. They're too prepared. I don't understand it..."

Harry rather thought Tom was giving multiple answers to hide the real one. He didn't want to think what the real problem might be. He reached out a hand from where he sat, taking Tom's.

"Come back to bed, won't you?"

Tom gave no response. Harry decided to convince him further by moving closer. He sat behind Tom and slid his hands instead around his waist. He kissed his shoulder, then his neck, gently holding him. The gesture seemed to surprise Tom; his breathing slowed and his eyes closed. He learnt into his touch. Harry decided to coax him back to bed properly. He moved around him, gently urging him back. From above him, when he finally lay down, he found Tom's lips and kissed him slowly.

He could feel Tom's pulse quicken as his lips and fingertips caressed his skin. His touch calmed him down and comforted him in love, but Harry wondered for a moment whether Tom's responses came more out of enjoyment or sorrow. Harry pulled away from a kiss to watch Tom, examining the cut of his handsome face, the contours and shadows of his neck and collar bone. There was something in the way he reacted to Harry's touch that was unusual. His eyes remained closed, his senses alert. He listened for Harry's movements, breathing deeply.

Harry kissed Tom once more, harder this time. Tom responded the same, but he didn't react in his usual amused, pleased way. He was somber. He relaxed only when Harry was closest to him. Harry slid a hand up his chest, gliding his fingertips over skin, until his palm was above Tom's heart. His beating ribcage reminded Harry inexplicably of the pulsating creature he had seen at King's Cross station a lifetime ago. Tom stirred and Harry looked down at him.

It appeared, at first glance, that he hadn't opened his eyes, but the flutter of his eyelashes under his furrowed brow told Harry otherwise. His eyes were locked to the hand on his chest. Harry thought he sensed a moment of conflict in Tom. When he looked up, it was to meet Harry's curious, awaiting gaze.

Tom's face did not soften. His brow didn't lift up in a casual, loving, humoured movement upon finding he was being watched. He was thinking deeply. Without reason, Harry thought he knew exactly what was on his mind. Tom searched for something in his eyes, some answer that might settle the anguish of realisation, truth, and acceptance. His reddened eyes darkened in something like defeat. When he spoke, it was but a whisper that Harry's ears kindly searched for.

"It seems rather fitting," he said, "that my heart is now where it belongs: at your fingertips..."

Harry became very still. He made to remove his hand, but Tom was too prepared: his long, white fingers wove around his hand and held it into place.

"I ask only this," Tom carried on in a desperate whisper that was so unlike his usual voice. "If I have been a fool and if my heart is clearly in your possession... do I have yours still?"

Harry stared into his eyes. There was nothing he could do to pull away or hide the sudden anguish he felt. He thought Tom knew the answer to his own question. He could hear it in his tone, in the soft pressure of his cold hands. Harry felt numbed; he was unable to calm his beating heart and in that moment, he was relieved Tom hadn't reached for it. Tom's suspicions had grown strong. For a moment, Harry had no idea how to deal with it.

He thought back to what Tom had said months ago about the two of them staying together throughout this war. He wished he could explain the torment he felt every time he did work for the Order. He wished he could explain that his view on war had changed into a bleak disapproval and an inability to see what made one side different to the other. More than this, he wished he could ask why Tom was not angry at him, why he waited for Harry's answer in what looked like patience, despite the pain in his eyes.

Harry did the only thing he could do in that moment; he spoke the truth:

"No war could change my heart..."

– X –

Harry awoke on the day of his birth feeling lost. Death Eaters swarmed the upper floor of the headquarters, many of them revisiting several times an hour in a desperate attempt to pass on information and identify the Chosen One themselves. The month was nearly over and many Death Eaters believed the Chosen One had been born in secrecy. Some of them pored over old information, others looked for people to interrogate, those within the Ministry studied lists of births and listened surreptitiously to private conversations, and those who remained at St Mungo's Hospital had lost all hope That is, until those most patient got lucky.

Frank and Alice Longbottom were surely delighted on this blazing summer's day to find that their newborn son, Neville Longbottom, was a healthy, strong boy, but their quiet rejoicing influenced an echo of celebration that carried from St Mungo's hospital to a network of awaiting Death Eaters. The Longbottoms now fit every requirement the Prophecy called for, suggesting that the search for Voldemort's biggest threat was over. Many grew excited at the prospect of tracking the Longbottoms from this point onwards and killing Neville Longbottom as soon as possible.

Tom was enraptured to hear the news. He rewarded his followers generously for their success, his sudden jubilance catching onto everyone who witnessed it. Harry hadn't seen him so elated in months, so animated in cruel triumph, but he knew it wouldn't last long. Only hours after Neville Longbottom's birth, news of another, equally as likely child of the Prophecy arrived. Tom's Ministry spies had spotted a magical document writing up the birth of Lily and Jame's Potter's son, who was born in a private location.

Tom did not take the change well. He froze in his celebrating, reluctant to make any further plans. Both the Potters and the Longbottoms had defied him thrice and he knew it well. There was no way for him to conceal the fury this news inspired within him.

"Has Dumbledore, perhaps, decided to confuse me?" Tom asked Harry in exasperation. "Has fate itself meddled my ability to identify a threat?"

There was nothing Tom would do to make further progress except to send his Death Eaters out to gather more information. He believed there must be some vital detail on the Potters or Longbottoms that he had so far overlooked. Having time to react didn't soften his anxiety, but made him furious and withdrawn. While he took his time to decide which boy was a threat, Harry found the Death Eaters had quite a few opinion on the matter themselves. They discussed it openly on occasion, driven by an eagerness to protect their side of the war.

"My Lord, if I may be so bold, I believe the Longbottoms will supply a more powerful son," said Lucius Malfoy one night, speaking an opinion that many of the Death Eaters shared. "They come from a long line of Purebloods, Aurors... The Potters don't have the same training, nor even equal blood purity. Their son would not inherit the same unique strengths."

"Yet the Potters show equal persistence," Tom remarked. "They have not been trained as Aurors, yet they possess a power as great as the Longbottoms. Does this not show strength?"

"Their blood is not pure, my L–"

"Potter comes from a long line of Purebloods. It would be foolish to suppose that such purity could not transpire to his son."

"But my Lord, Evans is a Mudblood. No matter how pure-blooded Potter is, she will have spoilt their son."

"If the Mudblood is weak, as you suggest, then it shan't be a challenge to track her and her son. I have taken your opinions into consideration, Lucius. Until I am given more information, however, I shan't decide which child it is..."

Malfoy opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to understand. Harry watched some of the Death Eaters exchange looks and shifted nervously. They breathed out clouds of misty breath in the cold air of the entrance hall.

"How could a child have strength to rival you, my Lord?" asked Bellatrix, driven by unsaid thoughts. "Forgetting the parents, be them Mudbloods or Purebloods. How is a child to rival your power?"

Harry found himself unsettled by the question, but he wasn't sure why. Many of the Death Eaters grew curious. Tom considered Bellatrix's question slowly.

"The boy will have to acquire adequate training. It may take several decades and a teacher strong enough; I'm unwilling to allow so much time to pass. If Dumbledore desires to be a teacher for the boy, we will soon know. There are no equals to the Dark Lord..."

This small speech was meant to encourage the Death Eaters, but although almost everyone looked calm, Nott's attention flickered to Harry surreptitiously. There was a strange look in his eyes. Harry ignored it and soon forgot about it. He felt lost, not only in this meeting, but in every gathered that happened in the following months between Death Eaters or the Order.

Harry found himself staying away from the Order as much as possible. Since the Death Eaters were no longer chasing large families in search of information on births, he didn't need to give as many warnings on possible attacks. The Order's top priority was to keep watch over the Potters and the Longbottoms, even if Dumbledore still refused, inexplicably, to put them under full protection. In the few times Harry visited the Order lately, he felt a noticeable change in the atmosphere. People were scared.

Harry thought he was safe while Tom remained indecisive about the Chosen One. The Death Eaters continued to do their usual work with their minds – but not their actions – on the Prophecy. It was only when Wilkes approached him alone one day, saying Nott requested they speak urgently, that he knew something was wrong. He left the headquarters without hesitation, choosing not to tell Tom where he was going.

Nott was waiting for him in a disused house outside of London. It was an old Order property, a place Dumbledore had donated for use under the full moon, which gave Harry a warning; Nott wanting to make sure no Death Eater or Order member could overhear their conversation. Harry felt nervous approaching the empty house, scared he might find something gruesome within it, but all that remained there was faintly decorated rooms. Nott was in the living room, waiting. He was standing up and he seemed nervous.

"What's the problem?" Harry asked, looking around as if he expected to see evidence of a recent fight. Nott was clean and unharmed.

"I wanted to speak to you," Nott answered softly.

"You could have visited me," Harry remarked. "It's safe to pass on information at the headquarters, assuming no one's around. It's safer than sending Wilkes to bring me here, anyway."

"I know that, but I needed to speak to you properly. In sure privacy."

Harry tried to understand it. He fought the urge to sit down, transfixed to Nott's expression. He looked pale and ill.

"If the Dark Lord finds out about this and asks why I requested you," Nott continued, "tell him we've lost track of Karkaroff. Some of the others suspect the Aurors got him. There will be several reports, but I have news on it: Moody was the Auror responsible. The Dark Lord will want to hear it, so he won't suspect we've spoken."

It was a smart coverup. Harry would pretend Nott was nervous about Karkaroff's trustworthiness and Tom would overlook the fact that he was gone for however much time. Only one question remained.

"Why did you really ask me here, then?"

Nott hesitated. He swallowed a few times, searching for the right words. "We need to talk..."

"About what?"

He couldn't seem to keep himself steady. His voice shook when he spoke. "I... I met with the Potters, recently. I met their son. I thought you might like to know..."

Harry froze. He wasn't sure why Nott was telling him this.

"It's astounding how much Harry looks like James," Nott remarked quietly. "Except for the eyes. He has Lily's eyes..."

Blood drained from Harry's face before he could calm his nerves. Nott's worn, torch-lit face was all he could see in the darkness. His tired blue eyes told him he had guessed something impossible. Anxiety gripped Harry, rooting him to the spot.

"I noticed you never visit when the Potters are around," Nott explained carefully. "I know the Potters affected the Horcrux you made. If that wasn't enough, I've known you long enough to realise there's an uncanny likeness between you and James Potter. Between your eyes and Lily's. It would be a wonder to me if Dumbledore didn't see it too..."

There was nothing Harry could do to hide how he felt. His expression and his lack of words gave away the truth, confirming Nott's theories. He looked pained.

"If you think – if you think the Dark Lord won't notice..."

Harry couldn't stand this. His mouth was dry, but he managed to speak. "He hasn't noticed so far."

"He's never seen James. He's never seen Lily's eyes."

Harry looked away hastily, clenching his jaw shut. He hadn't thought of that...

"If you think the Dark Lord won't remember how you looked at James' age, you're making a mistake. If you think he hasn't remembered how you were, every detail of your face –"

Harry didn't want to hear it. He hated how obvious and accurate Nott's warning was. He was running out of time, but he soon realised this wasn't his biggest problem.

"The Dark Lord says no child could defeat him," Nott told him in nothing more than a whisper. "He says that no one could ever hope to rival him without decades of training from the best teacher imaginable... but you were trained personally by him. You alone know all of his secrets."

Harry didn't understand. His mind raced to work out what Nott was suggesting, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it. "What's that got to do with anything?"

He didn't get a quick answer. Nott watched him closely in the dim light, his brow furrowing in confusion for a second, his eyes alight. "The Prophecy spoke of you directly."

"Yeah, but I'm not – I'm –"

He couldn't get his words straight, never mind his thoughts. He realised, suddenly, that Nott expected him to step up as the Chosen One. From the way Nott watched him, with a point of view that was clear from the freshness of his discovery, Nott saw no difference between James and Lily's son and the broken man that stood before him.

"Have you forgotten who you are?" Nott asked in stunned curiosity. "Have you forgotten that after all this time, you still remain Harry Potter?"

Harry's heart beat painfully in his ribcage, stressed with the anxiety and emotion of what Nott was suggesting. He couldn't bear to hear his own name.

"You have to do something about this," Nott told him, unable to remain quiet. "Does anyone else know about this?"

Harry barely managed to utter a word. "No..."

"Not even Dumbledore?"

Harry hesitated. He had never considered it. "I – I don't know."

Nott waited for an answer. Harry thought about Dumbledore's recent actions, how he had shown surprise upon hearing Harry knew the Potters were pregnant, how he had chosen to protect the Potters privately instead of allowing a birth at St Mungo's. Did Dumbledore suspect Harry was linked to the Potters? Had he left the Longbottoms openly visible to the Death Eaters in hope of distracting them?

"I don't know what Dumbledore's plans are," he admitted. "I didn't know the Order would be like this. I – I thought they'd be stronger. I thought Dumbledore had a plan... It was stupid of me to trust him again..."

It felt strange to admit these things. Nott watched him in interest, his lips slightly parted. In nervousness or better judgement, he refrained from asking more.

"There's no better side here," Harry mentioned in a low voice. "I thought I'd be able to help this war, to pick a side and stick to it, but nothing here is what I thought it'd be. If I'm honest, I... I don't know what I'm doing, anymore."

They had discussed a dissatisfaction for this war in the past, so Harry knew they had reached some of the same conclusions, but he wasn't sure what Nott thought of him now. He felt sudden remorse and had to explain himself.

"I'm not doing this just because I love Tom. If the Order made sense, I'd know what needed to be done. I'd know what to do... but no matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to betray him fully for a cause I don't believe in..."

They had both witnessed how the Order changed, how it bowed down under the weight of this war. When Nott spoke, his voice was quiet.

"What are you going to do when the Dark Lord finds out about this?"

Harry had no answer. He was disoriented by what Nott had brought to his attention, so he gave a weak response. "I guess I'll just have to see what happens..."

Nott wasn't assured. Harry felt numbed and barely knew where he was supposed to go from here, what he was supposed to do. If Nott was right and if the Prophecy spoke not of his infant self, but of him right now, he wasn't sure what he could do to escape the power of fate.

Harry didn't know what to do to settle Nott's nerves. He remembered that he shouldn't be here at all and that every moment passing put him and Nott at risk of being recognised as spies. Overwhelmed by the pressure of this war, he had only one piece of advice.

"When things get too dangerous, you should leave the Order... It's not safe, now the Dark Lord knows you're a Werewolf. Back out of this war, take Theodore, and never look back..."

Nott nodded once, barely daring to blink. "I know. I will..."

Harry held his gaze for a long time, hoping Nott would understand that no matter what happened, he'd be there for him. There was nothing else he could say. No words could express the overwhelming need he felt to make sure things turned out alright.

He knew Nott wanted him to end this war, to stand against Tom. Nott honestly believed that the Prophecy spoke directly to Harry and that every choice had made to stay by Tom's side, to dabble in the Dark Arts, and to end up in the Order had been nothing short of fate. All of his mistakes, his reluctance, his yearning for the light arts, and his connections to Tom had turned him into the person he was today: the only living human on earth who stood a chance against Lord Voldemort.

In marking Harry as worthy of his trust, Tom had let him into his heart years ago, giving him precise information on how to destroy him. This, paired with his knowledge of the future and his reluctance to accept the Dark Arts, made Harry the closest thing to the Dark Lord's equal. No matter what Harry did, his actions were affected by inevitability of fate. A phrase from the Prophecy, cruel and taunting, replayed itself in his mind, causing him to believe for the first time that there was a reason for him being here:

_...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..._

– X –

Harry would like to say he felt secure enough to let a few more months pass without trouble. He would like to say that the Death Eaters' favouritism of the Longbottoms might make Tom reluctant to choose which family to attack. He would like to say that since there was a year left until Lily and James Potter would be murdered in their own home, he might be able to stick by Tom's side until then, safe, protected, and undiscovered, but he knew it wouldn't be the case. Tom was too smart for that. The Chosen One was a closer threat to him than he had first feared and he sensed it now.

Perhaps because of the power of fate, Tom had become suspicious of Harry. He denied his own feelings in disbelief, fuelling that frustration towards war or else punishing the Death Eaters needlessly in stress. Tom had been paranoid about this for months. Even when Harry returned to the headquarters from his conversation with Nott, an event occurred that convinced him, once and for all, of the power of fate and made him realise why Tom had been acting so cold and strange.

Harry returned to the headquarters in haste, slipping past the guards undetected. He was glad to get away from that dismayed look in Nott's eyes and the weight of his accurate theories. He felt dizzy with the night's events and he wanted nothing more than to return to his normal life, to act as if nothing had happened for a while so he could think. He entered his bedroom ripped off the Invisibility Cloak, stressed and distracted. It was a moment before he realised he wasn't alone.

"Have the latest reports arrived already?"

Harry stopped dead, a cold shiver running up his spine. Tom was sitting at a desk across the room, absorbed in the notes and documents in his hands. When a heavy silence fell, he glanced over. He was calm when he looked at Harry, but his eyes soon dropped to scan the Cloak he clutched in one hand, the Wand in the other.

"You were out?"

The words frightened Harry more than he expected. He didn't know how to gather his thoughts, nor where to start lying.

"I – I fancied a break," he stammered.

"A break?"

"Yeah, I..."

He should have used Nott's excuse, but he felt too protective and reluctant to risk him being involved in this. No matter how well his lie was, it wouldn't account for his stricken expression and the nauseated, overwhelmed state of mind he was in.

"Where have you been?" Tom asked delicately, his full attention on Harry now.

When Harry didn't answer, Tom stood up. The movement was abrupt; the feet of his chair screeching against the stone floor gratingly. Harry thought he was angry, but when he looked over, Tom's eyes were wide with caution. His movements were reluctant, slowed. Harry saw nothing but a wary child trapped in the orphanage again, reluctant to lend trust to anyone. The room seemed to drop several degrees.

"Where have you been?" Tom asked again.

He liked to know where each and every one of his followers were at all times. The security of all of his headquarters had tightened so nobody could slip in or out without him knowing, but Harry had found a few ways around it. Realising that Harry had left without warning and without an excuse shook Tom more horrifically than he could deal with.

Having no choice, Harry gave his only excuse.

"I was summoned by Nott," he said hastily. "Wilkes delivered an urgent message, you can ask him. I left in a hurry – I didn't think you'd notice and I didn't want to waste time with the guards. Nott has news of Karkaroff's capture. Alastor Moody is the Auror who caught him."

"You were gone for a long time," Tom stated, ignoring the news. "Who else did you speak to?"

Harry wanted desperately to shake Tom's distrust off as if it meant nothing, but he had seen that alert look turned upon the Death Eaters countless times before and he knew what it meant.

"I didn't speak to anyone else," he answered.

"No," Tom hissed. "You're lying to me..."

"I'm not lying."

Tom didn't believe him. His expression was wild, his mind ticking. Harry turned towards the only thing he had left.

"Look, you're paranoid," he said flatly. "You're over-worked."

Tom didn't respond. He was too aware that something was wrong.

"I know you have to stay vigilant to keep on top of this war," Harry carried on, "but you're being too paranoid. What's important is that we're close to finding out who's connected to the Prophecy. Once we have that figured out, nothing else will matter. Nothing can stop us from eliminating a threat."

Tom remained as unconvinced as ever. If anything, Harry's words made him worse. After assessing the situation further, however, he seemed to decide he needed more time to think. It was a strangely hopeful desperation that filled Harry with guilt. The idea was a painful thought, too painful for him to willingly consider.

"Yes," Tom lied quietly, "I believe I'll find the answer soon..."

Harry didn't push is luck after that. He allowed the problem to subside that night, even when Tom avoided him and left the matter unresolved. Harry knew he had done irreplaceable damage by even allowing this minor inconsistency to happen. It was a confirmation to Tom that he was involved in a plot against him. As a suspect already, Harry was running a huge risk any time he left the headquarters. He decided to stay by Tom's side for the next few weeks, to ensure safety.

The only problem was, Harry wanted desperately to speak with Dumbledore, to let him know that there had been a change in his situation. Although he stayed in the headquarters and made no contact with Nott, he planned a time to slip away. In fear, he always kept the Invisibility Cloak, Elder Wand, and Mask Horcrux on him. When enough time passed for him to feel safe visiting Dumbledore, he picked a moment he felt was right and left for the Order headquarters.

To his dismay, he ran out of luck. Dumbledore was up at Hogwarts and he wouldn't be able to visit the Order for at least another week. A few people inquired into what Harry needed and why he seemed so stressed, but Harry gave them no information. He explained that he had something urgent to discuss with Dumbledore and that he'd be back in a week for him. What discomforted Harry most about that visit was the cheery, calm atmosphere of the Order hideout. Nothing had changed for them.

When Harry returned to Tom's headquarters yet again in a rush, he avoided the guards and faced no trouble. He removed the Invisibility Cloak when he knew he was alone, folding it up and placing it in his pocked calmly. It was only upon heading down a few corridors and through the entrance hall that he realised how quiet everything seemed. Normally the hall was packed at this time of day, swarming with Death Eaters in a rush to speak with their Lord. Harry had planned to blend in with them, to avoid suspicion.

The lower floors were equally as empty as Harry wandered through them, but this came as no surprise. He checked the library, meeting rooms, and his bedroom, but Tom was nowhere around. Harry was nervous by this point; he worried something bad had happened to summon Tom away. There were a lot of rooms in the headquarters, none of which Tom normally studied in, but Harry attempted to search them anyway. It was upon marching through more corridors that he stumbled across something he had never seen here before.

A group of Death Eaters were gathered at the end of a corridor, their voices hushed and serious. Thinking they might have an answer for their Lord's whereabouts, Harry approached them without a second thought.

"What are you all doing down here?" he asked.

He didn't get a quick answer, despite the seven faces that turned towards him. They all became tense. Harry realised, then, that something was wrong.

Lestrange was the first to speak. Covering up his nerves hastily, he gave Harry a strange, forced smile.

"We were asked here," he explained.

"By the Dark Lord?"

There was a low hissing sound. Bellatrix was quick to show her disapproval. It made the rest of the Death Eaters anxious. Lestrange didn't even answer him. They seemed to be trying to cover up their tension.

"Is the Dark Lord still here?" Harry asked, trying to get an answer.

"Yes," Lestrange answered.

"He summoned you here?"

"Yes."

"Are the latest reports in?"

This is where Lestrange hesitated. It wasn't for long, but it was too long to go unnoticed.

"Yes..."

In an attempt to understand what was going on, Harry scanned the faces of the group for someone he could read the mind of, but he found something interesting about the seven Death Eaters before him. They were all Occlumens.

Normally, Harry would have dismissed this as nothing more than coincidence, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. When he spotted Nott standing at the back of the group, his suspicions were confirmed. From the unmoving, anxious look upon his face, Harry knew Nott held a warning. He watched him for a moment in an attempt to grasp the single thought that ran through his mind:

"_He knows..._"

Harry knew what he had to do. Tearing his eyes from Nott, his paid his attention instead to Lestrange, meeting his determined gaze with an air of fake haughtiness.

"Where's the Dark Lord?"

"He's still here," Bellatrix answered.

"We can show you," offered Lestrange, seemingly alerted.

Almost every Death Eater stepped closer to Harry.

"Show me, then..."

Lestrange lead the way, saying nothing more. They headed down a long corridor, the Death Eaters moving around Harry closely, practically circling him like wolves. He pretended not to notice. He could see the dark looks in their eyes, the astounded curiosity. When they reached the end of a hallway the lead to one door, Harry decided to get away from them.

"Here will be fine."

The Death Eaters fell behind, but they were close enough to block the entrance to the hall if they needed to. Harry brushed this, too, off as nothing worth worrying about. His heart was beating faster in his chest. Tom has set this trap. Saying nothing more to the Death Eaters, Harry headed for the single door. The Cloak in his pocket was on his mind when he entered the room.

He thought, at first, that this place was deserted. The room was huge and unnaturally dark, with walls that seemed to press in on everything, giving it an uncomfortably enclosed atmosphere. Thin pillars and high arches with delicate carvings etched in stone set deeper shadows on each layer of the room. Standing at the centre of an archway was Tom. He had his back to Harry and didn't turn around even when he heard footsteps.

"Why are you hiding down here?" Harry asked.

Tom straightened up, but he moved no more than this. He considered the question slowly.

"I rather thought I needed time to clear my head..."

Harry wanted to comment that this was a good thing, that Tom should be getting a break for once, but he felt it was too mocking. Only one thing could make Tom stop his work.

"There are Death Eaters inside, in the halls," Harry mentioned. "Is there a security problem?"

Tom tilted his head to the side slightly. Harry rather thought he had closed his eyes in concentration, pulling himself together. "Quite the opposite..."

Harry waited attentively, patiently.

"You may have guessed by now that I set up more security than usual..."

"Yeah?"

Harry didn't know why he was playing dumb. He knew where this was headed.

"Yes," Tom agreed softly. "An alarm was triggered, you see. In fact, I rather think you were the one who set it off..."

Harry wished he had foreseen this. It only made sense, with Tom's mistrust, that he would do something like this.

"So," Tom carried on quietly, "I find myself asking you again: Where have you been?"

There was no answer he could give. So, Harry gave up.

"I think we both know the answer to that, Tom..."

Tom became very still. He hadn't yet turned around. Harry wondered what his expression would tell him, what reaction he had inspired. Everything had been leading up to this moment, this unavoidable conclusion. It was so simple, so seamless to speak the truth, that Harry carried on talking calmly.

"I was looking for Dumbledore. I... I've been speaking to him, passing on information. Ever since Nobby Leach's death, really."

He awaited Tom's anger, every beat of his heart counting down the seconds, but it never came. Recklessly, almost disappointed, Harry carried on.

"He needed to know you were suspicious of me. If you hadn't caught me tonight, I could have left the Order for months without contact. I've been doing that for a while."

"Yes," Tom agreed delicately. "I suspected as much..."

Harry waited for an explanation.

"You've grown anxious and disinterested in the war," Tom said softly. "It was this which lead me to first suspect you were untrustworthy. I could not find evidence on a single rat amongst my Death Eaters, which was at first an irritating problem. Yet I kept searching. I knew I would outsmart my disloyal follower soon... When yet more time passed and still I could not identify a threat, I began to lose heart."

Harry allowed Tom to explain the story. It interested him, but for the first time, his nerves were building.

"At this point, I had noticed you were absent without explanation on occasion. I dismissed the problem as nothing more than natural, giving you your privacy, but more time passed and yet more Death Eaters were having trouble fighting the Order. Dumbledore's followers were being protected, being warned. I began to realise that Dumbledore's confidence could not be from arrogance alone. That is when I noticed how often you kept your Invisibility Cloak by your side..."

His voice carried through the tall room, an echoing whisper that surprised Harry in its lack of cruelty. It wasn't the same as when Tom addressed his Death Eaters, scorning them for their incompetence. There was something off.

"You aren't angry?" Harry asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why should I be?"

"You've just discovered I'm a spy."

"You are surrounded by Death Eaters," Tom reminded him quietly. "You have been honest to me, for once. Should I truly waste my breath on anger? I know the truth now. Soon, you will be a long way away, in a place where the Order will not find you. From there, you will not be a threat..."

Harry didn't like the idea. He realised that Tom thought the problem was his spying alone. He thought that by cutting Harry off from the rest of the world, things might go back to normal. It was an emotional decision. Harry could have allowed him to carry on thinking this way, but it felt too cruel, too desperate. He wanted Tom to know the truth.

"You don't get it, do you? This isn't about being a spy, Tom. This isn't about war."

"Isn't it?"

Harry clenched his jaw for a moment, willing himself to explain the situation. "There are bigger problems than this war..."

Tom stood very still, waiting. He was trying to work it out, trying to guess what Harry was about to say, but there was no way he'd find the answer in such a short stretch of time. This was too wildly complicated for him to consider.

"Do you honestly believe a child could defeat you, Tom?" Harry asked quietly. "Do you really think you could be killed by a young boy, even if a Prophecy foretells it?"

Tom turned, slowly, to look at Harry. There was a cold look in his eyes as he considered the matter. He could not understand. He waited.

"Don't you think," Harry said in a quiet, careful voice, "that someone with the power to defeat you might have to know about your Horcruxes? Don't you think your rival would have to understand your secrets, your past, and your magic? They would have to be trained for years, for decades. And who would be a better teacher than you?"

Tom stared at him unblinkingly. "What are you suggesting?"

Harry didn't answer. Tom shook his head once, his own denial angering him.

"The Prophecy foretold that my rival would be born this July..."

"You think it's coincidence, then, that a boy named Harry, a boy with bright green eyes, could be born your rival?"

Tom did nothing but shake his head. "This is impossible..."

Harry didn't waste time explaining every detail. There was no time. The fast beating of his heart made him feel nauseous with cold anxiety.

"I've known about the Prophecy for years, Tom. This was always our fate."

"No magic is strong enough to warp time so powerfully!"

"Yet here I am."

"The Unspeakables study time profusely," Tom stated more forcibly. "They have never yet been able to change time more than mere hours on average – months at the most!"

"There's a lot of unexplored magic in this world, Tom."

For the first time, Tom moved. He brought a hand to his head, brushing back his hair. Harry watched him closely. Tom was too wise to overlook the structure of time, too intelligent to mistake the many coincidences and incidences that fell into place, whether that was Harry's mourning, his yearning for light, his desire to see his lost friends, his reluctance to make Horcruxes, or his inability to tell the truth.

"But I have you now," Tom murmured. "I know who you are... This game is over for you."

Harry watched the way his chest rose and fell. He wished it didn't have to be this way. "Unless I escape."

Tom laughed cruelly into his hands, which were shaking. "You believe you can escape me now?"

"I know all of your magic."

"Which I taught you."

Harry said nothing to this. Tom dropped his hands and turned around fully, a cold, cruel gaze meeting Harry. He was wary and paranoid, disbelieving. Immediate anger would have been a blessing.

"If it is your fate, why did you not leave when you could? Did you truly believe you could defeat me in secret?"

"I never wanted to defeat you, Tom."

Tom shook his head, unable to believe this either. "You play me for a fool..."

Maddened attentiveness played beyond his dark eyes. Harry had never been looked at like this before, like he was suddenly a stranger, a threat to be eliminated. Tom was in a state of shock.

"I never meant it to be this way," Harry managed. "Can't you understand that?"

"You're lying to me," Tom hissed, taking slow steps forwards, his eyes never leaving Harry's.

"I'm not lying."

"You've lied to me all my life..."

"Not about how I felt."

He was getting ever-closer. "You dare to deny it?"

"I didn't want to believe the Prophecy still applied to me. If I had a choice, Tom, I wouldn't be a part of this."

"Don't lie to me..."

"I'm not lying."

"Don't play me for a fool!"

"I'm not –"

"_So tell the truth!_"

In his final step forwards, Tom was an arm's length away. Harry was scared of the unforgiving hatred in his eyes, that maddened, irrational fury he couldn't reason with. Tom was shaking madly, watching Harry for any sign of movement, of change, of clarification. Harry became very conscious of the Elder Wand up his sleeve.

"I'm not lying to you anymore, Tom. I never wanted to defeat you – I would have done it years ago if that's what I wanted!"

Tom shook his head, barely listening. "You knew this would happen..."

There was a pained, hateful look in his eyes. In a moment of sentiment, Harry spoke.

"We don't have to believe the Prophecy. I still love you, Tom."

It was the wrong thing to say. Harry knew it the moment Tom froze, his breath ceased, his senses alert. What came next was unavoidable: Tom made a movement as if reaching for his wand. A cold hand clasped Harry's left wrist, pushing up the sleeve and rising to his forearm. Harry's arm felt like it had burst into flames.

The pain was unbearable. Harry flinched violently in fear that he had touched white-hot metal; Tom's fingertips ignited a pain more unbearable than any he had felt before, rivalled only by the sensation of the Cruciatus Curse. He staggered back, blinded, clutching at his his forearm and scar. He did everything in his power to not shout out, but his head felt like it might burst open at any second. With closed eyes, he knew he had been branded with the Dark Mark. Through it, the Death Eaters had been summoned.

He could hear hurried footsteps and shouts as he staggered, pulling himself desperately to the present. His ears rang and his head throbbed, but he saw people flooding into the hall, hidden by pillars, watching him with their wands drawn. The Death Eaters awaiting their Lord's instructions as Tom glowered down at Harry. If he spoke, his words were too muffled to detect. In Harry's stunned state of mind, all he was aware of was the Death Eaters that circled him and Nott standing at the entrance to the room. He knew what he must do.

He withdrew the Elder Wand.

There was no time to think, no time to process the thick pulses of his heart and the flashes of blinding light that lit up this small room. He could hear nothing but the roars of anger and crackling of spells like lighting and gunfire that missed him by inches. All he could remember was throwing spells back, matching Tom's wrath with equal determination in fear and terror. They were locked into a bizarre dance, creating a bond of equal power that neither were pleased to encounter for the first time.

The Death Eaters joined the fight in panic, causing havoc. Under a shield of smoke, falling rubble, and flashes of light, Harry managed to feel for the Invisibility Cloak. He was safe the moment he pulled it out and threw it over his shoulders, miraculously withdrawing from the centre of the room. Death Eaters sought his location in fury, but he headed straight for Nott, who feigned a search for him. He trembled and stumbled on his way out of the room, speeding through the lower corridors of the hideout, unable to comprehend his own escape. Time warped and unstable, broken by the strain of desperation in his mind. It life felt like a terrible dream, a deluded hallucination.

Before Harry could process what had happened, he slipped out of a secret exit of the hideout, breaking enchantments with the force of terrified will. Even when he ascended to the streets of London, he could hear shouts from the Death Eaters following close behind him. He was out of time, helped only marginally by his quick escape. He tore down streets, waiting for the moment he could Apparate. Death Eaters would be flooding the headquarters, following his trail, heading up into the streets of London too, and they wouldn't stop hunting until they found him.

An army would be on his trail within minutes, summoned from across the country. All Harry could do from this moment on was run. He had no chance of fighting, especially not in the dream-like terror that encompassed him completely, dizzying him under the Cloak. In the distance, lights were flaring up, flames growing in the heart of the city. Harry fled through more pathways, trying to distance himself as much as possible from any wizarding locations. The city is alight with wrath and death: Dark Marks were being shot up into the air and the cold chill of Dementors settled on Harry's skin.

He had to be far enough away now. His scar was burning, giving him an insight onto Tom's wrath, which he swiftly ignored. It was too much to take. He span on the spot.

The Disapparition worked. Harry appeared in the Forest of Dean. He staggered and panicked to find his balance, terrified Tom would find him here, despite never discussing this location before. The faint, feeble memory of Hermione's connection to the forest surprised Harry in its lasting existence. There was no time to think, no time to do anything more than act on instinct. Harry lifted his wand and began putting up protective spells. The act made the sleeve of his left arm slip down, revealing what Tom had done to him.

The Dark Mark burned red upon his flesh, sending a cold chill down his spine. He wished Tom had initiated a fair fight, because no amount of duelling could be as bad as this. As long as he had this mark, Harry would be chased by the Death Eaters. It was a dark kind of magic, a Curse to mark the wearer at all times. It was Tom's only way of making sure Harry couldn't disappear.

Harry trembled at the realisation that he'd never be safe now. All he could do was carry on putting up enchantments, shutting off his mind to thoughts of what had just happened. It was all over. The truth was known and Tom's actions from this point on would be unpredictable. For the first time in a long time, Harry was alone.


	78. Run

**Dear Readers, **First of all, let me apologise for this belated update! I was recently in a work-related accident (explosion - thank the British jobcenter) and decided to take a few weeks away from everything to run off with my best friend (totally worth it). Now that I'm healed, in good spirits and - best of all - totally out of work, you can hopefully expect an update sooner. If you want to keep an eye on what I'm up to, to hear about my life as a starving teenaged artist and to understand why I'm slow, feel free to ask me any questions or stalk my two Tumblrs: '_Angstier' _& '_SpellFire'__._

This is not the last chapter of TVoV, but we are, of course, approaching an end. x

* * *

78 - Run

In the dry, humid air that stood hushed between the pine trees, not a single creature made a sound. Treetops twisted and arched up towards what had to be the heavens and sun during the day, but illuminated in the light of the Elder Wand, they appeared nothing more than ghostly arches of some abandoned church. A natural religion, decided long before mankind. There was no heaven here, in Harry's eyes. Not on this dark night. Not during this dark war.

Night had fallen heavily over the riverbank where Harry stood. He could no longer see anything past the knotted trunks of ancient trees in the colourless light of his wand, their branches high. The surface of the river, too, bore no sign of a bank opposite the one he stood upon. Hours ago, when he had set up his camp here, he had seen a clear view of a meadow downhill and a bend in the river further upstream. All he could see now were spots of ice and frost on the water, shining trough the unnatural darkness, reaching out in the equally as unnatural cold.

It became apparent to him, slowly, that there were Dementors around, lurking just beyond the trees. He could sense their cold presence pressing up against the protective enchantments and spells that surrounded his camp, the magic he had spent hours reciting like an old song. Dementors were, of course, a minor threat compared to many Harry had faced these last few weeks, but he worried about them drawing the attention of roaming Death Eaters. Assuming they knew he was here at all. It was a paranoid thought. He couldn't help it under the prickling of his scar.

Sightlessly, Harry began walking, heading back to the entrance of his tent. He hated standing in the darkness, listening to nothingness, waiting for signs of those dreaded creatures. He tried to remain calm and convince himself that he was safe when he entered the warm tent, but no amount of trying to remember which protective spells he had used helped settle his nerves. He glanced at the magical rooms around him, which reminded him of being seventeen. Only, there was no Hermione here. His lips, also, were sealed, his voice unused in weeks. He had been alone for a long time.

The main room had a stove in the centre, for food and warmth, with a single chair positioned by it. Harry headed for it, feeling grave and wanting nothing more than to rest. A radio played softly from a table nearby, distracting him from the silent terror of war.

"..._speculate that this uprising has many early connections to the rise and fall of Gellert Grindelwald,_" an old man was saying, speaking slowly, thoughtfully. "_We witnessed these Dark Wizards emerge approximately three decades ago – approximately when Grindelwald fell. Who among us honestly doubts whether a connection between them is likely?_"

Harry had many memories of Grindelwald's downfall and didn't quite appreciate the reminder. He began, tiredly, to wonder just what made Voldemort's fight for the Dark Arts any different. It was the same roots, ultimately. Muggle hatred. Magical supremacy. For power, success, admiration. Voldemort may not have taken over Grindelwald's power, but he had certainly used it to his advantage, telling Harry all the while that it wasn't the same.

Harry shook his head, banishing the thought, and glanced at the stove. He wouldn't think about it now. With a burning scar, he began to make himself tea in an attempt to settle his nerves.

"_These Witches and Wizards – these 'Death Eaters' – take sadistic enjoyment in the torture and humiliation of Wizards and Muggles alike. There is no reasoning with these people..._"

Although Harry used the radio as a distraction from his own thoughts, it rarely gave him a relief from news and updates on the war. He had been running for weeks, unable to stop, unable to take a moment to process what had happened upon Tom's discovery of his true identity, the discovery of his significance in the war. Physically and mentally exhausted, Harry kept listening to the radio numbly, waiting for a reason to make a change or a reason to stop running. A new voice spoke, a witch who sounded clear and serious.

"_Millicent Bagnold, still in her first year in office as the Minister of Magic, says she wants higher security to be placed on the safety of our world and on the safety and protection of all our Muggle neighbours. She says she will not stand down in her attempts to secure the country from attacks until we have fully resisted the uprising of anti-Muggle enthusiasts, who of course began this terror at the assassination of Bobby Leach and the resignation of his father, Minister Nobby Leach..._"

Harry filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. The movement shook the sleeve on his left arm, revealing the edge of a crimson mark that Tom had left upon his skin. The Dark Mark. It shone red on his flesh, visible in the light of a nearby lantern. Slowly, feeling nauseous, Harry made his way back to his seat, pushing his sleeve back further. He knew that as long as he had this mark, he would have to keep running. It reminded him of Tom's anger. It reminded him, too, that he wasn't free.

He believed the mark was a sort of seal, a way of tracking him, but couldn't work out what other long-term affects it might have. He didn't know whether it might possess him, torment him, or even kill him with time. All he knew was that it was dark magic, a curse. Closing his eyes, Harry sat back in his chair, feeling hopeless. He wouldn't be able to break the curse without risks. Not until he identified exactly what magic was involved. By that point in time, it might be too late; he was making no progress and could find no way to get rid of the mark besides to cut it off, which he was unwilling to do. So he convinced himself, anyway.

It was a few weeks back when Harry first began to notice the affects of the Dark Mark. He had stayed in the same location for a few days, believing himself safe there, but had found that after a certain point in time, cloaked figures faded in and out of sight behind trees in the forest. No matter where he went, the same thing happened, except the Death Eaters grew more determined with time. He kept an eye out for them nervously wherever he went and timed their arrival when he dared, finding that they were making great progress. These days, he had about sixteen hours until they found his trail. It was exhausting him fast.

A screaming kettle woke Harry from his thoughts. He got up and let the sleeve of his robes fall back over his arm. He reached the stove, turning the kettle off. When he made tea, the heat warmed him up and calmed him down, but it couldn't stop his mind from wandering over darker thoughts. His movements felt mechanical, the radio dull. He supposed it was a blessing that being constantly chased by Death Eaters meant he was commonly engulfed by a natural instinct to survive. To keep moving. To sleep. To eat. There was nothing left to do but keep fighting.

Although Harry only slept for about three hours that night, he awoke feeling wide awake. It was daybreak, so he got up, giving himself no time to think. By the time he headed out, packed up, and walked to the edge of the forest, he could sense figures moving behind the trees, just out of sight and earshot. The Death Eaters had grown strong. Harry was thankful of his inability to sleep. Thankful, too, of the Dementors, who had only just moved on for better prey in other towns and cities. They had worked as an extra deterrent from Death Eaters during the night.

In an attempt to discourage witches and wizards from fleeing to forests when they became known enemies of the Death Eaters, Voldemort had released a variety of dark creatures into many of the main magical woods in Britain. Harry, of course, tried his best to avoid the harmful beings, but found that even when he moved to Muggle forests, the Death Eaters found him. It was this, initially, which lead him to believe the Dark Mark drew their attention. Today, after seeing the Death Eaters in the misty morning light, Harry decided to try something new. He headed for a Muggle village, far from his regular hideouts.

If he trusted that the Ministry were at all secure, he would have travelled to a safer location in another part of the country by now, but the Ministry, as well as the Order, was falling. If he trusted that Voldemort's name, too, was not tabooed by Tom himself, then he would have cursed it to himself in burning anger, in broken desperation. It had been months since he escaped Voldemort in the headquarters. There was no place for him to go, nobody for him to turn to. No matter where he was, he couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that following him with the prickling of his scar.

The Muggle village Harry choose to take shelter in was small and full of nothing but families. He arrived on the outskirts of it, taking a winding dirt path past a few quiet houses, seeing no one. The Death Eaters would have a hard time believing he was here, because this didn't look like the kind of place where magic would ever be accepted. The small, cramped houses had almost unhealthily neat little gardens, with tiny windows for each neighbour to peek out of in curiosity. Harry headed for the inn, noticing a large amount of villagers already heading in for the pub.

The building itself was cramped, with a strange, angular corridor leading in. On yellowed walls, paintings hung forward awkwardly, leaning in and seemingly staring down at him. It distracted him momentarily from the main room up ahead. A surly-faced young woman stood behind a large bar, serving drinks and speaking loudly whilst glancing at what all the other workers were doing. Harry headed for the bar, asked for a room, and got the keys without being asked his name. When he handed over the money, the woman gestured towards the stairs.

"You'll find the room on your right, once you hit the landing," she said.

"Thank you."

When he arrived in the room, he didn't hesitate to began using protective enchantments around it, knowing it would last him at least the night. That would give him a few more hours to research in peace; he was still on a hunt to find out what magic Tom had used and why. He levitated a rucksack of books onto a desk, letting them spread out and organising themselves accordingly. With it, he produced a quill and parchment, glancing towards the nearest window to be sure no Muggle neighbours noticed. It was going to be another long day of silent reading. Harry slid into a seat, determined.

It had been weeks since Harry last stayed in a building, and probably as long since he spoke to anyone. He had fallen out of contact with the Order almost as soon as he fled Voldemort's hideout, hearing only scraps of information from events happening behind the main news. The Death Eaters were, of course, watching over every known member of the Order of the Phoenix with avid enthusiasm, waiting a sign of contact from Harry so they could summon Voldemort and start a fully-fledged war. Harry wouldn't allow it to happen. The Order was safer without him and he couldn't bring himself to see those people anymore.

It was after hours hunched over notes, flicking through old books and pulling up research papers on certain areas of magic when Harry finally decided to give himself a break. He couldn't work out what Tom had marked him with yet. It was sunset already and he was starving, so he dropped his quill, locked the room, and headed downstairs with the Elder Wand up his sleeve. He planned to make his visit into the pub as short as possible. When he reached the loud ground floor, however, he found the place was packed with merry drinkers. He headed for the only available seat; besides a red-nosed, sour-faced old man sitting at the bar.

"What would you like to drink?" the same woman from earlier asked from behind the bar.

"Mead," Harry answered hoarsely, knowing they'd have no wizarding drinks, "and something to eat. Anything."

She nodded, pouring him a glass with her eyes fixed on the other customers before she turned towards the kitchen, repeating his order. It would be a while before the food was ready, she said. Harry nodded, gladly accepting the mead she place before him. It was after the first sip that he became aware he was being watched. The old man sat staring at him. He didn't greet him in any way, but something in his movements told the old man he was listening.

"Long day, eh?"

Harry glanced at him then. The man's beady eyes were fixated on him, dazed from alcohol.

"No more than usual," Harry answered.

The man laughed. It was almost as gruff and frog-like as his speaking voice. "Where did you come in from?"

Harry tried to think of an answer, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember the name of a single Muggle village nearby. Not in any direction. He sipped his mead slowly. "I'm just passing through."

The old man watched him. He hadn't fallen for the answer. "Do you have family here?" he asked. "Business?"

He was accusatory, evaluating whether or not Harry belonged here. It was then that Harry knew the villagers had spoken of him, asking curious questions due to a general dislike of strangers. Especially quiet, oddly-dressed strangers. The fact didn't bother him.

"I don't have family here," Harry answered, "nor any particular business."

"Ah," the man said, his frog-like voice drawn out in cold awe, "I've seen a few like you. A few strangers."

"Recently?" Harry asked. He was interested, suddenly, so he paused.

The old man didn't answer soon. He grimaced slowly, thinking.

"Recently enough."

Thinking it over, Harry nodded once. It wouldn't have been Death Eaters, surely. Maybe other wizards passing through. This man was certainly old enough to have seen enough wandering wizards in his days to recognise more. Harry sipped his mead.

"Now," the man began slowly, his slurring voice strong, "what could bring a person like you to a place like this?"

"I'm just passing through," Harry answered again calmly. He told himself again it can't have been Death Eaters. "I told you that."

"You told me it, yes," the man agreed, "but you're telling a lie."

Harry gave no response; he didn't care too. He did, however, stare back into the man's beady eyes. He saw a look he was familiar with; the man was too drunk to really know what he was saying. Even if, in spite of that, his instincts were sharp.

"You see that mother and child over there?" the old man asked, gesturing over his shoulder.

Reluctantly, Harry tore his eyes away and glanced at a toddler, who was running up and down the pub floor, away from his mother. The child threw his hands out in determination to keep his balance, grinning widely and laughing all the way.

"What about them?" Harry muttered.

"Do you know what that child will grow up to be?"

Harry shook his head gently, eyes still fixed on the toddler.

"That boy will grow up to be a fine, smart young man," the old man said, "rightfully wary of strangers like you. Not trusting them, see. Not giving them the chance. Now, what kind of person would you be to encourage strangers into our parts, knowing that?"

"There are others here?" Harry asked again, looking up this time.

"There will be," the man said. "There always is."

Harry knew this man was not a wizard, nor even a wizard under cover, but somehow, he still believed his words. Perhaps the Muggle had good intuition, or perhaps this place was cursed. All Harry knew was that his scar seemed to be prickling more than ever and it can't have been from paranoia alone. Letting go of his mead, he reached up a hand to feel his forehead.

"What's that you got there?" the old man asked.

"Nothing," Harry murmured. "An injury. A scar. I should really get going..."

The old man's eyes narrowed. Then he nodded, as if he understood. "You watch yourself, now."

Harry was barely listening. The pain in his scar was definitely getting worse; it began burning more deeply, stinging more than ever. By the time he stood up and turned away from the bar, ignoring the old man and the food he had ordered, his head was pounding in repetitive stabs of pain. Blind to what he was doing, he made his way upstairs and just about closed and locked the door of his room in time, clutching at his head. He tried to assure himself the timing of this was fully random, but he shook in uncertainty and had to sit down.

He perched on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, clutching his skull and breathing slowly, heavily. How might he escape death now, he wondered? How might he avoid the upcoming war? He was convinced there was no way out of it. Voldemort was hunting him as surely as Death Eaters hunted the Order. There would be no way to stop him, no way to hold him back, so why should Harry keep running, he wondered? The only answer he had was that the rush of adrenaline he constantly got from running made him believe, perhaps ignorantly, that he had a chance of escape.

Deluded, tired, and unable to form any sensible thoughts, Harry couldn't stand the pain of his scar any longer. He lay back in the bed, his head spinning so fast that the ghostly movements made him feel sick. He knew what was coming, because even as he lay with his palms pressed to his eyes, he could see Tom's face in a memory. The moment he left the headquarters. When he had seen wrath overtake eyes that had looked upon him so lovingly for so many years. The memory burned into his already aching skull. Through the pain, he began to drift off to sleep.

Instead of a dream, Harry was met with a terrible vision. He was standing in a cold, dark room, his breath visible before his slightly parted lips, strong and heavy. He was irritated. The feeling of anger travelled from his chest down into his arms, threatening to take hold of his mind and cause him to curse each and every Death Eater who dared to bring him news of failure. Only, the Death Eater who stood before him, cloaked in flowing robes of black, was calm. Lestrange showed no sign of fear, but stood before his Lord bravely. Voldemort preferred it this way.

"Have you any news?" he asked Lestrange delicately, staring into his eyes. Lestrange did not look away.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Of the Potters, Black mentioned?"

"Of both the Potters and the Longbottoms."

For the first time, Harry smiled, cruelly, madly, as if sharing a private joke.

"It is the Potters alone who interest me, Lestrange..."

The Death Eaters surrounding the room, pressed to the shadows, visibly stirred. Harry glanced over at them, growing annoyed again. His eyes scanning their masked faces. Who among them dared to question his choice once more, he wondered? Who, moreover, was so ignorant as to overlook the importance of the Potters?

"My Lord, it is my belief that Dumbledore has warned the Potters and the Longbottoms of our interest in them. That is why I am here."

Harry turned to face Lestrange, his eyes wide. Wonder found him, holding him still.

"Dumbledore has warned them?"

"Yes, my Lord," Lestrange confirmed. Harry could see hungry hope in his eyes, a desire to bring him invaluable information. "Which leads me to believe that he is fearful."

Harry smiled in wonder, understanding what this meant. They could now begin their attempts to find the Potters, because they would be kept in a single location. The news was a confirmation that Dumbledore knew the Potters bore an important child, which was a great triumph, one that filled him with ecstasy. He would send the Death Eaters out immediately to begin gaining information and –

A great wave of terror caught Harry, pulling him out of Voldemort's mind. He stirred where he lay, his heart hammering, his mind racing to thoughts of the Death Eaters finding him. He wasn't meant to chase the Potters. He had to leave the inn, now, before they found him. His head pounded worse than his heart, dizzying him where he sat. He tried to get up, but –

"Is something wrong, my Lord?"

He was still standing before Lestrange in the cold, dark room. Paused, frozen, staring into space. The smile had slipped from his face. He couldn't remember what they had spoken about. The scene he had just witnessed in his own mind distracted him. A vision. He had caught visions similar to this in the past, but never one this strong. Never one so directly about Harry's thoughts. Although he did not believe in divination, he did believe in his own power. Intuitive feelings as vivid as this could not be ignored, after all. Not even by a Dark Lord as powerful as himself. He thought it over slowly...

Under the shield of a moment of calm contemplation from Voldemort, Harry fell back into his own mind. Sickness and terror greeted him cruelly and he stumbled to his feet. He found his balance, knowing immediately what he must do. If he had seen into Voldemort's mind, as he didn't doubt he had, it would only be a matter of minutes, seconds, before Voldemort saw into his mind too. It sent Harry into an immediate panic, likely worsening the strength of their connection. Shaking, close to vomiting, he began to pack up his trunk. If he didn't leave the inn now –

An unnatural burst of jubilance shot through him, cutting off the thought, causing his eyes to widen and a grin to break across the faces of both Lord Voldemort and himself. He knows exactly what is happening now. Shakily, terrified, he turned around a few times and started packing. The books, the quills, his research notes. Moments passed and Harry could see wonder in the eyes of the Death Eaters. He had let Voldemort into his mind through paranoia alone and had informed him where the inn resided.

The trunk was ready and Harry's natural instincts kicked in; he had to run. He cursed the trunk to leave his sight and threw the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, drawing it in close. Out of the room, down the stairs; the main room was packed with people. It can't have been ten minutes since he hurried upstairs – the old man was still sitting at the bar and his meal was only just being brought out. Terror and adrenaline motivated Harry and kept him strong through the headache that pounded on and on. Past oblivious Muggles, headed straight for the exit. Until something blocked his way.

Three Death Eaters, brutal-faced and resolute, wove their way into the pub. They were stalled by a sea of Muggles, but searched for him nonetheless, their eyes scanning every face in the tavern. They had wands up their sleeves, under robes neither three had bothered to change out of. Travers, Lestrange, and Mulciber had been sent by Voldemort in haste. Harry edged towards them until he was less than eight feet away, waiting for an overweight father and daughter to clear the exit of the pub. He did everything he could to not curse the man out of the way. His heartbeat grew painful in his chest.

Inches away from him, Mulciber skulked by. Harry could hear every breath that escaped his lips and could see his bloodshot eyes shift from one point to the next.

"I reckon he's here, you know," Mulciber rasped, addressing the other Death Eaters. "I really do."

"It's not wise to summon the Dark Lord so soon," Lestrange snarled, "don't get ahead of yourself."

The plump Muggle in front of Harry was waiting for his daughter to leave first, wary of the three wizards in black. They seemed almost reluctant to enter the room ahead. Reluctant, moreover, to let the Muggle go. Just leave, Harry thought. Just leave now...

"You don't sense it, though?" Mulciber asked. "You don't feel like he's watching us?"

Lestrange didn't answer. He crept forwards, his eyes fixed on the bar up ahead.

The Muggle father was heading for the door, which Travers now blocked.

"Excuse me," he murmured.

Travers acted like he hadn't heard the Muggle, but blinked slowly.

"I'm trying to get out," the man said, louder this time. "Just me and my daughter."

"No one leaves," Travers spat.

"Sorry?"

Travers quit glaring ahead and let his eyes bore directly into the plump Muggle's face.

"No one," he breathed, "leaves tonight."

It was in that moment, staring at Travers' cruel, familiar face that Harry realised just how terrifying these men were as his enemies. He realised, too, what Voldemort's plan was. There could be no exception to the rule that any trace of Harry's presence would be found out and documented. There would be no limit to the extent Voldemort would go to to hunt Harry down personally and track him until he was captured. Numbed with the realisation, Harry knew what he had to do. He gripped the Elder Wand tightly, moving forwards.

As if driven by the force of Harry's movements, the Muggle man grew nervous, impatient. He held his daughter closer.

"You can't keep us here," he said. "Move out of the way!"

Irritation caught Travers. His glare worsened. "I'm warning you, filth. Stay where you are."

"Filth?" the man repeated. "You dare to call _me_ filth in my town?"

Mulciber glanced back at the conversation dumbly, a thick smile creeping onto his face. Travers took a step forward. "I'm warning you, Muggle..."

The little girl hugged her father closer. "Daddy!"

"Move out of the way!" the Muggle man shouted at Travers, who withdrew his wand. "Move out of my way, or I'll –!"

_BANG!_

Harry hexed the Muggle with a shot like a gun. He flew back from Travers' curse with his daughter in his hands, but didn't crash; they cowered in a corner, screaming. The pub joined in, Muggles ran, and the Death Eaters' eyes widened over their withdrawn wands. Harry had seconds before they'd hunt him, but in a whirl of inspiration brought on by the fight, he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. The Death Eaters turned. They could not believe their eyes.

"Why don't you start a fair fight?" Harry dared them in a cold, quiet voice. "It's me you're looking for, isn't it?"

That was the end.

Lestrange and Travers didn't fight; they knew what was coming as surely as Harry did. He reached for the Elder Wand, watching time slow, and threw a curse a the door – not out of fear, but because they had reached for their Dark Marks. Shadows clouded their vision as the Dark Lord was summoned and Mulciber let out an almighty yell of: "_HE'S HERE!_"

Harry didn't remember leaving the pub, but in the next instant, fresh air greeted him and he was immersed in darkness. As well as pain. He felt as if his head was going to explode, or at least keep him immobile, but his feet kept on hitting against the ground and his body kept him running, thrilled by terror. The Death Eaters we at his heels, but they didn't pick a fight, for Voldemort was already on his way. In wonder and determination, he tracked Harry's movements. He was moving ever closer. They could all sense it. They could hear him.

Streets and streets with no sign of escape – that's all Harry saw as the village flashed by. Lights, windows, roads, Muggles screaming – all he knew was that he had to keep running to draw the Death Eaters from this village. He didn't mind running, he almost _liked_ it, if it weren't for his head, which burned as if it had caught fire. There were lights flashing by his heels and ahead of him, which he at first didn't understand. Until he realised they were trying to stun him. He laughed.

His head only grew worse. He only saw more of Voldemort's mind, a whirl of colour, another side of the village. A vision of the same Death Eaters and Harry. Moving ever closer, gliding dream-like through the houses, flanked by ten loyal men and women who might one day wish to call themselves Knights. Only, one Death Eater was growing impatient. Harry saw him with his own eyes. Smile alight on his face, wand held up.

"_AVADA KE-_"

_CRACK!_

Harry span on his heels and was gone. Spinning a thousand miles an hour, trying to make it through a tiny space to escape Voldemort and his Death Eaters. When he arrived on a hard, rock surface, hundreds of miles away from terror, he was still blind with pain and fear. He could still see Voldemort staring into the faces of the Death Eaters, hearing wildly of what they'd seen. Only, he wasn't angry. He grinned unstoppably and spoke quickly, telling them what they must do, ordering them to begin a new stage in their plan. He sent them charging around the village, sending up spells, laughing madly until –

"No," Harry whispered to himself. He stood up on the rock, shaking madly, blind to the sea that crashed and churned tens of feet below the cliff. "Not them..."

As much as he tried, he couldn't pull himself out of Voldemort's mind, not fully. He could see the Death Eaters' movements and feel the pleasure Voldemort took from hateful vengeance. Tom considered tonight an accomplishment, because although the Death Eaters hadn't succeeded in capturing Harry, they had gained something invaluable in the process of chasing him. Within the minds of hundreds of Muggles were memories. Preserved in skulls that Tom would soon gut out for information, these Muggles had unknowingly witnessed Harry's movements...

Panicked and sick with pain, Harry started walking in a ring with the Elder Wand in hand, hoping to protect himself. He knew he had made it in time, but only because the Death Eaters were too busy raiding the village to hope finding him anywhere else. Having made a sort of routine in the months since fleeing Voldemort's headquarters, Harry set up camp quickly and with minimal effort. He crashed on the nearest chair the moment he was safe and inside, breathing heavily and clutching his skull between his hands.

As much as he tried, Harry couldn't to make sense of what had happened tonight. It didn't make sense to him that fear alone had opened up the connection between Voldemort's mind and his own, but it seemed the only explanation – at least for why Voldemort found out where he was. Voldemort had worked out precisely where he was and what he feared: that the Death Eaters would discover him, like the Muggle man predicted. The only thing Harry could make sense of, as he sat cramped and nauseous on a chair by the wood stove, was that Voldemort wasn't the only one who gained invaluable information tonight.

Lestrange had mentioned that the Potters and the Longbottoms being placed into hiding. This meant only one thing: that Dumbledore had finally heeded Harry's advice. He was protecting the Chosen One, Potter or Longbottom, from Voldemort's furious grasp. It was a massive relief for Harry, because he hadn't been to the Order headquarters in weeks – not since he initially fled – and he needed to know that they were defending themselves from the upcoming conclusion to this war. Especially as he couldn't go back them and warn them himself.

It was difficult for Harry to assure himself that he was safe now. Although he could no longer see into Voldemort's mind, he had thought himself safe at that inn, so who could say Voldemort wasn't spying on his mind right now, tracking his every move? Harry's heart pulsed painfully at the thought and he sat up straight in his chair, opening his eyes slowly. His scar had stopped burning, but he felt ill with worry and fright. Even silence, even peace, was not enough to convince him that the Death Eaters weren't lurking beyond the canvas walls of the magic tent and that Tom was not connected to every single thought that crossed his paranoid mind.

With all that had happened tonight, what was Tom thinking, Harry wondered? What made him believe that the vision he had caught of the inn, that moment of pure divination, was nothing more than luck, coincidence, or his own power? A few months ago, Harry would have mocked Tom for his vanity, because this was his most dangerous flaw: he believed himself so great that he forgot magic, too, could be a strange and powerful art that few understood. The connection between Tom and Harry's mind was not coincidence, but a new discovery in magic yet to be fully understood...

Thoughts were cramming and clouding Harry's head, which had finally stopped hurting as much as it did upon Voldemort's arrival. So, with all the remaining will and energy he could muster, he got up and headed for his bed. In moments, he drifted off to sleep, but he was haunted by thoughts of the Death Eaters tracking him down and finding him before dawn, as well as memories of the night's events. Terrified faces, Muggles screaming, and Voldemort's euphoria. It's all your fault, he thought to himself. It's all your fault...

Harry awoke that morning in a burst of terror. It was still dark around him, but he felt suddenly wide awake, sweating where he lay. Memories of his dreams crossed his mind on and off, always just out of reach, and filled him with a sense of dread. He became aware, then, of voices. The ratio was on. Harry could see the pulsing, magical light that swirled in its dials.

"_... reports that no one has been arrested for the crimes,_" a witch was saying seriously, speaking in a quick, low voice. "_The Minister speculates that the attack was run by a powerful anti-Muggle association, perhaps in connection with the reign of You-Know-Who..._"

Harry became very still, listening. It was at least five in the morning, because he programmed the radio to switch on at that hour, to wake him up long before dawn. He thought the witch's grave voice may have influenced the nightmares he had had. What she spoke about kept him paralysed.

"_...evidence suggests that the seventeen Muggles killed were tortured under the use of advanced dark magic. The news has so far outraged the majority of Ministry officials interviewed in the late hours of last night and continues to shock the general wizarding public..._"

Harry sat up with a jolt, looking around for the radio, which was the only source of light. Transfixed, he got out of bed at once, gripping the Elder Wand close. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He edged towards the radio, listening.

"_Aurors entered the scene late last night and struck with open spellfire on the wizards initiating brutal attacks on Muggles, but captured none responsible. Alongside them,O__bliviators __took control __of the village, cutting off contact to Muggle officials in an attempt to contain the hysteria evoked by __the anti-Muggle activists. The Muggle Minister has been fully informed of the attack, but understands this is an issue of magical importance..._"

The Death Eaters had done this. Harry knew it the moment he awoke, because the dreams that haunted him told him so, but hearing this solemn witch explain everything confirmed it and made it feel more real than anything. He had seen their faces. He had heard their screams. He had suspected Voldemort might raid that village, scouring it for information on where he was, but killing those Muggles wasn't a necessity. It wasn't needed. It was nothing but a warning for Harry personally.

"... _Obliviators are attempting to erase all trace of the attack amongst the Muggle residents of the village, but are struggling to explain the seventeen deaths that arose in the course of the evening. In what can only be described as a mass-murder brought on by Muggle hatred, the wizards responsible have shocked our world at large, striking fear in the hearts of many..._"

As Harry stood alone in the cold, dark tent, his eyes transfixed to the swirling dials of the radio, he knew it was his fault. Even if he had predicted Voldemort's brutality, however, he could not have stopped the Death Eaters from killing. The fate of that village had been decided the moment Tom saw into Harry's mind. All those Muggles, the old man, the mother, the bartender, were dead because they had seen him. Their blood, all their suffering, was on his hands and there was nothing he could have done. Harry couldn't believe it as he stood alone, letting the witch's voice on the radio wash over him.

Numbed with the realisation that Voldemort's threats would only get worse, Harry knew there was no way to run. He couldn't go back to the Order. He couldn't visit any town or city, Muggle or Wizard, because his assumption that this war was not as brutal as the Second Wizarding War was wrong. Voldemort would stop as nothing to drag and flush him out of anywhere he dared to hide. With this Dark Mark, with these visions, anyone Harry so much as passed by in an attempt to hide was going to be slain and tortured for information. It wouldn't end until Harry gave himself in. Tom could chase him for all of eternity, if he had to.

The radio was still on, but Harry was too pained to listen. He began pacing around the tent, collecting what he needed, packing things away. It was six in the morning and he had to move once more. There was no time to eat, no time to let exhaustion get the better of him. He switched off the ratio and ran, setting up camp halfway across the country just so he could rest. All the while, he wished he could get one good night of sleep, but he was haunted by the faces of the Muggles who had unknowingly become involved in something bigger than them. Something far beyond their control.

For a long time, Harry felt as if he was in shock by what had happened. He couldn't decide what this meant for him and what he should do now, but every day he thought about the Muggles that were murdered and wondered what thoughts were going on in Tom's mind now. He listened to the radio closely, holding onto every story spoken of, waiting for a sign that there were movements in other parts of the war. No news he heard was ever welcome, however. It angered him that the Order of the Phoenix wasted so many souls by sending them into battle and angered him, too, that Tom had killed so many innocent people in his name.

Harry found himself searching for news of Death Eater movements on the radio. At first, it was just to get a general idea of which areas of the country to avoid in hope of stalling another chase, but soon, slowly, he began listening onto unrelated stories. News of strange attacks, of wizards captured, of Death Eaters escaping the Aurors' grasp. Although Harry was powerless when it came to helping the Order or willingly contributing to either side of this war, he was interested in what the Death Eaters were doing, and knew precisely who had committed which crimes and why. He felt, eventually, that it was his duty to keep track of them. So he listened.

As further weeks passed and still Harry was unable to overcome the horror of having lead seventeen Muggles to their deaths, just listening to Death Eater movements whilst staying hidden and moving every day wasn't enough. That was why it interested him when, sitting alone one night, glued to the radio, news of a nearby Death Eater sighting caught his attention. Without truly knowing why, Harry decided he should investigate what was happening. So he grabbed his Cloak, grabbed the Wand, and headed from his tent.

The Death Eater was said to have been spotted by a wizarding village directly by where Harry had set up camp. It was too perfect an opportunity for him to miss; he wandered the cobble-stone streets beneath the Invisibility Cloak, cautious all the while. It was dusk, late summertime. It appeared, at first glance, that all was still and calm – or at least that the witches and wizards living here had heard the news and stuck to their locked houses. It wasn't until wandering the same street three or four times that Harry found what he was looking for. A common, miserable little pub where two people were causing a scene.

"I'm warning you!" a witch was shouting, brandishing a broom and glaring at a cloaked wizard. "We don't need trouble, you understand? Get out of here!"

She was speaking to a young wizard, the known Death Eater mentioned on the radio. Harry crept towards them, staring from across the street until he was close enough to see the grin on the young man's face, who was stunned with disbelief that this short, portly witch could be throwing him out. He threatened her by reaching for the wand in his robe pockets, but they both knew it was childish play. The witch wasn't remotely amused by it. Her grimace worsened.

"Stay out of my pub!" she said again. "Or next time, it won't be a warning!"

"Suit yourself, Muggle-lover," the Death Eater breathed, "but there will be more of us."

She backed away after this, slamming the door of the pub. Harry saw heads turn within, but the portly witch headed straight behind the bar, wand and broom in hand. The next thing he knew, the young Death Eater darted down the street, head low, cloak drawn. Harry followed him.

What happened next was slow and dull, but Harry followed the Death Eater for a long time, taking each winding path he took, making sure all the while that he wasn't detected. He thought the young man might have sensed his presence as they trudged through the marshy outskirts of the wizarding village, but it soon became apparent that this wasn't the case. This Death Eater was patrolling the entire area nearby, keeping an eye out for signs of Harry's presence, not yet knowing whether he was here at all.

This could mean only one thing. Harry thought it over as he walked with the Elder Wand drawn, his breath pressing against the Cloak and his eyes fixed on the back of the young man's head. The Death Eaters knew that Harry was around, so Voldemort had sent young recruits to patrol all nearby towns and cities, lest he should miss another vision with details on Harry's whereabouts. The reason why this wizard's name was mentioned in the radio in particular was simply because he was a rather poor, rather obvious young Death Eater. Causing havoc where he should be discreet.

Harry decided, after a long time stalking the young Death Eater, that he should really head back. Any sign of Death Eater activity in a nearby town was a strong enough sign to motivate him into leaving. From where he was, he could walk back to his hidden camp, so he did so without hesitation, wondering all the while whether the Curse that Tom had placed on his arm, his Dark Mark, was growing stronger. Compared to Voldemort reading into his mind, this was again a minor threat, but was still one that he thought was best not to ignore.

Harry became so absorbed in thought and was so unfazed about the young Death Eaters' search for him that it came as a shock when, upon reaching the outskirts of his magically concealed camp, he sensed someone watching him. The feeling started as nothing more than a fleeting thought, a passing feeling, but the more he walked, the more he sensed it. So he froze. He listened.

Had his boots made a noise on the damp, muddy field, he wondered? Or had he underestimated the young Death Eater's ability? There was definitely someone watching him, someone waiting in the shadows, and who would be foolish enough to follow him without yet summoning the Dark Lord in fear and awe?

Instinctively, Harry kept walking, but curved around the camp and walked in the other direction, as if lost. He made a point to let his footsteps make noise, but not too obviously. Once he walked for around ten minutes, leading whoever was watching him into a nearby wood, he let his footsteps fade and stepped to the side of his previous path. From there, he caught a clear view of the young Death Eater creeping through the woods, his wand drawn. Harry's scar still wasn't burning.

It occurred to him that this young man wasn't an official Death Eater, but a recruit bearing no Dark Mark, too reluctant to report back to his superiors. He might not even have known who Harry was, nor why everyone was searching for him. Regardless, Harry knew he wasn't an innocent man. He knew how witches and wizards were initiated into the Death Eaters' ranks. So when the young man passed him by and when he began following him. Silently, undetected. He felt no reluctance.

Harry's thoughts seemed to slot into place mathematically, leading him to a conclusion about this situation that made him grip the Elder Wand more tightly. He was gaining on the young man, who's eyes and ears were still alert to sights and sounds around the forest. He had lost track of Harry. He slowed, glancing around nervously, and it became clear what was on his mind. The only option he had left was to contact a higher-ranking Death Eater, telling them of what he had witnessed. Except, Harry had other plans. This young man would not be returning home to the Death Eaters tonight.

Carelessly, calmly, Harry removed the Cloak. The young man heard the movement.

"_CRUCI-_"

There was a shot of green light, a muffled gasp. The young man's eyes widened, the air in his ribcage making a notable '_thump_' when he hit the floor. Then silence.

Harry stared at the corpse, wondering what sort of life the boy had lived moments ago. His heart was strangely calm. It seemed, to him, that all of this was perfectly right and far beyond any point of remorse or pain. This is how things were meant to be. Death Eaters verses him. Muggle tortured, Muggle killed, Death Eater sacrificed. It was only fair.

Harry didn't bother to send out any taunting signal that he had murdered this young man. Nor did he drag the body into any sort of hiding place or bless it with any greetings for Death. Soon enough, Voldemort's followers would figure out this young man was gone. Someone wandering these woods would easily find the body. By that point, Harry hoped to be long gone, so he simply walked away.

Back at his camp, he packed up all of his things, removed the many enchantments protecting the surrounding area, and Disapparated. Across the country, he felt no safer than he did before, but no more in danger either. He spent the night alone, contemplating the deaths of that Muggle village, wondering numbly whether killing Death Eaters might wash the blood of the innocent from his hands. It didn't make him happy to kill that boy tonight, nor did it make him feel secure, but it was fair. That's all Harry knew. It was fair...

He went to bed calmly that night, but supposed it was no surprise at all when he awoke feeling as if someone had taken an axe to his head.

Voldemort was enraged to hear about the murder. He knew that Harry was the one responsible for it; the young man's corpse had been found in the woods half a mile out from where he should have been. Who else could have lead a Death Eater to their death in that precise location? Who else, moreover, would be smart enough to take advantage of an ignorant, young recruit... Harry could feel every thought and feeling that passed through Voldemort's mind that morning. He could feel every irritated reflection and could tell exactly what scared him the most, because in his anger, their connection grew stronger. It fascinated him for hours...

If this is how Tom reacted to a single murder, how might he feel if Harry took revenge for all seventeen deaths he had caused, he wondered? Harry relished in the thrilling idea, realising this was the first thing that made him feel genuinely moved in days. If Voldemort dared to kill innocent men and women in his name, to threaten him, then he would respond to that merciless cruelty with his own perfectly reasonable revenge. He would defend himself with all the knowledge he had gained on the Death Eaters over the years.

Sitting in his isolated tent, obsessing over the thought, Harry decided it's what had to be done. He was calm, safe, preoccupied...

For every death that Lord Voldemort caused in his name, Harry was going to kill a Death Eater.

When the decision was made, Harry couldn't decide where to start. This wasn't because of fear – in contrast, he had never felt so calm about such a major endeavour. What he struggled with, above all else, was deciding which Death Eaters to kill off to cause the most damage. There were, of course, many people he would have liked to see dead, but many of them were obtainable, protected under the protection of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, or even the Ministry itself. No, Harry knew he had to find an open target, someone who would hit deep. Someone Voldemort would truly miss.

Since he had stood by Tom's side for so many years, making observations and helping devise plans involving almost all of the Death Eaters, Harry still knew which followers circulated certain areas of the country or around certain people on their missions for the Dark Lord. So it wasn't hard, once he made his decision to hunt the Death Eaters, to know exactly where certain individuals might be. Tom may have taken this into consideration, of course, changing the Death Eaters' tactics in caution, but there were certain wizards whose jobs could not be changed, no matter how valuable they were to all other operations. Harry, moreover, knew them by name...

Amongst these most important wizards was, of course, the leader of the Werewolf movement, Gavin McDarline. Mass murderer, Ministry foe, and prideful supporter of the Wizarding Supremacy movement – assuming that enough Muggles, Mudbloods, and blood-traitors were thrown to the dogs as a reward for this loyalty. Harry had known McDarline for years, had worked alongside him, so there was not a flicker of doubt in his mind that this man deserved an inevitable fate. With the least amount of restraint imaginable, Harry travelled to London early one full moon, intent upon chasing the Werewolf's trail.

He found Gavin McDarline with a pack of Wolves outside the same pub they always visited before sundown. They were shouting and leering into dark alleyways and up towards the so-far moonless sky, sounding cheerful despite the fact that they had already gotten themselves chucked out of their favourite place to meet. They often enjoyed having a drink in the pub to calm their nerves in preparation for the night up ahead of them. Bartenders in every dingy, cheap wizarding pub across London knew about it and knew what to expect; many of them decided to reject the pack before they even came in. The Wolves got too excited at the idea of fresh blood, flesh, and bones to break.

Voldemort made sure to assign them fresh victims to punish under each full moon; enemies, moreover, who could not afford the risk of the Ministry's protection. Scams amongst traders, betrayals amongst his own followers, a change of heart or refusal amongst vital associates; all of these treacheries were met with a punishment. Muggles, too, were hunted down and killed in times of peace, but this was easy game. It had become a known fact amongst Londoners involved in the magical world that if you heard the cry a Werewolf during the dead night at the full moon, there was no saving your poor soul.

Gavin McDarline was surrounded a pack of five wizards, some of them young, some of them old and hungry with years' worth of bloodlust. Without reason, Harry thought about Nott as he stared at the Werewolves from a shadowed corner, waiting, but he brushed the thought out of his mind, drawing the Cloak in closer to his body. Nott's black hair and shining eyes were nowhere to be seen. Although Harry couldn't hear, at first, what the Wolves were saying, it became clear to him that they were moving. So he followed.

Down the winding streets of Muggle London, heading for the outskirts of the city, the Werewolves grew restless and excited for the night to fall. Harry followed them from a good distance, glad of their movements, because it would weaken the magic of his Dark Mark. His heart began beating more quickly as he walked, his wand drawn, but it wasn't in fear of the Werewolves' power. The sun was setting fast over this dismal city; the moon would soon raise fresh Hell.

Laughing and cackling in daunting, sick pleasure, the Werewolves began to howl. None of them were yet transforming, but they had caused such an uproar amongst themselves that they couldn't seem to help it. Even the Death Eaters who joined them minutes later, wands withdrawn, did not look comfortable nor pleased to witness their joy. It only made the Werewolves more wild.

"Tonight, London will be in the power of the Death Eaters, lads," someone shouted in hoarse excitement, "and we are _hungry!_"

Soon after this, they began their case, quickening their pace towards their destination. The movement confused a few and split up the group. Harry took his chance.

He walked towards the Death Eaters from the shadows at twice his normal speed. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, but his face remained calm, as did his composure. Gently, elegantly, he removed the Cloak, placing it in his pocket. The Death Eaters' heads turned when they heard his soft footsteps, but something in the way he presented himself stopped them from fighting. He was their Second Lord, after all, and no amount of Voldemort's hatred could make them forget it on instinct.

Harry lifted the Elder Wand calmly, cleanly, with admirable precision. When Gavin McDarline turned to look at him, he slit the Werewolf's throat.

The Death Eaters were stunned. Not by magic. Not by power. Gavin McDarline was falling to his knees, gaping up at Harry with blood clogging his throat, but all else was still. By the time the Death Eaters and Werewolves inhaled a single unanimous breath, Harry reached into the other side of his robes and produced his Mask. His Horcrux. His greatest chance of escape.

He was given a farewell of a hundred flashing lights and the crackling of lightning as the Death Eaters threw spells his way, but he had already spun on the spot, Disapparating from the heart of London. Spinning through space at a thousand miles an hour. This is when time sped up.

The moment Harry landed on solid earth, his scar burst with unimaginable pain. He shook from the rush of murder and in fear of Voldemort's wrath, knowing perfectly well that the agony encapsulating his skull could only get worse. Since the Death Eaters had used their Dark Marks to summon Lord Voldemort to London, Harry had only moments before he would arrive. There, he would find the corpse of Gavin McDarline and understand at once what had happened.

Staggering blindly, Harry felt his way through the magical protection that surrounding his camp. Once he entered the tent, he knew he was safe, but he made a point nonetheless to shut off all the lights, determined to conceal his location. He stumbled towards his bed, clutching at his aching head, which felt as if it might burst open. What he saw next was not a sight from his own eyes, but a vision into Voldemort's furious mind. Tall buildings around him, their windows all masked, a circle of followers surrounding a corpse...

"Who amongst you here saw him?" Harry asked in a hiss, eyes boring into the skulls of those nearest him. Only, it wasn't his own eyes glaring. Nor his own mouth speaking. "Who among you saw his face?"

"We all did, my Lord," came an answer from one, a Death Eater who cowered and shivered from the shadows.

"Pray, do tell me," Harry breathed, his anger growing wilder than ever. "Who did you see?"

"I... I don't know who it was, my Lord."

Harry was disappointed. His eyes swept those gathered around him, searching for a liar. A rat, perhaps, or traitor, or imposter amongst them. The Werewolves were crying out in pained, crazed anguish. He took a step further towards the cloaked Death Eater, his reddened eyes reverted to slits.

"Who did you see?" he asked again, his voice now more deadly than ever. "You may doubt your own eyes, Crabbe, but you know, truly..."

Crabbe shifted uncomfortably.

Before he could answer, a Werewolf cried out, "It was one of your own!"

Slowly, Harry tore his eyes from the Death Eater.

"I saw him," the Werewolf explained hoarsely. "It was your closest follower, before he put on that Mask. He walked right up and slit Gavin's throat! Now you're surprised? It's betrayal!"

"Is that so?" Harry hissed.

"You set us up!" the Werewolf shouted, kneeling down by the corpse of his leader. "You should have known the only thing keeping the Werewolves happy was McDarline's faith in you!"

The Werewolf was hysterical, standing up to the Dark Lord with progressive bravery. It intrigued Harry, who turned his full attention to him, doing all that he could to not _dare_ him into battle.

"My Lord," began Lestrange nervously, "the moon, it's–"

"Now he's gone, who do you have to command, eh?" the Werewolf demanded, actually daring to _threat_ the Dark Lord. "How will you control us, seeing as we know your game now?"

Harry could have laughed. He allowed himself a slow, hateful baring of his teeth to taunt the frantic Wolf further. "Is that how you see it?"

"My Lord," Lestrange tried again, "I –"

Harry held up a delicate hand to silence him, his eyes fixed on the circle of Wolves.

"Our allegiance never belonged to you," the Werewolf spat, glaring at Lord Voldemort with no fear. "Our allegiance was with him. No amount of foul wizarding supremacy could change that. No amount of leading alongside treacherous scum –"

There was a flash of green light. Someone cried out in fury, but no one moved, no one dared do more. The Wolf crumpled to his knees beside his leader. The others became frantic and Lestrange demanded his Lord's attention, but Voldemort was merciless. One Werewolf, he noticed, had closed his eyes in loyalty, but did not look behind him.

"Fenrir," he greeted, delicately lowering his wand, "have you nothing to say in response to your fallen brothers?"

The Werewolf shook his head once, but moved no further. "No, m'Lord..."

Slowly, creating an illusion of calmness, Harry relaxed his muscles, straightening up. The four Wolves who remained alive and standing were frozen. He realised, irately, that he must explain himself. He prepared a speech, ignoring Lestrange, who was visibly uncomfortable.

"You have lost a valuable leader tonight," he said, "but that was not our doing. You see, we had a traitor amongst our own, as I am sure some of you are aware."

Fenrir nodded slowly in the silence that fell, this time opening his eyes, as if curious, fearful. "I may have heard a rumour..."

Harry bowed his head in agreement, fury worsening his glare. He tried to hide it, to remain strong, but he knew what consequence the death of their leader might do to the Werewolves. The murderer must have known it too, he mused. Harry... He clenched his wand more tightly, his nostrils flaring.

"It would appear," he carried on delicately, "that a change in leadership is required amongst your kind, Fenrir. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yeah," said Fenrir slowly. "Yeah, I reckoned so, m'Lord..."

"Let us not waste time before the moon rises," Tom breathed, sure of only one thing. "We have business to attend to tonight, but you needn't worry; you have Lord Voldemort watching over you tonight..."

Lestrange breathed a sigh of relief that didn't seem far from the lips of other Death Eaters. In a whisper, he said, "Thank you, my Lord..."

Fenrir glanced back at Gavin McDarline, who lay by his heels. A look of understanding crossed his face. Tom may have missed it, if Harry were not stuck in his mind, watching, thinking. It was this fact which, in a moment of understanding, shook Voldemort out of his usual composure. He felt, for a moment, the aching of Harry's skull. Felt, too, a feeling beyond anger. A feeling, quite simply, of triumph.

"My Lord!"

Tom glanced up, responding at once to his Death Eaters' panicked voices. Moonlight was breaking out across the sky, illuminating the white walls of tall buildings, causing disturbance amongst the beasts before him. Making them howl, making them shake...

Something in the instinct to fight broke the connection into Voldemort's mind. Harry jolted awake, gasping for breath, and found himself lying on the ground beside his chair. He cowered and tensed, bringing his knees up to his head, which he was clutching in an attempt to endure the stabbing pain that tormented him with every beat of his racing heart. It was impossible to make out what was real or not in the darkness. Harry reached around for the Elder Wand, trying to defend himself from imagined horrors.

"_Nox!_" he breathed.

The magical light burned his eyes. He blinked furiously, breathing hard, and tried to make sense of what had just happened. He had never had such a strong vision into Voldemort's mind. It had felt as if he really _was_ Tom, which was an oddly frightening feeling, because he couldn't control anything that had happened. Numbed by pain and feeling strange to be in his own head again, Harry forced himself to stumble to his feet. His scar kept burning all the while.

He could still feel Tom. That was the first thing Harry noticed as he tried to find his balance. Any strong emotion Tom felt, every particularly harsh stab of anger and significant sight before his eyes flashed across Harry's mind in the minutes it took him to stagger towards his bed. It lead him to the conclusion that the more he angered Tom, the more he opened up the bridge between their minds and souls. What this meant to him, he was so far unsure.

He became aware, slowly, of how much time passed since he was last conscious and how very tired he had become. His limbs ached as if he had been running a great distance and he was drenched in sweat. The vision into Voldemort's mind was still so fresh and so daunting that it made him feel weary and weak. Any thoughts he had now, any strong emotions he may feel, were at high risk of making their way to Tom's mind. Harry collapsed onto his bed, trying to shut it all out.

Tom was still there, but the visions faded. Harry almost felt comforted by the feeling of someone else present. It was almost like not being alone. Darkness pressed in on him, holding him close. Before he knew it, he drifted off to sleep.

– X –

When he awoke, Harry's head still ached. That was the first thing he noticed, before realising in a moment of confusion that he was also alone. He got up quickly, giving himself no time for sober contemplation. The kettle was on, tea ready, and he checked the time. It was early morning still, seven O'clock. He began moving things around, packing his bags, putting his notes in place. There was no time for him to lose before moving, because his scar was still prickling strongly, warning him of Voldemort's anger. He drank his tea quickly, burning his mouth, before leaving the tent. There was no one in sight outside, even as he took down his surrounding enchantments and left.

In a new part of the country, by the White Cliffs of Dover, Harry settled. He secured the location, hid his own presence, and set up camp again. It had become a mundane routine, but one he had to keep. There was no time for rest. Inside the tent, he piled his notes back onto his desk, flicking through them hastily. He felt calm, but some sense of nagging urgency ate away at him nonetheless, driven by the strength of his vision from last night. He tried to brush away the thought. It could take weeks, even months, to track down his next target, so he didn't have a moment to lose.

By this point in time, the Werewolves would be in an uproar about the death of their leader and stuck in a state of confusion about Voldemort killing another one of their brothers. Harry wanted to take advantage of their anguish and do everything he could to weaken the foundations upon which the Death Eaters stood strong. With Gavin McDarline freshly killed, he felt determined. He felt like this was what he was here to do: to use his knowledge of the future as an advantage. To strike with revenge against Voldemort. It was to make his life worthwhile.

Harry sat on the edge of an old leather chair and flicked through his notes, seeing lists of names he had written down as well as scribbled descriptions on what what he remembered about the Death Eaters' movements. In red ink, he wrote about Voldemort's most important followers and how their jobs and beating hearts contributed to the safety and strength of the others. Voldemort, surely, would try to hide and shield his most valuable Death Eaters now, but Harry was determined to find a mistake in his security. To study old material and find a perfect place to strike.

His head was killing him. Time seemed slow and sluggish, his own motivation fading, but it was Voldemort's anger from hundreds of miles away that distracted him most. Harry tried all he could to ignore it, to use it as a reason to work harder, but it scared him. If he had caught a vision into Tom's head last night, who was to say that the connection ever stopped? He pressed his fingertips to his forehead, thinking hard. He needed to find out who to strike next and needed it quickly.

A few hours into his work, Harry was working on a profile on Raphael Lestrange, who he noticed had become one of Voldemort's closest followers. He had seen Lestrange in almost all of his recent visions, leading him to suspect that he had taken a higher status than Nott as one of two remaining Knights, but only because he was not a Werewolf. The problem Harry had, the last nagging issue, was simply that he feared hunting Lestrange would lead Voldemort to suspect he had seen into his mind. Lestrange, moreover, might not have much of an affect as he needed. Harry felt dizzy. He put a kettle on. He thought the issue over slowly, considering the immediate affects of such a murder...

The kettle was screaming again. Harry placed his quill on the table, got up, and headed towards the stove. Mundane routine. He was stuck on Voldemort's new favouritism of Lestrange with a kettle in hand, when he suddenly froze. A strange idea struck him.

There was one way he could figure out who to strike next... The connection between his mind and Voldemort's was growing stronger, so who was to say, after all that had happened, that he shouldn't take advantage of it? It was why he had thought Lestrange was the best target. There was nothing he wanted more than to find the most important Death Eater and track them down in hope of scaring Lord Voldemort. Where was a better place to discover the most vital, most protected followers except through Voldemort's own mind? Through a long period of time, Harry could find someone far more valuable than Raphael Lestrange...

The idea washed over him slowly. He forgot about the tea he was making and set the kettle back down on the stove. It was an overwhelming concept, one that he knew could go horribly wrong, but the only thing that had ever held him back from venturing into Voldemort's mind in the past was Ron and Hermione and his own fear. None of that applied to him anymore. He was alone and no longer a scared teenager; for the first time in his life, he realised this advantage over Voldemort could be the one thing that saved him.

Harry was stunned, dazed. He headed back to his desk, searching for a blank scrap of parchment. With no Ron and Hermione to hold him back this time, he could begin gathering information on Voldemort's thoughts from the inside, working out exactly how to take him down. He couldn't stop his quill from shaking as he wrote. Spying into Voldemort's mind meant he would have to find a way to strengthen their connection and he thought he knew how to. It became stronger with every powerful emotion. If Harry could just latch onto that and find a way to concentrate...

He wrote down everything he knew about practising concentrated thought, then stopped. He realised, swiftly, what sort of magic he would need. It was the one branch of magic Tom didn't believe in, the one form of magic that even Harry doubted most of. Divination. Harry dropped his quill and strode to the nearest bookshelf, tearing up the tent for any books on divination and prophetical studies he owned. As much as he doubted Divination, there was one thing he did know. Entering a meditative state was going to lead him directly into Voldemort's mind.

The process wasn't quick. Since Harry had avoided Divination for almost all of his life in general disrespect for it, he had to start with staggeringly basic information and work his way up. The only thing that kept him focused was the fact that he had almost nothing else to do. Between moving and disappearing from every location day in and out, avoiding the Order, hearing stories on news that he was utterly disconnected to, he focused all of his energy on practising Divination, promising himself that breaking into Voldemort's mind would be far more rewarding than it was risky. He was waiting for any excuse to begin hunting Death Eaters again.

"_...have reported disappearances in the southern region... speculations have lead many to believe that these Dark Arts fanatics, these Death Eaters, are standing against Muggle equality with utter determination... the recent death of a Muggle-born child has distraught the public this morning..._"

Harry listened to the radio almost every day, wondering often why he tortured himself over news he could not influence. News of attacks and disappearances worsened every day and from the dark, secluded tent where he hid, he couldn't do a thing to stop it. He read Divination books for hours every day, stopping off at wizarding villages whenever he could to collect more, but as much as he tried, he couldn't force himself into any meditative sate. He couldn't clear his head from anguish.

"_...a group of over seven Death Eaters raided and took over the house of a wizarding family in the early hours of this morning... shocking news of the movements of several anti-Muggle enthusiasts has made the front page of wizarding news today... Aurors are undertaking a full-scale search in hope of finding the location of two young witches, who disappeared in Diagon Alley this morning..._"

It took over a month before Harry forced any kind of vision from Voldemort's mind. He was sure, however, that it was more to do with coincidence than his attempt at mediation; Voldemort was particularly vulnerable that night, weakened by his own paranoia. It was the first thing Harry felt as he sat alone in his tent, his eyes closed, breathing slowly: Voldemort's head was full of paranoid thoughts, accompanied by constant, pulsating feelings of dread. Tonight, his followers were hunting something truly valuable...

As much as Harry tried, he couldn't figure out what was bothering him. He knew that Voldemort was scared and he tried to focus in on it the best he could, but the feeling was faded. He was left with an understanding of Tom's state of mind, but nothing else to work on. His hammering heart and a sense of desperation pulled him immediately out of a peaceful state of mind. He was alone.

Harry cursed his own luck, feeling suddenly obsessed by what Voldemort could be dreading and why. It was almost sunset and Harry found himself growing hungry by the time he forced himself to stop his failing meditation. His scar had begun prickling, leading him to believe that Voldemort was also angry. But why? Harry moved towards the stove, throwing the flame on with a flick of the Elder Wand. He began making food. He flicked on the radio. It was there that he heard the news.

"_Aurors have secured the outskirts of Azkaban Prison, where Erwin Dorn, a convicted Death Eater, is being moved to Nurmengard Prison later this evening. Minister Millicent Bagnold has initiated changes in the location of several of Azkaban's inmates in hope of limiting Death Eater communication within Ministry custody, a response of the recent conspiracy involving an attempted escape..._"

Harry froze. He had heard a story like this before... Years ago, he had crafted a plan alongside Tom to fake a Death Eater escape within Azkaban prison for this very reason: to scare the Ministry into thinking that the prison was too open for communication. The plan was to force the Ministry into sectioning off individual cells for prisoners so that if they ever wanted a Death Eater out, they could break them out before any Dementor or Ministry worker suspected a thing. It was a disappearing act, an attempt to create a back door out of Azkaban.

Somewhere along the line, the plan had clearly changed, but Erwin Dorn wasn't being moved just because he was a German Death Eater. If the Minister was concerned about communication within Azkaban's walls, it meant that for whatever reason, the old plan had become useful to Voldemort. The only thing on Harry's mind, however, was that he was sure the Death Eaters would attempt to capture Erin Dorn before he arrived at Nurmengard prison. It was why Voldemort was so nervous now – because all of this was part of a plan that Harry himself had created.

Harry dropped what he was doing and began pacing the tent, his ears focused on the radio, which had stopped reporting the story. A desire to stalk the Aurors moving Erwin Dorn captivated Harry, forcing him into a state of agitated urgency. He decided that Dorn was going to be his next kill. It was a smooth decision, one he felt immediately thrilled about. So he moved his location, bringing the tent to a fresh area and securing it from Death Eaters. Feeling strangely calm again, he then Disapparated from safety, intent on chasing the Aurors.

The coast of England was dark and cold. Harry noted it when he arrived at the sea shore, glancing around. Up ahead, there would be an Auror base, where wizards always went before entering or exiting Azkaban prison, miles off the coast. It was a sort of checking point, completely invisible to all Muggles and Wizards who stood upon this land. Harry stepped over clumps of thick, wet sand, holding the Elder Wand close to him and drawing up his hood. Tom had spoken him through this part of the plans years ago. In a moment, there would be a flashing light. That was all. A light and the Aurors would land...

He was conscious, fully, of the Dark Mark burnt into his left arm, but he did not fret. If the Death Eaters sensed his presence, he hoped they would attack him so he could take them down first. If they, however, grew scared and summoned their Lord, he hoped it would create a fight not only to alarm the Aurors, but to disrupt the Death Eaters' attempts to save Dorn from the hands of the Ministry. Harry thought the matter over slowly, calmly. He didn't know why none of this affected him at all. He thought he felt and saw shadows moving on the shore up ahead. There were muffled voices, a speculation.

"... taken these along with us," someone was saying, a Death Eater. It was Avery. "It's a bit of a huge commitment to just get one wizard free, don't you think? Unless he plans to get more of us out of there."

"We can't be sure. Don't question it, anyway."

"I can't help it, can I? He sends us all the way out here... Not much else you can think, really."

Silence fell. Harry moved across the field calmly, forgetting the Invisibility Cloak. He had the Mask, too, in his possession. No dangers here could make him in the least bit worried.

"He's angry, anyway," the second voice told Avery. "With Dorn, I mean."

"You reckon?"

Harry assumed the Death Eater nodded. A dark hesitation drew on.

"Our Lord hasn't said much, but... Dorn knew things. Strange things."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Harry could see the faint light of wands now, from where the two Death Eaters stood a good distance from the sea, waiting. They were looking further up the beach, in the opposite direction of Harry, towards where the Auror station was supposed to be.

"I reckon he found out about a spy," the second Death Eater continued. "Someone really valuable."

"Who?"

The Death Eater was nervous, clearly. He thought over how wise it might be to confide in Avery.

"You know why our Lord is angry. You know how he was betrayed... Some of the others think Dorn knew something about our Second Lord."

"Don't call him that," came a third voice sharply, making Harry stop. "Whatever he is, don't call him that."

There were more Death Eaters concealed in shadows, their wands unlit. Harry walked slowly, watching the second Death Eater shift where he stood, uncomfortable with the conversation he had begun. Harry became aware of just how vulnerable these wizards were. They didn't suspect that anyone was watching them.

"Well, whatever you want to call him, what could Dorn know about him?" asked Avery. "No one's seen any sign of him since that Werewolf bloke was killed."

"Dorn was there, they say."

"Was he?"

Harry drew up the Elder Wand. He was going to murder these men.

"So they say. They say Dorn saw something that –"

A flash of light interrupted his words. Harry would have thought it came from a spell, only there was no noise, no sign of destruction. It had come from somewhere else.

"What was that?" someone asked hurriedly.

"It's the sign," said Avery excitedly. "Come on!"

"No – not that!"

The Death Eater was panicked. Harry drew to a complete stop.

"Over there," the wizard continued. "I saw someone. I can't see, this light –"

From direct exposure to the light, the Death Eaters were confounded. Harry reached into his pocket and took out the Invisibility Cloak. He threw it over his shoulders, heading in the direction of the station.

"I tell you, I saw someone!"

"There's no one out here. Don't be so stupid."

"I know what I saw!"

"Go look, then."

Harry continued walking. The Death Eaters' voices were fading and they were falling behind, so distracted by seeing his silhouette that they forgot about the mission ahead of them. Harry took full advantage of their fear and confusion. He could see new signs of wandlight, this time much further up ahead of him. At lest six wizards were walking in a line, guarding a figure with no wand who had to be Edwin Dorn. Harry's pulse quickened and he headed forwards.

The Death Eaters were following him, but far behind in fear. They were all waiting for the Aurors to walk just a little bit further from the station to ensure that reinforcements didn't attack from the stout tower. Harry had other plans. It did not matter to him where he attacked Dorn, merely that he got to him in clear sight of both the Aurors and Death Eaters. Up ahead, he heard a voice.

Dorn was singing. Not in any pretty way, but in a maddened, stressed holler, perhaps in mere celebration for the escape he hoped to be a part of in a few short minutes. The closer Harry got to him, the more clearly he heard words of indistinguishable German. He was so close now that he could see the grey, serious faces of all six Aurors. They didn't make eye-contact with the prisoner. They didn't so much as show any sign that they could hear him.

"Get ready," came a faint voice from behind Harry. Avery was taking the lead of this mission. "We have about a minute before we're clear..."

Harry had other plans. He quickened his pace, heading straight for the Aurors. They turned at an angle and he began following them from directly behind. It was almost too easy. Dorn was right in front of him. With no fear, not a single hesitation, Harry raised the Elder Wand once more.

There was a flash of green light that seemed to make the whole world halt.

Aurors flinched, cowering away, but they were too late to react. Dorn had already been hit, his body immobilized. By the time his corpse slumped forwards, his body limp, Harry was stepping back to the stunned, panicking Death Eaters who were hidden in the darkness. The Aurors began to panic with cracking spells and flashes of constant, blinding light.

"_MORSMORDRE!_"

To Harry's astonishment, the Dark Mark shot into the sky. It burst into sight in an explosion of emerald stars, blinding all who looked at it and immediately illuminating the ground beneath.

"What are you doing?" someone screamed, a Death Eater.

"This ain't our kill, but it's sure as hell our mission!"

"They weren't meant to know that!"

Spells hit the earth and exploded where they landed, sending dirt and magic flying in all directions. The Aurors and Death Eaters could see each other perfectly and this initiated what would soon become a fully-fledged battle. Harry ducked and dived away from it, but refused to leave. The Dark Mark alarmed him.

"What's our Lord meant to think now?" roared Avery.

"I don't – "

"He'll think it's us!"

"I didn't fucking kill him!"

"But – "

"_Summon him, for Merlin's sake!_"

Harry straightened up. The Death Eaters made to reach for their marks. He span on the spot, Disapparating from the scene with a '_crack!_' that was masked in spellfire.

Harry's heart hammered fast when he ran for the entrance of his tent. A curious, alarmed feeling that was not his own took over his mind, influencing every move he took. Voldemort had been informed. He didn't yet know what had happened. Quickly, desperately, Harry began assembling a place to lay down, to stay safe. His head was beginning to pulsate in nauseating pain. He crouched on the floor, cowering and clutching at his head, until –

Unbearable pain, far beyond anything he could prepare himself for, found Harry and took over everything. He tried to shout in agony but found he couldn't hear his own voice, couldn't feel the fingers that clutched and clawed at his own skull. Voldemort was very, very angry. Somewhere between Harry shattering his own soul more and committing a crime that sent the Dark Lord into furious panic, Harry had opened up the connection between their minds more than ever. When he opened his eyes, it was to see a room full of Death Eaters who flinched and stared in terror.

"M-my Lord," said a voice, "it may not be what you think –"

"Who amongst you has betrayed me?" Tom demanded in a rage. "Who amongst you was cowardly enough to warn the Order, or worse people still, of the delicate plan I had set for Dorn's escape?"

The Death Eaters seemed intent upon getting far away or else standing perfectly still, as if doing this and avoiding Tom's eyes might save them from punishment. Only Rabastan Lestrange was brave enough to speak.

"My Lord... everyone you sent upon this mission has returned unharmed and w–"

"Regardless, Edwin Dorn remands dead," said Tom scathingly, itching to punish all those who spoke. "Whoever dared to pass on information as a rat without my knowing, I shall punish with no mercy..."

The Death Eaters grew tense. None of them dared to say more.

Hours passed before Harry left Voldemort's mind that night. He saw everything that happened, from the Death Eaters' descriptions of who they had seen to the reports that came in on Harry's whereabouts now, which were full of very little information except that he was still untraceable. Tom, throughout all of this, remained enraged. His anger was so strong that when Harry eventually regained consciousness, his head was in too much pain for him to bear. He just about made it to his own bed, where he crashed down and fell asleep, escaping the connection between their minds.

Harry didn't see into Voldemort's mind as clearly that night as he did upon McDarline's death, but it nonetheless took over his entire mind, to the point where he was sure he _was_ Tom. When he awoke, it was hazy, but one thing became clear to him: the more he killed, the more it opened up the connection between their minds. Whether this was because Tom was angry or because his own soul was battered and shattered the more he murdered people, Harry couldn't be sure, but he knew this was his best way into Voldemort's mind. To become a threat, a constant leak of information Tom couldn't fix. To become an unstoppable nightmare...

It was decided, from that night on, that he would have to kill off more Death Eaters to test his own theory. Harry was not against the idea, nor did he feel a moment of hesitation before gathering his thoughts and his notes. A group of common Death Eaters had been spotted lurking in the streets of Diagon Alley, across from a pub, in a house that a wizarding family had abandoned in fear of the war. Harry found them with ease, noting the flickering of a small fire behind the house's windows the moment he arrived in the street. It was going to be a series of very easy kills.

He snuck into the house underneath the Cloak. The Elder Wand in hand, moving slowly. When he listened to their conversations, he gathered no valuable information, except that they had grown brutal, as always. By the time Harry made a noise to scare them, initiating a chase, it was already too late for the three young men; he killed them with ease, three flashes of light, and with no sense of regret in the slightest. Some of them, he killed from afar, others he was close to, so he saw the way their eyes widened and their skulls cracked against the wall. All three of their corpses, however, slipped to the floor exactly the same.

Harry left in no hurry. It could be hours before these men were found dead and by that point, he might be prepared for Voldemort's shock, fear, and fury. He decided to put himself in a meditative state in preparation.

Due to the insignificance and confusion surrounding his kill, he saw into Voldemort's mind with no interruptions that night. A clear, strong line of thought that didn't leave him blind in pain. His skull ached, but he was able to forget about it for minutes at a time, concentrating hard on Tom's state of mind. He was angry and that was all Harry saw for hours as the Death Eaters attempted to make up for the three wizards they had lost, but it was what happened throughout the following week that interested him.

He appeared to have strengthened the bridge between their minds, or else had mastered the art of mediation. Every time he lulled himself into a deeper momentum of concentration, he saw into Tom's mind more clearly than ever and with minimal pain. It started off with simple, flickering thoughts that he knew he may have imagined. Paranoid thoughts, accompanied by constant, pulsating feelings of dread. Tom was worried. He was genuinely scared and the feelings lasted for what appeared to be the majority of his waking hours.

Harry thought, at first, that his recent kills had merely shaken Voldemort, but the more time that passed, the more apparent it became that he was constantly terrified and furious about the idea of a rat. This surely had to be because of losing Harry; Tom was convinced, solidly, that there were more spies amongst his followers, more dangerous threats than he ever knew. Harry had expected this to happen, but what he didn't suspect was that Voldemort already considered Nott to be a suspect.

For hours each day, Voldemort's thoughts flickered through lists of his followers faces, names, histories, and rank amongst Death Eaters. He was always wondering who would betray him next, always considering who had a motive and who may, in any way, have reason to begrudge their Lord. What alarmed and unnerved Harry most of all wasn't that Nott was simply in danger, it was that Nott's involvement with the Werewolves is what made Tom suspect his disloyalty. The other Wolves were still stuck in turmoil from the death of their old leader, Gavin McDarline.

As soon as he discovered this, guilt washed over Harry and convinced him wholly that it was his own fault if Nott was now in danger. He knew Nott had quit the Order of the Phoenix, because they had discussed the matter in the past and Nott had promised him that if things went wrong, he would walk away and keep his family protected. The more Harry saw Tom's obsession with his own security, however, the more he became convinced that if he didn't send Nott a warning, he might slip up and reveal old information to Voldemort that was better kept a secret.

The only problem was, there was no way for Harry to warn Nott without putting him significantly more at risk of arousing suspicion. For weeks, he worried, hoping that Voldemort's distrust might fade, but it never did. So in desperation, he decided to do something that he hadn't done in months: he contacted the Order of the Phoenix in hope of catching Dumbledore.

The Order had changed since Harry last saw them. He knew this not through having visited them, but through watching their movements from afar and realising, in his attempt to contact Dumbledore, that they had changed locations. When he arrived at a country inn run by a wizarding family in Kent, he was allowed in only when someone from the Order recognised who he was.

"He's clear, Rogers," Dorcas Meadows said from a shadowed table, looking calm. She stood up, her eyes fixed on Harry. The bartender, Rogers, was unsure. "He's one of us. An associate of Dumbledore's."

"You're – you're sure?"

Meadows eyed Rogers fixedly. "I'm sure."

Rogers glanced at Harry a few times, trying to nod. He backed up, towards the bar, and tried to act normal, but he was clearly nervous, grabbing the nearest glass and rubbing it with a grubby cloth.

"This way," said Meadows in a low voice.

She lead Harry into a back room of the pub, where a kitchen, bathroom, and staircase resided. On the way there, she remained perfectly calm, almost as if she expected Harry's arrival. There was something grey and somber about her expression, a look Harry had become used to through years of fighting wars alongside the Death Eaters; this war was changing her, giving her a new strength. It wasn't a positive change.

"We're just down here."

Harry nodded, saying nothing. There was a second staircase underneath the first, this time leading downstairs. They marched along the steps, until Harry was greeted with the sight of a new hideout. It was a dimly-lit basement with boxes and crates stacked up on every wall. Only two other wizards were stationed down here: Rubeus Hagrid and Elphias Dodge.

"Jonathan," Dodge greeted, sounding pleasantly surprised. "I haven't seen you in a long while!"

Harry nodded stiffly, clearing his throat. "The same goes for you."

The old man smiled, his hat lop-sided and his eyes showing the same grey sorrow.

"What brings you here today?" Meadows asked him, making her way to a chair on the large table.

Harry wasn't sure where to start. His eyes swept the room once more, searching for other people in vain. "I came to speak to Dumbledore. Is he around?"

"Not today, I'm afraid," Meadows answered. "He'll be here over the weekend, if –"

Harry shook his head at once, interrupting her. "It would be too dangerous. I shouldn't even be here now; I'm risking an invasion."

He saw Dodge wet his own lips nervously. Even Hagrid, who was seated, set his beady black eyes on Harry and shifted nervously.

"You must have something important to report, then?" suggested Meadows, her eyebrows knitted together seriously.

Harry hesitated for only a moment. He supposed this might be his best shot at sending any kind of warning to Nott without catching Voldemort's attention, so he inclined his head once. "Yes. I have a message... When you next see Dumbledore, any of you, tell him that Christopher Nott is in danger because of the work he did with us months ago."

Meadows nodded reassuringly. "I'll tell Dumbledore. Or Nott himself, if he shows up first."

"If he..?"

Harry trailed off, realising slowly what Meadows meant.

"Is Nott still working with you?"

She nodded in agreement, looking confused. "Yes. You thought he left?"

Harry didn't answer. A feeling of dread filled him, making him realise just how dangerous the situation was. Nott was still here. He was so much a part of the Order of the Phoenix, in fact, that Meadows suspected she'd see him even before seeing Dumbledore. With Voldemort already on his trail, Nott was at a huge risk of being found out now. Harry felt sick at the very idea.

"Jonathan?"

He looked up slowly, wordlessly. Meadows had seen his worry. He decided to leave, before any Death Eaters tracked his location. He tried to nod at all three Order members.

"Thank you for your time," he murmured. "I wish you good luck in your fight..."

With that, he left. None of them said much of a goodbye, perhaps because they felt the same sense of looming fear that he himself was wrapped up in.

When the weekend passed, Harry hoped Nott had been given his warning with no complications, but there was, of course, no way of him knowing. He kept his mind focused on maintaining his own safety and trying all he could to break into Voldemort's mind. The plan was to keep an eye on Death Eater activity whilst taking time off from his kills, to ensure that he knew Nott was safe before he made his next move, but he was beginning to catch visions into Voldemort's mind several times a week now, often with extremely valuable information...

One night, barely a fortnight since sending Nott a warning, Harry caught a vision. He was lead into it by a feeling of growing anxiety and excitement that was not his own: Voldemort was nervous. Tonight, a group of selected Death Eaters were going to gather in a small hideout near the centre of London, intent upon waiting for dawn to catch sight of a Ministry official who would be crossing the city. Harry caught glimpses of the Death Eaters before Voldemort, who spoke of their plan to capture and kill the witch in question. It was an extremely delicate, important operation. What Tom feared most of all was that a rat may leak information.

What Voldemort didn't know was that the moment he understood the situation, Harry began moving. He packed his things, went through his regular routine and eagerly awaited the hour in which these Death Eaters would gather. He would waste no time before taking them out, even if it left Voldemort hours to regain his followers' strength and send new witches and wizards after the Ministry official in London. That didn't matter to Harry, who knew that barely anyone from the Ministry was innocent these days. He would chase the Death Eaters down just the same, assuming he was well enough and they were foolish enough to try.

That night, Harry broke into the small Death Eater hideout beneath the Invisibility Cloak with as much ease as ever. The only difference with tonight was that upon chasing the three Death Eaters who were stationed here, one of them locked themselves within a room. Harry was busy killing the first two and was oblivious to the problem initially. When he remembered, however, where the last Death Eater had gone, he stepped over the slumped corpses of the first two and headed for the door, wondering idly why this wizard had not summoned his Lord.

Within the room, Harry found a most curious sight. The Death Eater hidden here, cowering in a corner, attempted to defend himself, but with a wave of the Elder Wand, Harry disarmed him. He had become too used to these easy fights, too bored of the weakness of Voldemort's youngest recruits. Upon turning to leave, however, Harry spotted a note. On a scrap or parchment, besides a quill that had shaken heavily upon its use. Harry edged towards the note, his curiosity growing. There, in trembling writing, was a message:

_The Omen of Fair Verdict has found me, my Lord. _

_None shall be spared._

Harry didn't burn the note, nor even take it away. This was a man's dying words, after all. So he left it. He walked out of the hideout, aware that in a few short hours, Voldemort would realise his followers' silence meant more than just no news.

It had become so routine, so simple for Harry to commit these murders that when he returned to his camp that night, he felt nothing. No change in his heartbeat, no dread for Voldemort's inevitable fury. He felt empty. It wasn't until he saw Voldemort's thought process in hours that followed that he felt any sort of emotion. He realised that because he had taken advantage of Voldemort's fear and had sent him into a frenzy of wrath, Voldemort was convinced now more than ever that someone amongst him was leaking information. He began punishing those closest to him, initiating a full-scale search on everyone who had been involved in this mission.

Tom believed someone was leaking information because he couldn't believe that Harry had worked all of this out on his own. He was driven into an abrupt hysteria of paranoia, worried that if Harry was making such insane progress, things might only get worse from this point on. So he was trying to stop whoever weakened his security. He couldn't possibly know that it was his own fury, his own fear, that gave Harry the information he so willingly took advantage of. Harry couldn't imagine how dangerous it was to provoke Voldemort so much. He couldn't imagine, either, what consequences his powerful attacks might have.

To no surprise, Voldemort continued to obsess over Harry's whereabouts, but he was making very little progress. Harry changed location with each new sunrise and the only pattern the Death Eaters could find in his movements was that before every single murder he had committed, he appeared to disappear completely for hours. This was because Harry was totally mobile in those hours, moving from place to place to ensure no one followed him and no one saw him coming in the time he spent outside his own magical protection. Harry thought the power of his Dark Mark might have been growing stronger, but the fact didn't bother him. He felt utterly invincible.

As time passed, he gained confidence in his abilities and in the safety of those he cared about most, but he knew he was beginning to push his own luck. Voldemort was still searching for a spy amongst his group, while Harry could do nothing but hope that Nott heeded his warning. All Harry could know for sure was that Voldemort kept thinking back to his situation. He obsessed over Nott's loyalty almost as much as Harry's whereabouts, convinced that he, amongst many, was at a high risk of betraying him.

As the next full moon approached, Voldemort grew so agitated that Harry suspected he was about to do something very irrational; he knew it because of the constant, endless burning of his scar. To ensure that Nott was safe, Harry decided to make a detour in the in-between time of his next move to watch over the Knight, dedicating a few hours to it. He packed up all of his things, set out for a different part of the country and headed straight for Nott. The only reason why he knew where Nott resided was because Voldemort had been thinking about it almost nonstop.

With the Elder Wand, Cloak, and Mask in hand, Harry felt again invincible. The only thing that unsettled him was that there were Death Eaters surrounding the empty warehouse in which Nott would transform tonight. He was scared of Voldemort attempting to kill or capture the Knight. He kept his mind open as much as possible, but even when he arrived on the scene hours before moonrise, he felt nervous, scared, and above all else, guilty.

The hideout Nott was stationed in rested by the docks of a ghostly town. Several Death Eaters paced around the place, looking calm but wrinkling their noses to the smell of fish and murky water. The docks creaked and whined beneath their feet as they paced, their wands drawn idly, their eyes shifting to nearby houses and hills across the lake. When Harry arrived, he remained on ground beside the house for a long time, keeping his mind clear, glancing up at the boarded up windows, which showed only faint signs of flickering light hidden behind them.

It was a great honour for Voldemort to support any Werewolf by supplying them with a safe place to transform, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that some part of this was a trap. He hoped Nott might feel the same about the situation, but he couldn't know for sure. His scar prickled and burned more as the hours passed, but still there was no sign of the nearby Death Eaters receiving messages or warnings from their Lord. Harry continued to pace around the landlocked side of the empty house beneath the Cloak, the Elder Wand drawn. Any moment now, he could need it...

Hours passed. Harry began to hear footsteps moving across the docks often, leading him to suspect that the Death Eaters were growing nervous about the approaching full moon, but within the house, all was still. Harry kept his ears locked on the Death Eaters, his eyes closed, waiting for a sign from Voldemort.

"I don't reckon our Lord wants him with the other Wolves," one Death Eater was explaining to another, sounding sure of himself and starting bleak conversation out of boredom. "He's not like the rest of them."

"Why's that, then?"

"He's been around our Lord a long time. Some say as long as our Lord's been into the Dark Arts. They went to Hogwarts together. The only reason why he's a Werewolf now is because something went wrong – one of them Wolves bit him instead of an Auror. Can you believe that? The Dark Lord was furious. The moment it happened, he promised Nott he wouldn't treat him like the rest of them Wolves, not after a situation like that."

"That's mental!"

"I know. Really mental stuff. Just proves our Lord cares though, don't it? It's madness. We shouldn't even have them Wolves around – not if they're contaminating good men like him."

"Didn't he kill one, recently?" a third man asked. "Our Lord, I mean. After that Werewolf Leader went and got himself killed, our Lord found out one of his Wolves didn't even support Wizarding Supremacy – imagine that! So, he went and killed him all the same."

"I heard that, as well."

"You reckon it's true?"

"I don't doubt it. I hope so. Scum like that, contaminating good men, questioning the Dark Lord... They deserve that sort of thing."

This most enlightening conversation fell short soon after that. Harry was barely paying attention, though he found the Death Eaters lack of understanding truly fascinating. No matter the situation, they seemed to turn it around in favour and awe of their Lord. He was about to edge around the house, to start walking along the docks with them, when he became aware of the clouds thinning above them. The moon was directly above them, staring down intensely. The Death Eaters had noticed it too.

"Watch it –"

In unison, they stopped leaning against the house lazily and straightened up, holding out their wands. Wizards within the hut had scrambled up and away, some of them filing out of the old, crumbling house. There were hurried voices, worried but not panicking. The rustle and bang of movement within the house. Then Harry heard it: the familiar, ear-shattering sound of a Werewolf's howl.

"_Awhooo..._"

For the first time in his life, Harry felt relieved to hear it. It meant Nott was safe an undisturbed in a safe location, while the Death Eaters fidgeted and paced the docks outside, glancing at the houses across the lake, wetting their lips and gripping onto their wands protectively. None of them dared to go back inside with Nott, who had begun howling and crashing within the hut in anguish and bloodlust. None of these wizards, moreover, seemed capable of taking down a fully-grown Werewolf. The only thing on Harry's mind, keeping him on edge, was his pulsing, burning scar.

"That's about it, I reckon," a Death Eater's muffled voice said heavily. He turned to the others, his silhouette visible in the stark moonlight, which beat down on them with harsh shadows. "Now all we have to do is wait."

None of the others said much more than this. Some of them had taken seats at a rickety table, soon taking out a deck of cards. Harry became aware that these men had no intention of doing anything to Nott except protecting him from the Ministry. So why, after all of this, was Harry's scar growing worse?

He could feel a sense of anticipation from Voldemort. That was the only thing that kept him rooted to the muddy ground, his eyes fixed on the four or five Death Eaters. These men may have been calm, but Voldemort was waiting for something. Not only in anger, but in pleasure too, in fascination. Something very, very important was going to happen tonight, but Harry became aware, slowly, that it wasn't about Christopher Nott.

He could feel what Voldemort felt, could positively _taste_ the thoughts on his mind, but he couldn't understand what was happening. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, concentrating on the growing connection. Eventually, he caught sight of a room. Lestrange stood before him. It was all usual business.

"My Lord –"

"I have found my rat tonight, Lestrange. You needn't be so worried."

Harry spoke these words through a cruel smile, lead by Tom's movements. From within his head, he could feel Tom bask in pleasure at having outsmarted an extremely smart snitch. The feeling was wrapped up in anger and contempt that he could not avoid. He had won...

"My Lord," Lestrange began again slowly, "the Notts are of the purest bloodline. Purer, perhaps, than almost all other wizarding families who have dedicated themselves to our cause."

His voice sounded strange. It was not snide, for the first time in a very long time. He was not angry, either. He stared into the Dark Lord's eyes with steady, growing urgency.

Voldemort considered his words and – perhaps because of Harry – noted the look in his eyes. Lestrange clearly meant what he was saying. He was wholehearted in his attempt to bring mercy to the decision Tom had made, but that made him angry. He decided, only after struggling effort, to respect Lestrange and bless him with calm reasoning.

"Do you know what Christopher Nott's greatest secret is, Lestrange?" he asked delicately.

Lestrange hesitated. "That his blood has been tainted, my Lord?"

Voldemort inclined his head, his burning gaze steady.

"A wise answer. Yes... For a number of years now, our dear Nott has been hiding a most terrible secret. That he was attacked by a rogue Werewolf of ours and that he healed himself in secrecy..."

Lestrange nodded a few times, but tensed where he stood, trying to find a good approach to the point he was trying to make. "My Lord, how does this mean that the Notts are a suspect? Nott has been one of our most loyal, most dedicated men. What makes you think that he is betraying us?"

Voldemort smiled cruelly, quickly. Harry felt the muscles in his face contort and felt the mirth and wrath that rose in his chest. "You appear to have misunderstood me, Lestrange... It is not Christopher Nott who I suspect is betraying me."

For a long moment, Lestrange tried to understand. Voldemort did not let him wallow in fear of asking questions for too long.

"No," he carried on in low, deadly tone, "Nott proved himself to be a most loyal follower in the years he spent training under my supervision, Lestrange, then again when he attempted to hide his dark condition from us. Hiding his Lycanthropy proved, above all else, that he is ashamed of what he has become... but it proves too that his wife is not..."

Lestrange became very still, his brow furrowed, his mouth agape. "You mean –... My Lord, you think Evadne Nott is a spy?"

The words only enriched the Dark Lord's fury. He smiled despite this, glad that he had worked out this great secret, this flaw in his system. Harry felt himself shaken within Voldemort's mind, a small wave of terror and panic reminding him that he was not Lord Voldemort. Someone was speaking, explaining everything. It was a moment before he realised he was mouthing every word, speaking alongside the Dark Lord.

"Who else would marry a man they knew had contracted Lycanthropy?" Voldemort asked aloud, bathing in the shock Lestrange showed. "Who, moreover, could support such a condition, even choosing to _breed_ with a man at high risk of passing on such a savage disease? Evadne Nott could not have been unaware of her husband's condition... It is my belief wholly, Lestrange, that she is not a supporter of Wizarding Supremacy, but rather works against us without her husband's knowing..."

Harry knew exactly what was happening. He knew what Tom was saying, but the words only echoed and rang in his head in his attempt to break out of the trance. In his own body, he opened his eyes, where the scene remained the same and he struggled to work out if any of that had been real. His heart hammered fast in his chest, his mind set on only one thing: Voldemort was sending out a pack of Death Eaters to murder Evadne Nott tonight.

Before he knew it, he was running. His burning scar and the freshness of his last vision played heavily in his mind, but he had to get away from the Death Eaters and Disapparate without detection as soon as possible. He knew from Lestrange's urgency and Voldemort's growing mirth that the Death Eaters had already been given their orders and would be heading for Nott's home. The timing of this attack, under the full moon, was a plan Voldemort had set out to ensure that Christopher Nott didn't get confused and couldn't interfere with the capture and murder of his wife.

Harry Apparated outside of Nott's home and made no attempt to shield the sound, but he found no one was guarding the house. In desperate hope, he tried to convince himself that the Death Eaters hadn't yet arrived, but he felt a sense of foreboding so powerful that it killed all of his wishful thinking. Moonlight fell heavily over the large wizarding house, giving it sharp shadows and illuminating the pale stone. He could see lights on inside and figures moving past the windows. It was then than the noticed that the front door had been blasted open. The Death Eaters were here.

Harry rushed towards the house, the Elder Wand drawn, his heart in his throat.

At the landing of the first floor, he heard screaming. There were voices laughing, Death Eaters yelling out to each other, and a baby crying in need of his mother. Harry raced up the stairs, wand drawn. A Death Eater on an upper landing heard his movements.

"Hey, there's someone h–!"

A flash of green light hit the Death Eater and he fell. Rolling forward, down the stairs. Harry cursed hm out of the way.

"What the –?"

"_CRUCIO!_" someone cried from upstairs, a man. "_CRUCIO!_"

Evadne's screams pierced through Harry's skull, alarming him and forcing him to fire spells at every Death Eater that got in his way, but they too responded to his presence.

"_Stupefy!_"

"_Impedimenta!_"

"_Crucio!_"

"_Imperio!_"

"_IMPERIO!_"

Harry ducked from their spells, cursing them, fighting them.

"_Who's here?_" one demanded. "_Who is it?_"

"CRUCIO!"

Again, Evadne screamed at the hands of Rabastan Lestrange.

"_CRUCIO!_"

She cried, her words indistinguishable. Harry could see the room up ahead where she resided, but he couldn't get there. He couldn't make it. It was then that the Death Eaters did their last defence.

They summoned the Dark Lord...

"_He's coming here!_"

... and he was very, very angry...

"_Do what we came here for!_" someone demanded. "_Kill her off; she's a spy!_"

Harry's head burst open in that moment. He fell to his knees, crouched and curled up against the closest wall beneath the Cloak. Death Eaters passed him, unaware of his presence. He tried all he could to remain himself, to stay out of Voldemort's head, but he had never felt Tom so _angry_.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

The light of Rabastan's Killing Curse flashed before Harry's eyes. Death Eaters were trampling through the house around him, trying to get outside to find the intruder and greet their Lord, but all Harry could see was Voldemort scanning the face of the house outside. He knew what resided within Nott's home. He knew who had intruded on his mission...

Harry found himself staggering and running down the hall, clutching the Cloak as if Voldemort weren't aware of exactly where he was. Rabastan Lestrange bolted out of Nott's bedroom, but Harry slipped in after him, seeing where Evadne's corpse lay. Theodore Nott was screaming from his cot, staring at his dead mother.

Harry wanted to save Theodore, to protect him, but Voldemort was making his way up the stairs, gliding over every step with astonishment for what he was about to see. Death Eaters shouted, Theodore sobbed and screamed and in pure desperation, Harry picked him up and did the only thing he could think of doing. He Disapparated from the scene.

Spinning a thousand miles an hour and holding Theodore tightly to his chest, Harry felt his body compress and contort. He couldn't hear the screaming toddler and couldn't feel anything beyond the burning anger of the Dark Lord, yet an instinct to protect the child kept him grounded to his own self. He landed with a crash in a windy, open scene, hugging the child who thrashed and screamed near his ears. He had never been so happy to hear such anguish and loss. Theodore Nott was alive. He was here, breathing well and clutching at Harry's arms.

The only problem was, Theodore had witnessed the gruesome death of his mother. Harry's heart hammered and his ears rang loudly in his aching skull, so he sank to his knees, holding the child. He had been unable to stop Evadne's death and had been – so he felt – the reason why she was dead. Terror and guilt pushed him towards further anguish that he ever expected to feel from his shattered, broken soul. It was done. Voldemort got what he wanted...

Harsh winds howled in harmony with Theodore. It travelling from the mountains of heather and hard rock set out in the distance, which was visible only because of the bright moonlight. Harry cowered beneath the starry sky, trying to muster up the power he needed to produce a Patronus Charm. Before he attempted to, however, he saw a distant light flicker beyond the gates he stood before. Someone was making their way down from Hogwarts castle. It assured him that Voldemort had no chance of finding them now. They were safe...

– X –

"Pass the child here. It's alright now."

Harry's eyes were closed. He had taken a seat opposite Dumbledore, at the desk in his warmly-lit office, and for the first time in months he felt safe. Theodore's continuous cries were all he could hear, which unsettled him and made him wish that Madam Pomfrey didn't have to take him away. He opened his eyes to watch Theodore go, as if to assure himself that he was alive and well.

"Be careful with him," Harry managed weakly, speaking to Madam Pomfrey. "He's been through a lot tonight."

She nodded vigorously, pursing her lips into a comforting shushing motion to Theodore, who wept continuously, only adding to the painful feelings tonight invoked. Harry had never seen Madam Pomfrey so young and felt like none of this was real. It had been minutes since he entered the castle, but it felt like hours. Except that the moon was still shining.

"I want to make sure Teddy is alright," Harry carried on dizzily. "Children aren't supposed to Apparate, are they? I forgot about it. I was desperate to get away, I... I figured you should have a look at him."

She nodded again, smilingly weakly this time, in spite of her tired eyes. "He's in good hands."

Harry nodded shortly. Although he trusted her, he felt pained to see her turn and walk away. Theodore's voice echoed around the office and stayed with him even when Madam Pomfrey closed the office door and headed down the flight of stairs. Harry realised he was alone with Dumbledore. A long silence drew on, in which time Harry refused his thoughts to wander to what had happened. He had informed Dumbledore about Evadne's death. There was nothing left for him to think about.

Dumbledore was staring at him. This was the first thing Harry noticed in silence. When he looked up, Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes were fixed on him, almost as if he expected something of him. It made him feel nervous. As if to eradicate confusion, Dumbledore decided to speak.

He began by straightening up in his seat, blinking a few times. "What happened tonight, Jonathan?"

Harry's heart sank. He turned away slightly, staring at the desk. "I told you already..."

"You told me of the tragic news concerning Evadne Nott, yes," Dumbledore agreed, "but what brought you to Nott's house tonight of all nights? What involved you in this tragedy?"

Harry couldn't say the truth. He realised it with a stab of subtle anger, a flicker of emotion compared to the wrath that tormented and possessed Lord Voldemort. He had to twist his honest answer.

"It was a hunch... For months, I've known how much danger Nott was in. Especially when I heard he was still a part of the Order. I was keeping an eye on his transformation tonight, until I realised he was safe... By the time I worked out who the Death Eaters were really going after, it was too late. Evadne, she... she didn't make it, obviously."

"What happened after this?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

"Once Rabastan murdered her, Death Eaters summoned Voldemort. There was no way to fight, no way to hide, so I grabbed Teddy and we –"

"Teddy?" Dumbledore repeated gently.

Harry was about to nod, looking at Dumbledore with a look of confusion, but he stopped himself. His expression turned blank. "I mean, Theodore..."

Dumbledore was watching closely. It was this, clearly, which had caught his curiosity. Harry didn't know what to say and didn't know how Dumbledore had even seen his mistake – in all that had happened, this surely wasn't the most important detail. There was a sorrowful, knowing look in his eyes, however. As if he understood the ghost that lurked beyond the name 'Teddy Lupin'.

Harry straightened up in his chair, taking in a deep breath as he wished, with another stab of anger, that Dumbledore would stop watching him. He couldn't gather his thoughts together and couldn't concentrate properly with Voldemort's wrath taking over his mind.

"What happens to Theodore now?"

He asked the question in a low voice, pressing his hands over his eyes. It felt like the first human action he had made since arriving at Dumbledore's office.

"We shall return Theodore to his father when the night is over and when Madam Pomfrey is sure he's in good health," Dumbledore answered pleasantly, as if the grave news had no impact on it. "He will be safe with Christopher."

"Won't Voldemort be suspicious?"

"Not if we return Theodore with supposedly no contact. The boy is not ours to keep. Nott will have to feign confusion in Voldemort's presence. He can then take back his son and continue his work as a spy, undisturbed."

Harry blinked a few times, glancing up.

"Is there a problem?" asked Dumbledore.

"You're – you're keeping Nott as a spy?"

"Assuming he agrees to remain a Death Eaters, yes."

"What makes you think he'll want to do that?" Harry asked. "What makes you think he'll want to be a part of the Order after all of this?"

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "Nott has no reason to not remain one of us."

Harry didn't agree. He couldn't imagine Nott ever trusting a link to the Order of the Phoenix, not when Evadne was dead and when his son had very nearly been captured by Lord Voldemort along the way. The idea made Harry flinch. He kept his gaze from Dumbledore, breathing in deeply.

"Nott is surely in the company of the Death Eaters as we speak, unaware of the news you have bought me tonight," Dumbledore carried on. "By morning –"

"He won't know..."

Harry had interrupted Dumbledore, making his words fall short. He didn't explain himself further, but he thought might have Dumbledore understood. It pained Harry to think about.

"By morning, he will have his son," Dumbledore told him gently. "That is what matters."

Harry couldn't say he agreed that things would be so simple. How was Nott supposed to bring up his son alone, knowing what had happened tonight? How was he meant to hide all contact from the Order and deal with Evadne's death alone without arousing suspicion from Voldemort? It seemed impossible to him. It was way too much.

"On another note, I rather think you should remain here, Jonathan."

"Why's that?"

Harry asked it before taking in nor particularly caring about the weight of Dumbledore's words.

"Voldemort will surely be searching for you, as he has done for the past few months."

"So?" muttered Harry, his eyes still fixed on the desk between them. "No matter where I go, Death Eaters will chase me. It isn't safe. I'm being tracked..."

"Yes, I noticed the mark that Tom left upon you," Dumbledore mentioned placidly.

He was curious. Harry could tell. His eyes were fixed on him.

"I am rather surprised you did not remove it sooner."

Harry had expected him to say this, but that didn't make it any easier to react to. He tried to nod, but ended up shrugging uncomfortably instead. When he glanced up, he saw a serious look in Dumbledore's eyes, as if he theorized or knew exactly why he was reluctant to remove the Dark Mark. If he was desperate enough for freedom, he could have at least cut off the area of contamination. Vanity would not have held him back.

"Should I leave?" Harry asked suddenly, changing the conversation. "Do you think Voldemort will find me here?"

Dumbledore shook his head gently.

"No, I should think not. Hogwarts is, after all, amongst the safest locations in Britain. Voldemort may know that you are here, but it will hardly come as a surprise to him. You are safe within these walls."

It seemed to be decided. Harry had no objections, at the very least; he even found it somewhat of a relief that he could rest for a few days or weeks before carrying on. Evadne Nott's death weighed heavily on him. He wasn't sure what to think, especially as the witch had been innocent and not at all involved personally with either the Death Eaters or the Order of the Phoenix.

He didn't say much more to Dumbledore that night. It was a relief to him that Dumbledore neither asked where he had been nor questioned what had gone wrong with Lord Voldemort; he surely assumed incorrectly that Harry had slipped up somewhere along the line, revealing himself as nothing more than an associate of the Order. It was best to keep it that way.

Harry didn't see it when Theodore Nott was returned to his father, but he could imagine well enough what it might have been like for Christopher. Selfishly, and with a lot of guilt, he preferred being kept in the dark about it. He stayed within Hogwarts castle, which was eerily empty due to the summer holidays. It was June, 1981. The war was almost over...

It was only a week after Evadne Nott's death when Harry was informed that Christopher had left the Order of the Phoenix. This came as no surprise to him and he didn't even feel the need to gloat about it to Dumbledore, who remained calm and contemplative. What he didn't expect, however, was the immediate consequence that the action had on everyone involved in the Order.

He had thought, at first, that his own escape from the Death Eaters as well as the supposed betrayal of Evadne Nott had driven Voldemort towards hunting the Order with fresh vengeance, but people were dying faster than ever and without any reason or rhyme. The only pattern Harry could see was that the Death Eaters had become extremely lucky; they captured and killed people in the Order due to nothing more than simple mistakes. It became clear to him, slowly, just how vital Nott had been to Dumbledore.

Without Nott's foresight onto Voldemort's plans and the Death Eaters' movements, the Order of the Phoenix was struggling. It was as if a blindfold had been cast over their eyes; they couldn't see where tacks were coming from and couldn't predict what might happen next. Dumbledore had been subtle about putting Nott's warnings to use in the past, ensuring that Voldemort would not suspect an obvious rat leaking information, but now that Nott was gone, there were huge gaps in the Order's security.

It didn't help that Peter Pettigrew's spying grew worse with each passing week. Harry didn't know, initially, that Pettigrew was already passing on information, except that sometimes he caught visions of the wizard's round, terrified face before Tom. In complete solitude, always, Peter confided in the Dark Lord, spilling huge amounts of information if fear of displeasing the Death Eaters. By a miracle, he never got around to telling Lord Voldemort who was in the Order recently. Harry could only hope and suspect that he had no idea Christopher Nott was even a Death Eater.

The death reports that came in upon Nott's resignation started off few and seldom, but nevertheless gave Harry an idea of what to expect next. It started off with the McKinnon family. Their deaths weren't kills that were taken in the heat of battle, which was perhaps what shook the Order most. Death Eaters hunted the McKinnons down and killed them all in a single night, having discovered where they lived and having devised a plan to murder them at a time when they stood together. It was a merciless, brutal attack intended to warn the Order of their wrath.

Mad-Eye Moody had told Harry once, when he was only a teenager, that Marlene McKinnon had been murdered two weeks after a photograph of the Order had been taken. He had always expected her death to arrive soon enough, but he hadn't expected it to be so harsh and hadn't predicted what affect it may have on the Order. Fighters grew angry and impatient to seek revenge – which was perhaps a reason for the deaths that followed Lord Voldemort's initial bait.

During a particularly brutal fight against Death Eaters, Benjy Fenwick was the next to be killed. He was unfortunate enough to land himself in the path of a Curse so powerful and dark that only pieces of him could be found on the battlefield. He was utterly indistinguishable and would have been supposed missing rather than dead had others not witnessed the fight. Harry knew this death weighed heavily on the hearts of every fighter in the Oder, but he wondered, above all else, what it did to Nott.

Two months after Evadne's death, Harry decided that he wanted to speak with Nott. The decision came with quite a strong argument from Dumbledore, who warned him about the risks that such a meeting could involve, but Harry wouldn't have it any other way. It was a day of the next full moon and Nott had declined Voldemort's offer of Death Eater protection around his transformation. It gave Harry a perfect excuse to wait at the location, unannounced, in order for Nott to find him.

Nott greeted him warmly and with genuine happiness when he arrived, but something had gone from his eyes, a true happiness that Harry suspected he might never see again. This war had affected him more than Lycanthropy ever did, but the death of Evadne positively killed him. He seemed slowed and tired when he sat down across from Harry, closing his eyes and speaking in a low voice about his son. He was struggling to look after Theodore alone. Between his own broken heart, work as a Death Eater, and his transformations, he was giving everything for the safety of Theodore.

"I tried to warn them", Nott told Harry eventually, leaning forwards in the chair he had conjured. His head was in his hands, his breathing slow, his voice faint. "The Order. I tried to explain my views to them when I left, but I don't think they could understand. That wars aren't meant to be fought, that there are stronger arguments than murder and destruction..."

"What did they say to you?" Harry asked. Nott's silhouette was tense and thin in the shadows.

Nott only shook his head. He seemed too tired to speak, too broken to explain himself. "They want to fight this war with as much brutality as the Death Eaters, but they don't understand how that changes people. How if we were to continue with the Order the way we are, we'll end up as twisted and damaged as any souls who joined Voldemort in the first place."

He shifted where he sat, discomforted by the approaching moon. Harry let him gain his thoughts, supporting him with no argument and no doubts. Nott couldn't seem to bear the thoughts that now haunted him.

"They haven't seen Death like I have. They don't understand that to defend ourselves and pursue a peaceful argument would be stronger. Death upon anyone could not possibly be the answer... I think Dumbledore wants to keep me away. I refuse to be a spy, anymore, and refuse to be a part of this war like he wants... and they just keep on dying..."

Harry couldn't say a thing. Nott would know what his silence meant. He watched him for a long time, seeing the way he crashed in anguish and understanding, wholly, what he was going though. No words could convey how they shared this guilt and nothing would be able to soften the affect of war and loss. There was only one thing that remained true to him.

"I'll stay with you tonight..."

In preparation, Harry masked them in a shower of enchantments. He secured the house, kept his mind on Voldemort's movements, and stuck by Nott's side. It was a long and painful night. He heard every howl and cry of anguish that the Werewolf spoke and even when he returned to Hogwarts in the early hours of the next morning, he worried about Nott. Hogwarts seemed a long way away and it felt dangerous to leave Nott and his son under the eye of the ever-hungry Death Eaters.

At Hogwarts, Dumbledore left Harry mostly at piece, which was a relief to say the least, but Harry rather felt as if it might have had a consequence. He felt like Dumbledore expected him to speak, an silent indication that eventually, he would have to explain what happened. Harry had no intention of ever enlightening Dumbledore to the last few months' events – nor, for that matter, to what might happen next. For a long time, Harry couldn't work out why he was so reluctant.

It was only when the Bones family were hunted down and murdered that he was shaken out of his state of comfortable silence. The mass-murder of the Bones began because of one small slip from someone in the Order of the Phoenix; the Death Eaters heard the name spoken once and maliciously found out exactly who was connected to the Order and why. It reminded Harry wholly of Evadne's death. First went Edgar, then his parents, wife, and children. Simple, clean, cold murder.

Harry felt himself affected by the news. Not because of how it related to Evadne's death, nor how it proved the Death Eaters insanity, but how he didn't do a thing to stop it. The thought replayed itself in his mind often, keeping him awake every single night. He knew what was going to happen next. He knew that in October, Lily and James were going to be murdered and before that time, Peter might leak information that got tens or hundreds more people killed. So why, he often asked, couldn't he bring himself to stop any of it?

For a long, stunned period of time, he couldn't find an answer, except that some part of him knew that it would be wrong to change the course of time. He hated the way things were now and hated himself for allowing it to happen a second time, but he knew, quietly, that all of these events, all of these murders, deaths, and crimes, made him who he was now. Still, despite everything, the only human being on earth who stood a chance of stopping Lord Voldemort.

Without any recollection of when the realisation came to him, Harry knew somehow that this – all of this – was his fate. He could not bring himself to stop Peter Pettigrew's spying or the tragedies heading the Order's way, because that was not his purpose. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like his purpose had been right before his eyes this whole time. Nott, above all else, knew it too. So eventually, with no fear, no hesitation, Harry decided to follow fate.

In what felt like a dream, Harry got up in the middle of the night. He had no concept of time, no idea of what was truly motivating him, but before he knew it, he packed up his possessions, took the Cloak, the Mask, and the Wand, and headed for Dumbledore's office. The castle was cold. Empty. He knew he might never see the place again when he wandered down its halls, but he was blind to its beauty, focused only on his destination. A strange sense of rightness followed him on his way to Dumbledore's office. He knocked. It came as no surprise to him when Dumbledore, too, was awake.

"Come in."

Harry pushed the office doors open, stepping inside. He had the Cloak and Mask in his pockets, the Elder Wand up the sleeve of his robes. Dumbledore watched him tranquilly as he approached, lowing a quill.

"To what do I owe the pleasure at so late an hour, Jonathan?"

Harry didn't answer at once. The room was quiet and peaceful, with strange ornaments twisting and swirling on silver bases, glinting in the light of dripping, flickering candles. He no longer feared a thing and no longer felt anything beyond overwhelming understanding of fate's course, but he was still unsure where to begin. He decided to be blunt.

"I've decided I should leave the castle. Tonight."

Dumbledore was curious. He turned his head a little more towards Harry.

"What has changed?"

Harry hesitated, but felt no moment of conflict. He knew where this was going.

"There's a lot you don't know, Dumbledore..."

Something in his voice warned the old Professor that this, at last, was his confession. Dumbledore brushed aside the piece of parchment he had been writing on, understanding the severity of this conversation. Gently, he spoke to Harry, indicating the chair in front of him.

"By all means, sit."

Harry felt no desire to refuse. His heart was beating faster and he felt all of this was right. This was what everything was leading up to.

When he sat across from Dumbledore, he knew there would be no confusion for the words he was about to speak. Somewhere between waking up and entering the office tonight, he had decided he would tell Dumbledore everything he knew. So he did.

He described what he knew about the upcoming war. Everything from his involvement as the Chosen One to Lily and Jame's fate, to the course of time and the reason why he was here tonight. When he was done, Dumbledore's eyes were large, but he asked no questions. The outside world beyond the tall, stone windows was dark and moonless, candlelight glowing silently and shining on their eyes. All was still.

"I think this was always my fate," Harry explained quietly. "Some part of you always seemed to know it too. No matter what we did, I had to end up dead at Voldemort's hands at the age of seventeen. You told Snape about it and he warned me. Except, I never died when Voldemort went after me. I went back to a year I wasn't even born in, to be with him. To train alongside him."

"To become his equal," spoke Dumbledore softly. He was stunned.

Harry nodded. They let the idea sink in. It held powerful presence in the office between them.

"If the idea was for me to change the course of time," Harry carried on slowly, "I didn't manage it. All I know for sure now is that I was supposed to end up here. I'm the only one who stands a chance against Tom. Tonight, I'll leave Hogwarts to face him alone."

"So you will attempt to kill him now?"

At this, Harry hesitated. He hadn't thought this far ahead and hadn't realised before just how little Dumbledore knew. He didn't know about their Horcruxes. He didn't know that things weren't as easy as a simple murder. It was only upon realising how little Dumbledore knew that it hit Harry.

There was a reason why Dumbledore would know, upon Voldemort's downfall, that he wasn't truly dead. There was a reason why he knew so much about Horcruxes upon Voldemort's return that he taught Harry about them in his sixth year. Overwhelmed by the realisation, Harry closed his eyes.

"There's one last thing you should know..."

He explained the situation. It wasn't easy, nor a light piece of information to admit, but he managed it with minimal hesitance. Dumbledore was terrified. He stood up before Harry had even finished speaking and began to pace the room, showing signs of distress that Harry had never seen on him before. This changed the course of their war. It marked the Order of the Phoenix as futile.

"The situation is more grave than I could imagine," he murmured quietly. He didn't sound calm, nor happy to foresee all of this information. Harry had thrust a huge burden onto him. He looked scared and weak, suddenly. Harry was transfixed.

"In the end, we'll use all of this against him," he explained in a low voice, hoping to make his old Professor understand. "There's no telling what happens between then and now... but the first war is almost over."

Dumbledore turned to him, then. There was a wise, sorrowful look upon his face. Something in Harry's words brought him worry.

"Yes," he agreed placidly, "but it is at a terrible cost."

Harry couldn't argue with that. He was beginning to feel nervous seeing Dumbledore stand while he remained seated and he felt as if his time was running out. There was not much else to say. He stood up.

"I should leave now... but I want you to have this, Professor."

From his sleeve, he withdrew the Elder Wand. He placed it in both of his hands, holding it out to Dumbledore as a sign of peace, respect, and closure. Dumbledore hesitated. When he reached for the wand, his eyes locked to Harry's.

An idea occurred to Harry then. A subtle realisation that with one Deathly Hallow freshly in hand, Dumbledore might try to seek another at about the time of James and Lily's death. The Cloak.

Once in his hands, Dumbledore examined at the Elder Wand, twisting it between his fingertips. For the first time in his life, Harry felt older and wiser than his Professor. He then glanced up, and they shared a look of understanding, both knowing what all of this signified and what they might expect from the course of the war. Dumbledore inclined his head, as if accepting everything.

"Thank you, Harry," he said, "and good luck."

– X –

Time felt as it it was speeding up. The world outside was black and cold and it seemed to Harry that nothing else existed but the smell of pine trees and the heat of bravery that, for the first time in years, burned in his heart. The moment he stepped out of Hogwarts' grounds, he began walking in the direction of the forest on foot. With no wand and no one else to keep him safe, he would lose any fight that Death Eaters swarming the outskirts of the castle may attempt, but he felt no fear. This was meant to happen.

The Dark Mark burned red on his arm, beneath his robed, beneath his cloak. In a matter of mere minutes, the Death Eaters would begin to sense it. Harry kept his mind focused on that forest. He enjoyed the cool, fresh air that greeted him alongside the trees and the deadly silent world that surrounded him, disrupted only by his own footsteps. Tonight's sacrifice could only end in peace and in closure. It would, perhaps, also end this war.

Beneath the Cloak, Harry had begun to see movements beyond distant trees. It was from Death Eaters, cloaked and alarmed, who were reluctant to believe what they sensed to be true. Harry withdrew the Mask and placed it on his face. His scar was beginning to prickle. He felt that he wasn't himself and that all of this was nothing more than a particularly vivid dream.

_BANG!_

The first spell struck close to the heel of his boot. He brushed it off as nothing more than an casual inconvenience, brought on by the Death Eaters' fear. His scar continued to sting, burning now.

_BANG!_

Dirt and rocks exploded at the brunt of this spell. Harry continued. The Dark Lord had now been summoned, so he would be on his way.

"_IMPERIO!_"

Again, Harry gave no reaction. He did not run, nor even feel the need to Apparate. The Death Eaters ran in large numbers now and he could hear crackling not only of wild, desperate spells, but of witches and wizards Apparating to him. Shouting to one another, panicked, determined to hunt him. Harry removed the Cloak.

"_IMPERIO!_"

"_IMPERIO!_"

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

Their spells missed. Not because of luck, but because the Mask was scaring them, throwing off the aim of their strong, panicked spells. Harry knew the Dark Lord had arrived. He could sense it past the dark figures who ran past the trees, trying to target him, trying to be the Death Eater strong enough to capture him.

"_CRUCIO!_"

Harry placed the Cloak in his pocket calmly, looking out across the forest. A tall, dark figure was emerging from the mist that curled and billowed between the foot of the trees. He knew this was Voldemort even before his thin, handsome face became illuminated in his followers' spellfire. Voldemort, moreover, appeared to know who he was too. The Mask confused and panicked all Death Eaters who lay eyes on it, but he remained calm, staring at Harry with nothing more than a look of reverence.

There were figures gathered around him, but the forest had fallen silent. The Death Eaters had been called off. They were moving slowly through the trees, their eyes fixed on Harry. He brought up a hand to remove the Mask, revealing that he had no wand, no desire to fight. He remained in the centre of the Death Eaters, who became shocked and full of awe upon realising who he was. His attention, however, was focused on Voldemort alone.

"I surrender."

The Death Eaters were in shock. Many of them looked towards their Lord, waiting for instructions and a sign that this wasn't a trick, but Voldemort was still. He, too, was unable to believe what he was seeing. He stood tall, his shadowed, reddened eyes transfixed on Harry's own. This was the great conclusion of their chase, the final move.

Harry supposed it was no surprise at all when darkness obscured his vision.

– X –

Harry awoke not in a prison cell, nor in the arms of Death, but in a room. Formal, large, and with a certain uncanny warmth about it, the room was empty. He was lying in a bed. He did not recognise anything around him, but became instantly aware that he was back in a Death Eater hideout. The room smelt like home to him. It was night time and he stepped immediately out of this unknown bed, glancing at the windows, wardrobe, desk, mirror, and two doors that surrounded him. The only indication he had that he was truly himself was that he remained in the same robes he had left Hogwarts in. It felt strange to realise this.

The first thing Harry noticed, besides his robes, was that he still had no wand. Having been clearly captured and imprisoned by the Death Eaters, it made him feel suddenly quite vulnerable. He was not being kept in any sort of dungeon, cell, or cellar, but he hardly considered this a sign of respect or care; he had seen this done before. Higher-ranking prisoners weren't kept in poor conditions. They were treated normally in the most disconnected rooms available, under the highest security that the Dark Lord, or perhaps all of Britain, could manage. There would be no escape.

At first, Harry was unsure what he should do. He paced the room slowly, finding his boots by the foot of his bed. He was unnerved by the large mirror that took up the wall between two windows. He paced back and forth in the centre of the room, ignoring and mirror and investigating where the two doors lead. One, which seemed to lead to the main hall, was locked and remained deadly still when he shook it. The second was a door into a bathroom. There was nothing else. Even the windows, which were glossy black and showed nothing but his own reflection, went nowhere.

The place was deadly quiet. Harry thought this might have contributed to the strong, overpowering feeling of foreboding that followed him. It was so quiet that he could hear his own heartbeat and – he was sure – the quiet sound of his own stomach. It felt like a long, long time before he got even a sign of other life. He heard footsteps past the main door. By this time, he was sitting on his bed, which he had made neat again in boredom, somewhat put off by the Muggle action. The footsteps did not pause outside his door, however. He have the passer-by no sign of his existence.

As hours passed, he became so used to hearing people pass along the hallway outside that it was a surprise to him when a pair of footsteps stopped at his door. He would have assumed that a Death Eater had arrived to pay him a visit, perhaps to bring him food, if it weren't that these particular footsteps were all too familiar to him. They were the footsteps of a man who was in no rush, but who nevertheless held great power in his formal, composed movements. They were footsteps that he had spent years of his life responding too, greeting kindly, waiting for. The handle of the door shook.

Lord Voldemort stepped into the room. Harry heart leapt in terror and stood up at once. He had hoped, vainly, that it would not be Tom, but there was no mistaking his identity as he pushed the door open wide, his attention at first diverted. Harry couldn't stop his heart from hammering in his chest and couldn't take his eyes off the strange form of the tall man he had once fallen in love with. Never in his life had he ever been so terrified of Tom.

With a wave of his wand, Voldemort closed the door behind himself, looking up. His crimson eyes ignored the room and focused in on Harry. For a long time, neither of them said a word, but Voldemort stepped forwards. Slowly. He did not put away his wand. Harry became aware, wholly, of just how much he had changed. His eyes held a new strength, not only of fury, but of weary intelligence gained through time. A new wisdom. Cold, strong mercilessness.

Harry wanted to step back the closer Tom got to him. It was this, above all else, that made him realise he was scared. He couldn't bring himself to look away, yet the reddened eyes before him terrified him like nothing else had. Voldemort, ignoring the signs of fear, spoke to him.

"Nine months," he hissed softly. "For nine months, I have searched for you, scouring England for a sign of your lasting existence. For nine months, I hunted you, intent upon capturing you in order to obtain the vital information that I needed in order to understand, precisely, how you relate to what the Prophecy foretold. Now that I have you in my possession... I admit myself unsure how to react."

There was nothing outwardly aggressive about the way he spoke, but Harry had heard this tone a thousand times before. He had seen that focused, unblinking look in his eyes. It brought a silence upon him. Tom, it appeared, decided to carry on. He tilted his head, stepping forwards.

"Why is it that after all this time, you have surrendered yourself to the Death Eaters so simply?"

Harry could have lied, but he decided against it in an instant. He clenched his jaw shut for a moment, not daring to look away. "It was my fate to."

Tom's eyes narrowed. He remained burning for an answer, unconvinced. Although he had stopped walking, Harry felt no more intimidated by him than he had been the moment he walked in. Even if, all in all, Voldemort was not as angry as he expected. His scar prickled only lightly.

"Your relation to the Prophecy remains a great mystery," Tom admitted, sounding almost impressed. Still he didn't drop his gaze and Harry noticed a certain curiosity about his stare. "You have ended up very much entangled in my own life and the affairs of Death Eaters, but now that you have been singled out as both an Order spy and the core of a plot set out in Prophecies to initiate my supposed downfall... I find that you are, wholly, no more familiar to me than I am to the Minister. A mere name. A mere idea..."

Still, Harry said nothing. Tom was treating him as a stranger, which warped his perception of reality and convinced him, momentarily, that he was not himself. Voldemort then bared his teeth in a familiar gesture of threatening mirth.

"Is this why I cannot see into your mind?" he asked sharply. "Is this why I cannot read thoughts from you, despite having trained myself to become perhaps the best Legilimens our world has ever seen? You are not a better Occlumens than I am Legilimens. No, it is the Time-Traveller's Defence. Old laws of magic."

He was indeed annoyed now. Harry felt it. This had been a problem that irked him for years and now, painfully, he knew exactly why. Somehow, this encouraged Harry to muster up the will to speak.

"I'm surprised you never realised it before, Tom."

Voldemort attempted to bare his teeth again, but there was no humour left in him this time. He brought a hand up to his own dark hair, pushing it back, and straightened up.

"I'm going to keep you here for a very long time..."

With this scathing threat, he turned away. Harry let him go without a word. He didn't want to see Tom anymore. Not when he was so changed, warped by hatred. Closer now than he had ever been to the Voldemort that Harry knew from his childhood.

Harry didn't know how much time passed before he saw Tom again. Death Eaters did indeed visit him every few hours, bringing him food, some of them leaving with a few nasty comments, but after a few attempts to fall asleep in his new bed, Harry began to realise that within this cell, it was perpetually night. Occasional stars and sometimes the moon was displayed behind thick curtains, but there was no indication of the passing of time. Slowly, it wore on him.

Visits from the Death Eaters went from being a change in his state of mind to a dull, common routine faster than he could have expected. Everything was silent in the hours between their visits and this, too, was maddening. Occasionally, Harry would write with the ink and parchment that had been supplied, but he knew the parchment was cursed and that he would be monitored, so he wrote nothing more than notes on unrelated research, just to keep his mind entertained. When, eventually, he grew bored and tired of it, he sat in silence, waiting.

Voldemort's second visit arrived no more pleasantly than the first, except that the growing anxiety Harry felt was almost a relief compared to endless silence. He stood up, again, upon Tom's arrival, but didn't greet him in any way. A cruel, maddened smile broke across Tom's face the moment he closed the door behind him.

"The Order of the Phoenix is failing," he said delicately. "It's numbers are falling fast, due not only to determination from my Death Eaters, but likely due, in part, to your departure... I thought you may wish to know."

Harry was glad Voldemort didn't move any closer. He couldn't tell whether he was lying or not, but knew that it didn't matter. Only one thing was on his mind. "How long do you expect to keep me here, Tom?"

Voldemort examined his face hatefully from where he stood, sneering.

"Forever," he hissed, "if that is what it takes."

Harry didn't want to believe him, but that look in his eyes convinced him of Voldemort sincerity. For a moment, he stood still, struggling to find something to say. Tom already turned away.

"Wait –!"

Voldemort did not listen and in the next instant, Harry was alone.

For hours, not a single sound reached his ears from outside. He began to realise, from that moment on, that Tom intended to drive him insane with prolonged solitude and silence. As much as Harry hated to admit it, it was working very quickly.

Various Death Eaters came in and out of Harry's cell during whatever hours they were set to bring him food, but rarely did he see the same witches or wizards twice. With no concept of time, Harry had no idea when it happened, but one day, it was Nott who visited him.

Harry was amazed to see him and would have been happy, except Nott was accompanied by Mulciber. None of them said a word to each other when they met. Harry soon understood that seeing Nott was nothing more than a random occurrence and routine fell back into place. He may as well have hallucinated him by this point: it was the first thing that made him feel truly in pain, seeing the grey, lost look in Nott's eyes. He depended on Harry to put an end to Lord Voldemort's reign. Yet here he was, imprisoned.

On Voldemort's third visit, Harry felt tortured enough to plead the Dark Lord to see reason, but before he could say a word, Tom spoke.

"I came here today to discuss a very important matter with you, today..."

His words were low and cruel, his eyes burning in anger. Harry tried to act brave and found that in his progressively more deluded, disconnected state of mind, he managed it.

"Yeah?"

"Yes..."

Tom stepped closer, holding his wand in one hand, considering the matter slowly.

"I have the Mask within my grip," he said gently, "and I intent to hunt the Sword of Gryffindor relatively soon, for I noticed you moved it... but where is the Pocketwatch I once so _lovingly_ gave you? I know a faux Horcrux when I see one. I admit, it was a great disappointment..."

Harry grew tense, defensive. "Why are you hunting my Horcruxes?"

Tom smiled manically, crimson eyes narrowing. "Can you not guess?"

It was difficult for Harry to believe what he was trying to say. He shook his head, wondering whether he was indeed hallucinating. "You're – you're trying to kill me?"

Tom tilted his head, as if surprised, and watched him closely.

"What use have I for a liar?" he asked softly. "What use have I, moreover, for a wizard who is destined to be my rival? It would be a dreadfully needless hazard in my journal for power to keep such a danger alive and active, would it not?"

Harry stared at him, frozen, stunned. The whole room seemed to be crashing in on him and he couldn't believe, for a single instant, that Tom was real now. Only, he could see, sense, and hear him all too clearly. More clearly than he had seen, sensed, or heard anything in hours.

"I'll escape you..."

He meant it as a threat, as a promise, but it only amused Lord Voldemort, who smiled again in a maddened fashion and took a slow step towards him. In a whisper, he spoke:

"Do you dare to even try?"

Harry's hands were shaking and in that instant he became aware of just how much torture all of this was. Any amount of pain, any physical punishment and scarring would be nothing compared to seeing Tom's face full of mirth, speaking quiet threats and gloating about his helplessness.

"You made me immortal," Harry stated shakily, convinced that this held some importance. "I'll find a way out of this. It doesn't matter how long it takes – you made me immortal!"

Again, Tom did nothing more than grin. In a cruel, patronizing gesture of mirth. "So, I will have to make you mortal once more..."

Harry was transfixed, terrified to move. All the while Voldemort took in the anguish and terror on his face, enjoying every moment to it.

"Now," he whispered, in a voice Harry had responded so loving months ago, "tell me where your two hidden Horcruxes reside, so I can destroy you myself..."

Harry shook his head stiffly. "I'm not going to tell you."

Tom glared at him closely, but after a moment, his expression grew blank. Harry was convinced he was going to curse him when he straightened up, but he didn't. Instead, he did nothing at all.

"Then I suppose you will have to wait here a little longer..."

With that, Tom turned to go. Nothingness grabbed onto Harry the moment he left. It held onto him, torturing him. The only difference was, he was nervous now. Convinced, wholly, that Voldemort was going to succeed in hunting down his Horcruxes. There would be no way of him knowing...

Harry remained standing where he was for what felt like forever. He waited, not knowing what he was even expecting. Voldemort's footsteps had faded. The only information he had gained from that conversation was that Tom wanted him dead, but didn't know the Pocketwatch Horcrux was gone and for some reason couldn't find the Sword of Gryffindor. Had the Sword returned itself to Hogwarts, he wondered? Had he, in some act of bravery, hidden it? It was his last hope that the Sword might stay hidden. Feeling sick, he was stuck in the dark.

From that moment on – and moments in this room, of course, lasted forever – Harry obsessed over the idea of Voldemort looking for his Horcruxes. Had he already destroyed the Mask Horcrux, he wondered? If so, was the Sword of Gryffindor safe? For how long? The only thing that Harry knew for sure was that Tom was deadly serious. He was going to kill him. Any moment, out of these walls, his fate could be decided for him. Tom must have known how overwhelmingly terrifying that was to comprehend.

Harry regretted his decision to allow the Death Eaters to capture him. This came as no surprise, but hit him hard nonetheless; he had been convinced that fate would save him. He, in a state of desperate loss, had thought that if he spoke with Voldemort again, if he followed fate and faced him, he may have had a shot at freedom. The more time he spend in total solitude, however, the more he realised what fresh Hell met him here. Any moment, he could be mortal and Tom could return with a reason to kill him. This room could be the last place on earth he ever saw.

The next time Voldemort visited him, he was more angry. Harry felt it in his scar first of all, a sign that foretold him of Voldemort's approach before he even heard his footsteps. Tom told him, this time, that the Order of the Phoenix was fighting harder, but that with the information he had gained on them through a spy of his own, they truly stood no chance against him. Harry believed him. Not only because he spoke about it with cold satisfaction, but because he stepped closer to Harry with madness clear in his dark eyes.

"If there's one last thing I must bring myself to promise you," he whispered in a terrifying hiss, "it is that I will hunt down each and every Horcrux you may have made and hid from me, and will kill each and every witch or wizard who tries to hide them from me in your name. It is I who taught you how to live forever, my treacherous love, and I who will banish you to Death if you are so keen to pose a threat against me..."

Harry stared back at him with all the bravery he could manage, but these words were daggers to his already shattered heart. "I never wanted to be a part of this Prophecy..."

Voldemort straightened up, his eyes narrowing, and backed away.

"Tom," Harry tried again, his voice desperate this time, "this is never what I wanted. This isn't how it was supposed to be, I –"

Voldemort turned away swiftly, irritably. Before Harry could do more than call after him, he left again, intent on punishing him with more prolonged solitude.

Harry felt as if he really was going mental. He began to obsess over the concept of mortality and the words the Prophecy had spoken. It drove him mad to replay those same few lines in his head over and over again, trapped in this cell, in his mind, without a single relief.

He realised, eventually, that Voldemort would seek the Prophecy's end. In sixteen year's time, he would send his Death Eaters to fight in the Hall of Prophecies for the last few lines spoken by Sybill Trelawney, only to find that they spoke of a most gruesome fate.

'_...and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives..._'

When Voldemort heard this, he would not assume that Dumbledore or a young Harry Potter knew about Horcruxes. He would know, at once, that it spoke of Harry now. He may have even sensed it. Where would he be in those sixteen years, Harry wondered? Would he still be alive, here, or would Tom have murdered him by them? Would the Death Eaters keep him here in secret, even after Voldemort downfall, not knowing where his Horcrux was?

These were the thoughts that haunted Harry most of all. He couldn't work out how much time had passed since Voldemort's last visit, but he wouldn't know what to say if he showed up again. He saw Death Eaters come in and out, some of them leaving food, others leaving messages from their Lord, but for a very long time, there was no sign of Tom. He may have been too busy hunting Horcruxes. That idea got to Harry and tormented him for hours on end. He may be killing him slowly.

Harry rarely slept anymore. Every moment, although prolonged, seemed precious upon the advent of Death. He felt that sleep was too human, too wasteful, to dedicate any time to at all. After all that he had done, it was a blessing. Harry saw no pattern in the Death Eaters arrivals, but knew and hoped that one day soon, Nott would show up again. He did. It was a relief. Harry barely knew how to react when it happened.

Nott remained as solemn as he had been upon his first visit, except that he was alone this time. Harry was started by how _real_ he seemed, how sane he was due to contact from the outside world. Nott brought him food and levitated the tray to a table nearby, before turning his full attention on Harry. He watched him for a long time, his bright eyes heavy with anguish, but curious. Harry had to speak. He realised that. He said the only thing that was on his mind.

"I'm – I'm going to be here a long while, I think..."

"Yes," Nott agreed quietly.

Harry wished he wouldn't speak so delicately. A part of him even wished Nott would be loud and cause a scene just to cause some variation in this environment. No, Nott was calm. His eyes were fixed on Harry's, almost as if he felt he needed to take in the sight of him to understand what he was feeling.

"I won't get out of this," Harry whispered.

Nott didn't seem so sure. That was the first thing Harry noticed. He wasn't convinced. Looking directly at him, Nott spoke a few faint words that changed everything for him.

"But of course," he said stiffly, "you did, once, admit to me that there was another way."

For a moment, Harry didn't know what he meant and that terrified him. His vision flickered between Nott's bright eyes, which seemed too full of sorrow to be real. Harry thought he was going mad from lack of sound in this prison, but he knew for sure that Nott had meant something. He could read his mind. He could see flickering thoughts, fleeting things, telling him that Nott, too, knew about Voldemort's attempts to kill him. The Mask hadn't yet been destroyed and an idea swam before Nott's brain. Harry stared at him, overwhelmed.

Before he could express what this meant to him, Nott turned away. He seemed to know Harry was in too bad a shape to instinctively be discreet. Harry was left alone with a huge idea that seemed almost too much for him to take.

For hours, he remained too shaken to move. Death Eaters brought him food, time passed by, and Voldemort miraculously didn't show up to greet him that evening. He didn't even try to sleep from that point on, because feelings of anxiety and disorientation kept him alert in a long, drawn out stab of adrenaline. He waited as long as he could bear before heeding Nott's advice. All the while, his eyes flickered around the room towards possible implements. Every idea was a new stab of growing anxiety. Harry was going to kill himself tonight.

It was after hours of pacing his room, back and forth, that he made his final decision of what to use. Admittedly, it wasn't altogether planned. He was tormented by the guilt of what he had done to Nott and so many others and during his pacing, he grew progressively more and more annoyed by the sight of his reflection. So, in a moment of uncontrolled anger, he smashed the tall, looming mirror in his room. His own face shattered into a hundred pieces and as the mirror broke and fell, it seemed to rain down upon him beautifully.

The only problem was, someone heard him.

Harry had already picked up a piece of the mirror and was looking at his own clear reflection, when the door rattled and opened behind him. A Death Eater had arrived.

"What do you think you're doing?" a wizard demanded.

Harry did not at once answer. He considered the idea of killing the Death Eater instead of himself, but there were more of them outside and even if he stole this man's wand, it may not work for him. Harry's mind was set. Instead of fighting, he slipped the shard of glass up his sleeve, turning to the people who stood at his door.

"What did you do that for?" the Death Eater demanded again, glancing towards the mirror.

"It was an accident."

"Some accident that is! You're covered in cuts."

Harry saw no reason to comment on it. He hadn't even considered the scratches on his hands.

"I reckon we should call our Lord for this," someone said from behind the first Death Eater.

They clearly had an uneasy feeling about Harry. Mulciber's eyes narrowed. "Do it, then."

The second Death Eater reached for his mark.

Harry closed his eyes, tensing, concentrating on the present. It was so much easier to stay focused with the three Death Eaters around, who spoke to him heavily.

"The Dark Lord will set you right," one of them swore.

In less than a minute, Harry heard new footsteps. He could see Tom walking closer. He opened his eyes.

"What appears to be the problem?" Voldemort inquired.

"I reckon he broke that mirror on purpose," explained Mulciber thickly. "Something ain't right."

Tom's eyes scanned the shattered mirror, then the cuts on Harry's hands. He stepped into the room slowly. In no rush, he indicated to the Death Eaters that they should leave.

"Carry on with your duties..."

"Yes, m'Lord."

They closed the door when they were gone, leaving Harry alone with Tom. Tom stepped forward wordlessly, his eyes fixed on the broken mirror. Harry stepped back, feeling like a child, the glass pressed against his palm.

Without paying Harry the least bit of attention, Tom began to mend the mirror. Piece by piece, the pile at his feet picked itself up and went back into its past arrangement. It seemed almost calming to him. Harry watched his growing reflection, noting the lack of anger on his face, but the moment Tom was finished replacing glass, he paused. His eyes were fixed on the missing piece.

Voldemort got annoyed then. Not because he felt threatened, but because couldn't believe Harry would actually use a mirror as a weapon. He rose a hand to push his dark hair back, closing his eyes.

"You cannot kill me with glass..."

Harry said nothing. He didn't care to correct Tom's wrong assumption.

"Give me the final piece," Voldemort asked of him.

Seeing no reason to object by this point, Harry stepped forward. He reached the piece out to Tom, whose back was turned to him, but he didn't turn to take it. The moment Harry held out the shard, it floated up. It didn't replace itself on the mirror. Tom summoned it into his own hand.

In the silence that followed, Tom examined the shard of mirror. He did not appear as angry as before. He was thinking.

"Even if you tried to murder me," he began softly, twisting the mirror between his hands, "how would you escape? You cannot kill me with glass. I have a wand."

Again, Harry said nothing. Tom had no way of forcing any information out of him; this was his only advantage. Harry was waiting for him to leave. The moment he did, he would smash that mirror all the same and do what he should have done before. Tom didn't leave yet, however. His shadowy eyes looked up at Harry over the shoulder of his own reflection. For a long time, he watched him, thinking, before his gaze dropped to Harry's hands. He turned around.

First, Tom wiped Harry's blood from the shard of mirror in his hand. He seemed fascinated by the fact that it could have been used to kill him, so he held onto it. Then he looked up again, his face unreadable. He stepped towards Harry until they were feet apart. Tom pocketed the shard of mirror.

"Hold out your hands."

Hesitantly, Harry did what he was asked. He didn't know what had changed, except that Tom appeared emotionless. When he held out his hands, Tom took one without a word. He rose his wand. He healed Harry's wounds. About a minute passed before his touch and the silence because too curious for Harry to take.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

Tom didn't answer, but turned Harry's hand gently, healing his palms.

"It doesn't have to be this way, you now," Harry muttered.

At this, Tom met his gaze, annoyed. He returned to healing Harry without anger, however. Harry thought he might stay silent from this point on, but eventually he did speak. By which time he appeared unfazed. "You lied to me."

Harry shook his head. "I didn't want to."

Voldemort seemed to doubt it. His expression grew dark again. Harry was healed now, so he let go of his hands and stepped away. He was going to leave in a moment. Harry couldn't stand the idea and found his heart escalate in fright, so he spoke. His voice was shaking.

"What do you expect to happen next?" he asked. "If you kill the Order and kill me, what will you have left?"

Tom made no response. He reached into his pocket for the shard of glass again, as if eerily drawn to it. Harry felt as if Tom was a long way away, unobtainable, slipping through his fingers.

"It wasn't meant to be this way," Harry said again, desperate to make him understand. "It never had to be this way!"

"We are rivals," said Voldemort simply. "The Prophecy foretold it."

"This is Dumbledore's prophecy," Harry reasoned in a desperate whisper, the idea only striking him when he said it. "Prophecies can be misread!"

"Fate has it that you alone have the power to defeat me," Voldemort reminded him, seeming calm, but avoiding his eyes. "It is no surprise, but if you are Dumbledore's weapon, if this is as the Prophecy warned... I cannot keep you."

He said it so calmly that Harry had a hard time believing he didn't mean it. Between his fingertips, Voldemort twirled the shard of glass.

"Who says I'll go through with what the Prophecy says?" asked Harry weakly. "Who says I ever wanted to be a part of this?"

"You were Dumbledore's spy... I do not overlook such things."

"So you have to kill me? You have to get rid of me forever?"

Voldemort did not answer. He was growing cold and angry. He took a step away.

"I've seen into your mind, Tom!" Harry exclaimed in desperation. "I know it kills you too. It doesn't have to be this way, you know this!"

Voldemort stopped. For a moment, Harry was unsure what he was doing, but he turned around slowly, his eyed burning red in anger.

"Don't call me 'Tom'," was his only response.

Harry felt dizzy with anxiety, stunned by Voldemort's sincerity. He had never seen so much hatred turned upon him from Tom and had never seen such a desire to kill. It broke his heart and terrified him more than anything else had, but at the prospect of being stuck in this room again, alone, in silence, he spoke what was really in his mind. In a desperate whisper, he tried to reason with Lord Voldemort.

"I love you," he whispered. "I still love you, Tom..."

It was then that Voldemort broke.

In whirling, thunderous impulse, Tom made a mistake. He lurched forwards, his feelings drowned in wrath, and stabbed Harry. Just like that.

A stunned moment passed, in which neither of them moved. At first, Harry didn't feel it. He couldn't believe it had happened. Tom had let anger take hold of him and all Harry thought was: _not like this..._

The pain started in his abdomen. Too irrelevant to him, at first, to matter. It was Tom's expression, inches away, that he cared about, the hundreds of thoughts that flickered through his head all at once, the sea that thrashed against the edges of hid mind, carrying forth a thousand new emotions. His eyes showed a madness that he had never felt for Harry before.

Cold anxiety found Harry when he began to feel his own blood soaking up his robes. He was in denial about the whole event, sure that it can't have been truly happening, because Voldemort was frozen, staring at him. Why didn't he do something, Harry wondered? If he regretted it, why didn't he fix this? If he wanted him to die, why didn't he kill Harry faster? He was in shock. He could see what Tom knew to be the truth: how easy it was to do nothing, to let him die.

Harry was the first to move. With shaking fingers, he reached for Tom's hand, urging him to pull the glass away. Together, they did. Tom let the weapon drop with a clatter, his crimson eyes flickering between Harry's own, shining more now than they regularly did. He wasn't even angry. Harry didn't let go of his hand. His fingers, wet with blood, slid around Tom's own to hold them.

In the next moment, Tom leant in towards him. Harry didn't know what he was doing, but the next thing he knew, Tom's lips were close to his ear and his hand held the back of his head. Harry rested against his shoulder, his eyes closed, breathing in the familiar smell of his neck. Tom might have been unable to face seeing him. He may have closed his eyes too. Harry never found out. All he knew was that thick, warm blood soaked through both of their robes now, seeping out of Harry's body. He didn't stir.

He was not scared of death. It must have shown on his face before, alongside a stunned, pained look of disbelief. He was not scared of knowing what came next, because although he knew his Horcruxes would keep him in a state of unimaginable pain, he felt that it might be better than the pain of this world and the pain of facing loved ones in the afterlife. Near-death might even be a blessing. So as he held Tom close with his remaining strength, breathing quickly, his heart rate fast, he felt no fear. Only acceptance.

Darkness had begun to obscure his vision for the final time. He felt cold and unsure of what came next, but despite himself, he almost felt safe in Tom's grasp. This was the end for him. The end, perhaps, of this war too, because Harry Potter was dead.


	79. Eighty-One

**Dear Readers,** I'm so sorry, but TVoV is coming to an end. The last three chapters, including this one, won't be extremely long (about 10k each), but will come relatively soon. It's too simple to complicate with too many words. If this were a book, you would feel the remaining pages lessening, leaf by leaf, headed for a conclusion. The weight of old chapters would strain your hands, pulling you on, a reminder of this 600,000-word adventure.

I want to dedicate this chapter to all of my readers, reviewers, & all of those who favourited TVoV, guiding me on as a young writer these past four years. x

-_Angstier_

* * *

79 – Eighty-One

He was unable to think, unable to move. It was impossible, he told himself. Harry had spoken to him mere minutes ago, had shuddered at his touch. Tom became very still, kneeling where they had fallen together, clutching Harry in his arms. It was impossible, he told himself again, but all was still. Harry wasn't breathing anymore. His body was still warm. It had been minutes, hours – but still, he was warm. Tom was too scared to move. He didn't want to face the consequences of his anger.

The room was deathly quiet. Tom had enchanted it to be so, but he regretted it in that moment and regretted the pulse that beat in his chest, on his parted lips, up against Harry's ear. His own breath had been the last sound, his terrified heartbeat. He was sure Harry had heard it and had noticed his terror. What use was that information, Tom wondered? What use were the thoughts in Harry's mind, now that his life had run out? Time's tides were washing his memories away slowly. Harry's grip had loosened on Tom's hand, but still he held it securely.

It took a long time for Tom to move. When the decision was made, it was not hasty, but urged him slowly instead, pulling him away like hands placed on his shoulders. He didn't, at first, want to look at Harry. The idea terrified him. What he saw upon sitting up terrified him even more.

Harry's eyes were open. They shone an emerald green, glistening in the light of torches, staring into stark nothingness as if he were witnessing what lay in the afterlife. He looked peaceful. His lips were blue, his face pale. Tom let go of Harry's hand in shock, dry blood breaking, and let him fall back, hard. Too hard. He hit the ground with a graceful 'thump' that shattered Tom's heart, who stood up, panicked, staring, clutching his wand. Nothing moved.

Tom felt like a child, ripped of his own power, wide-eyed, terrified, waiting. There was blood pooling around them, blood on their robes. The weapon lay on the ground at his feet. Tom, for a long time, couldn't think, but could feel. He felt too much. It made him frozen.

There were footsteps. They happened too soon. Voldemort lowered his wand, straightening up as the door opened. His eyes were large.

"My Lord," came Lestrange's voice, "I was told you would be –"

He stopped. He had noticed Harry's corpse. Voldemort looked up at him, his expression gone.

"Yes, Lestrange?" he asked quietly.

The Death Eater was silent. He stared at his Lord a long time, his eyes never once daring to flicker to Harry. Voldemort did not appreciate his lack of subtlety. For the first time, he was angry.

"Did you come here to gawk, Lestrange?" he hissed, "Or have you brought me news?"

Before Lestrange could answer, more Death Eaters were arriving. Lestrange cleared the doorway, glancing at Lord Voldemort worriedly.

"Oh, you're here," said Avery heavily, emerging from the shadows, "I guess you told him, then?"

Lestrange did not react to Avery's question. He may not have heard him at all. Avery, standing dumbly, followed Lestrange gaze to Lord Voldemort. Until he spotted Harry.

He didn't make a sound. This was rare for Avery, whose eyes instead snapped to Lord Voldemort. His mouth was agape. Again, Voldemort grew more angry.

"What did you intend to tell me, Lestrange?" he asked in a cold, cruel voice.

Lestrange was sombre. He appeared to have overcome his initial shock, but his eyes were fixed to some point on the ground between them. Avery tried desperately to look at Nott and Crabbe, both of whom ignored him. Lestrange spoke formally.

"There is news on the Order's movements, my Lord. Fresh reports..."

"This is good news," Voldemort pointed out. His eyes bore into the Death Eater's face, who still didn't look up. "You needn't be so docile, Lestrange."

The Death Eater said nothing. Each face Voldemort looked into turned away. In anger, he spoke.

"Are there others waiting?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Then I shall greet them..."

He didn't look at Harry. There was blood drying on his free hand, matching Harry's hand, blood on his robes. Harry became nothing than a blurry figure out of the corner of his eye as he walked past.

"One of you," he demanded, "fix this in my absence. There will be no funeral..."

He approached the Death Eaters, who stepped back hurriedly.

"I will, my Lord," answered Nott quietly.

In moments, Voldemort was gone. Out into the hallway. It didn't make him feel any less angry. He couldn't shake the image of Harry's eyes from his mind. Never again would he see him, but never again would he forget.

Tom didn't seek the awaiting news in haste. Instead, he crossed the prison he had built for his enemies and headed for an enchanted doorway that would lead him to the main headquarters. For reasons he couldn't bring himself to consider, he was shaking. Everything from his hands to his spine trembled and shook as if any moment now, he might break. His limbs ached in anxiety. He went into his bedroom. The Death Eaters wouldn't notice his absence.

The room was cold and deserted and had haunted him for months. He went into the bathroom beyond it, where the dark tiles showed his own reflection. Ignoring this, he faced the sink. He turned a tap with his wand, cleaning his free hand of blood. He put his wand away slowly, mechanically, refusing to think. The warm water felt like Harry's hand on his own, his blood between their fingers. With both hands, he rubbed the blood from his palm, from beneath his fingernails. The last remainder of Harry's existence –

_SMASH!_

Before Tom knew what had happened, the mirror before him was broken. His hand was bleeding. Shaken, he stood very still, eyes wide. The glass had shattered, spurts of blood caught between the pieces that remained. There was blood in the sink, both of theirs, and his reflection was gone, broken. Tens of the weapons he had used to kill Harry lay before him, reminding him, tormenting him. He stumbled, soul shattered, and gasped for breath. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind until he saw: he didn't have hands clutching at his own, nor Harry's breath at his ear.

Tom turned away, bringing a trembling hand up to his lips. He ended up smearing more blood on himself than he cleaned, frozen in fear. With his left hand, he took out his wand in haste, wondering why he hadn't used it before. The sink kept running. For a moment, he didn't heal himself. He didn't feel any pain, but the blood kept leaking from him, pouring over his wrist. He wondered if this is how Harry had felt before his death.

A great surge of power ran through Tom, starting from the core of his chest. His eyes closed, his breathing forcibly slow. He remembered the first time he had washed blood from his own hands and how it had affected Harry. He brushed the thought away, breathing slowly. As much as he tried to remain calm, he remembered when Harry had stood in this room with him, talking to him, musing over the end of days... Once more, Tom silenced his thoughts.

His hands were clean. He wiped the blood from his arms, face, and robes with the tip of his wand.

He remembered, too, the last words Harry had spoken to him. He turned his head, closing his eyes tightly. He remembered that look of shock, the feeling of compassion in his breath, in his hands. It was as if it had forgiven Tom. The thought was so powerful that Tom wondered, for a moment, whether he could overcome it. Once, he ran his hands through his dark hair, then again, then again until his nails scraped against his skull and he held his own head, wand in hand, wishing he could stop feeling this anger and this pain.

He stood like this for a long time. There was nothing to hurt, no one to blame. The water kept running alone. What was he supposed to do with this overwhelming anger, his surge of power? What was he supposed to do, and why did he not feel empowered now that the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord had been defeated? He understood that this is how things were meant to be. He had made an irreversible decision, one he knew he must stick to. In times of great change, indecisiveness would lead to defeat.

He became aware that time was passing. The Death Eaters intended to speak to him. The thought made Tom loosen the grip of his hands. He straightened up, opening his eyes slowly, unfocused. He had lost Harry a great many months ago. He would carry on as if nothing had happened – he had to. Harry, after all, did not exist like he had once thought. Pain ran through his chest and his shoulders tensed, but he tried to relax himself, the grip on his wand tightening. He had lost nothing... He alone held the power to Harry's soul souring between the realm of life and death and he alone would decide what happened next...

Formally, elegantly, Tom cleared the sink with a wave of his wand. The glass, now clean, rose up to its former position and the tap ceased pouring water. He left the bathroom, his mind blank, peaceful. Through the bedroom, out into the hall. The Death Eaters would be waiting in the entrance hall. When he arrived, several faces turned.

"My Lord..."

Malfoy was the first to approach him. His face shone bright in the dark light, lit with eagerness. He didn't notice the Dark Lord's cold demeanour.

"My Lord," Malfoy began again, "there are movements with the Order, great changes. Dumbledore has –"

Voldemort held up a hand to silence him. He was growing impatient. "I needn't hear it from you, Lucius. Have any private guests requested to see me?"

The Death Eaters became timid. Many of them, Malfoy most of all, saw his anger as power. He turned it into such.

"No, my Lord," said Rodolphus Lestrange, answering his question from beside Malfoy.

Voldemort was not pleased to hear it. If Rookwood or Peter Pettigrew were not here, he had no interest.

"My Lord," said Malfoy again, his voice urgent. Voldemort was surprised that he dared to speak. "It is of the upmost importance that you listen to what we have learnt. It's Dumbledore, my Lord – he has decided to hide the Potters permanently. We can't locate them."

Voldemort was intrigued, but at once turned to anger.

"You cannot locate them?" he repeated in a cold, deadly voice.

Malfoy's face grew paler than ever, making him look ill.

"My Lord, this is good news!" he said weakly, trying to reason with him. "It proves, once and for all, what you have so determinedly tried to prove – that the Potters alone are who Dumbledore wishes to protect!"

Despite knowing this was true, Voldemort was merciless. His red eyes reverted to slits and he turned upon Malfoy with growing vexation.

"Ah, but who has warned Dumbledore of my interest in the Potters?" he inquired scathingly. "Who, moreover, has allowed the Potters to slip into deeper hiding without my knowledge?"

Malfoy had no answer. He could do nothing but stare at his Lord, his mouth twitching nervously.

None of the other Death Eaters rose to defend him. They seemed to realise, together, that his wrath couldn't be reasoned with.

"Find me the Potters," Voldemort demanded. "Find me any information you can from whomever you may. The consequences of failure will be severe..."

The wizards before him became very still, then, staring in disbelief. He saw an immediate change in their faces, the horrid realisation that no work they did from this point on would end in praise. He had never threatened his Death Eaters for information before. He didn't care. They were to find the Potters or die trying – he expected nothing less of them.

He turned away. No one stopped him. He had a greater issue to deal with tonight.

Voldemort returned to his bedroom without stopping. He couldn't bring himself to stand amongst Death Eaters a moment more when Harry was gone. He was too angry, too horridly pained, and not a single Death Eater had the authority to talk him out of it. That used to be something Harry helped him with. Tom thought about it bitterly as he swung the door shut, his jaw clenched, pacing the room. He ran a hand through his hair, before turning towards a large cupboard.

He had hidden the Mask Horcrux inside. Shining pale in the low light, the Mask greeted him when he approached it. It was cold when he touched it. He picked it up, feeling like a child, and twirled it between his hands. He could feel Harry's soul inside of it. He was sure of it. This was one of three remaining Horcruxes that bound Harry to earth. In sickening anger, Voldemort planned to get rid of this first Horcrux for good. He turned, brushing the wardrobe's door closed.

When he looked out across the room, however, he stopped. What haunted him most about this room was that at each moment, no matter how much time passed, Tom felt as if Harry were about to walk in from a door and turn to him, smiling, asking what's wrong. He was mad to think it and mad to think that the Prophecy could ever be avoided by this point. Tom's eyes flickered to his bed, where he remembered Harry most. Sitting in the low light, watching him.

"_Being here feels so right,_" Harry had told him one evening, early into their stay in this hideout, this dreadful place. "_I wish it wouldn't ever end._"

"_It never has to,_" he had promised with a kiss.

Tom turned away, his movements stilled. Facing the cupboard once more. His mind was blank, but his heart beat painfully in his ribcage. He remembered the way in which Harry had lay still beside him, not speaking, but holding him, loving him. He remembered how that lie had been the last thing to ever make him happy.

Tom was no longer angry. He couldn't place why. Slowly, unsure of his movements, he opened up the wardrobe. The Mask was cold and suddenly Tom wondered what it would be like to be stuck in the realm between life and death. Wizards weren't advised to stay there for long periods of time. It drove people insane. He placed the Mask back down.

He wondered what the Death Eaters had been trying to tell him. Turning his neck and standing up straighter to relax himself, he left the room. There weren't many people remaining in the entrance hall. Those who were had been speaking amongst themselves and were surprised to see the Dark Lord return. They didn't have much left to report to him, except that the Order had yet again changed headquarters and that no news of their movements had been leaked.

Tom went away quickly. He had no interest in stalling with details and even less interest in risking more anger. He returned to the deserted inner-headquarters alone. If the Potters were being hidden, then he would have to work harder than ever to find a way to reach them. He understood it could take years before that happened, maybe longer. All he cared about was being there the moment Dumbledore's security broke. The Potters, after all, wouldn't last long protected by the Order of the Phoenix...

The Order of the Phoenix. Had Dumbledore, perhaps, chosen this name as a threat? In an attempt to scare Tom with the concept of immortality? A Phoenix, once killed, would rise again from the ashes... but how did Dumbledore expect his Phoenix followers to succeed in this ritual, Tom wondered? Once Voldemort murdered them – as he surely would – they would never rise again. Their fire would be put out. He would kill their families, erase all documentation of their existence in the wizarding war. Even Dumbledore did not know of his magic. Even Harry Potter – _dear_ Harry – could not rise again if Voldemort did not help him.

Alone in his study, Lord Voldemort thought about Harry Potter. It was pain beyond any he knew. It was with anger that blinded and sickened him, making his head spin with thoughts of how he could ever have missed something so severe. He was suffering pain that was surely worse than Hell itself. Tom tried to grab onto other, more thrilling thoughts. He would kill anyone who joined the Order of the Phoenix. He would make them so fearful of an organisation that witches and wizards would fear even to be seen with someone who could be a potential follower. Dumbledore knew nothing of immortality...

Even as days passed, Tom couldn't bring himself to visit the Mask Horcrux. He found excuses not to every night, excuses to postpone and neglect the act as if it didn't matter what he did next. There was a lot of work around to keep him busy – he put the thought at the back of his mind as often as possible. The moment the Death Eaters left each day, he focused on his old work, revising plans, organising attacks, speaking aloud to no one about it. When he went to bed three days on from Harry's death, his mind was full of troubled thoughts.

He couldn't sleep that night. He started where he normally was, lying in the low torchlight, trying to clear his mind. He was exhausted, but kept wondering how the current investigations amongst Death Eaters would go and how many years it would be until they caught and captured the Potters. The week had shaken him. He couldn't overcome the mistake he had made and couldn't believe that those short minutes of Harry's death had ended in an irreversible change. When Tom drifted off to sleep, he dreamt about Harry.

It wasn't a dream, but a nightmare. He dreamt that Harry was swimming before him in darkness, his hair flowing around and his expression blurred, as if submerged in water. When he opened his eyes, he spotted Tom. Instead of a looking relieved, terror found him. He seemed to be drowning. He was being pulled back by unseen hands, struggling, suffocating. Tom couldn't do a thing. He awoke with a jolt and sat up. He shook and breathed in violently. The room was immersed in darkness. He reached for his wand, fingers scrambling across the bedside table.

"_Lumos!_"

Light flooded the room, blinding him. Harry was nowhere to be seen – not drowning before him, not sleeping next to him. Tom rubbed his face with his free hand, unable to shake a sense of loss, guilt, and powerlessness. An old, fading memory of their love convinced him wrongly that perhaps the nightmare had taken place over a significantly longer period of time.

Tom couldn't sleep that night. He got up and waved his wand to ignite the nearby torches. They lit the room warmly, but he felt cold. In this silent, empty room, he was the only person breathing. He had raised Harry unknowingly to become his equal, his rival. The Prophecy had told him that, so why was it that he couldn't bring himself to hate Harry, as it surely predicted? Tom did everything that the Prophecy had warned him about, he had changed everything to be sure that Harry couldn't defeat him, but there was one problem. He regretted killing Harry. The thought haunted him for a long time.

Tom had suspected for a great number of months that Harry was an Order spy. He thought it from the moment Harry started acting differently, getting comfortable around the Death Eaters, helping with missions. His initial reaction had been anger and distance, but he had eventually learnt to accept what happened, deciding they could work through it. Now, however, that Harry was his prophesied equal, his rival, his enemy, Tom didn't know what to do. He didn't trust fate, but couldn't put his faith in Harry either after hiding something so important for so long.

When Harry had been brought in, Tom had planned to have him tortured, but had never done it. It made many of the Death Eaters wary. Those who knew about Harry's betrayal expected him to be treated like every other snitch and spy who had worked against Lord Voldemort in the past. Tom still wasn't sure why Harry had allowed himself to be captured. Had he planned to kill Tom? Had he known all along how things would end? Was it to plead for forgiveness? The thought made Tom want to do a great deal of damage. He wished he could have listened to hear where Harry stood and wished he could take back control over his overpowering anger.

As time passed impossibly slowly, Tom was left with nothing but anger. He knew it was wearing on him and affecting his judgement, but he couldn't help it. Two days after Harry's death, the Death Eaters gave him news of the Orders' movements and had even brought him in a prisoner. Dorcas Meadows. A talented witch, known for her involvement in the Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort took her personally, without hesitation.

"My Lord," Lestrange said the moment he announced his interest in torturing Meadows, "there are many others who would be honoured to take the job, if you would prefer."

The Death Eaters had already tortured Meadows for a great number of hours and had obtained information on the whereabouts of certain Order members, as well as details in their latest movements. Lestrange clearly wanted more. Voldemort laughed.

"You forget, Lestrange," he responded in a low, quiet voice, "that Dorcas Meadows is a very important witch. I have waited a long time for this..."

Lestrange let him pass by, saying nothing. The chamber was cold, large, and dark. Dorcas Meadows sat at a table formally, a chair opposite her that Voldemort didn't take, even as he moved further into the room. His movements were careful, stilled. Meadows watched him steadily.

Tom hoped he might retrieve some answers from Meadows tonight. Answers to questions that Harry was unable to hear in time. Hungrily, attentively, Voldemort greeted her. Lestrange followed in his shadow.

"Meadows..."

The witch didn't answer him, but her eyes dropped. She kept her face blank. Voldemort sensed she was scared, so he took out his wand.

The chairs and table vanished. Meadows was on her feet at once. She had reached for her wand, but her robes hid no weapons. Voldemort smiled cruelly.

"Let us not act in haste..."

Still, Meadows glared at the Dark Lord, as if she stood a chance. "I wasn't brought here to talk."

"Weren't you?" Voldemort dared. He felt safe, powerful, especially as Lestrange closed the door behind him, withdrawing his wand. "There is a lot I wish to discuss with you, Dorcas..."

The witch stood proud, waiting. Voldemort didn't act irrationally yet, but spoke to her instead. His voice was low, soft, concealing the desperation and worry he felt. If he had to, he would read her mind soon, force Legilimency on her, and gain the answers he sought.

"There was a man," he said, "who joined your ranks many years ago. A man who did not fit in amongst your group, whom Dumbledore treated with the upmost respect. His name was Jonathan... Do you remember him?"

The witch blinked slowly, raising her chin. "I don't know what you're talking about."

_Crack!_

With a sound like lightning, Meadows hit the floor and began twitching and screaming violently in agony. The Cruciatus Curse was strong. Voldemort allowed it only for a moment, his anger then bursting into a louder question.

"Was Jonathan amongst your group?"

"I don't know what –"

_Crack!_

She squirmed until tears welled up in her large eyes. Her screams pierced Tom's ears and ricocheted off the chamber walls, repeating itself over and over. Every time she lied, he would hurt her like this. He released the spell, watching her breathe in an agonising shudder of air. He gritted his teeth, growing impatient.

"Jonathan," he spoke again in a hiss, "do you remember him in the Order?"

Meadows was silent for a long time. Voldemort waited, rewarding her for honesty.

Through red eyes, Meadows watched the Dark Lord. Slowly, in pain, she nodded. "I remember..."

Her words hit him hard. In anger, he threw another spell. Her back arched and she screamed once more, the pain of the Cruciatus Curse visible on her. Voldemort barely heard when she pleaded for him to stop in the faint, quick moments of relief.

Again and again, the spell was cast. It took a very long time. Voldemort fell into a moment of rage, envisioning Harry sitting amongst the Order, plotting against him, seen by many. Over and over again, Meadows was Cursed until she was broken.

When his spells stopped, there was silence. Meadows was unconscious. Voldemort had vented his anger and stood tall above her shaking body. He was only dully aware of Lestrange staring at him. When he looked up, he didn't understand why he was giving him that same, steady look.

"My Lord," said Lestrange in a low voice, "if I may be so bold..."

He stared with narrowed eyes, furious. "What is it?"

For the first time, Lestrange looked brave, as if Voldemort's anger were a weakness that made him obviously less powerful. He carried on.

"There is much information Meadows could have carried, my Lord... Information such as who else was in the Order. You wanted, for example, to find out whether Evadne Nott was indeed an Order spy."

That's all Lestrange was here for. Without question, Voldemort turned back to Meadows and with one swift curse, woke her up. She looked peaceful for a moment, until her bruised face hit the full light. She sighed out a rasping breath.

"Nott," said Voldemort in a low, deadly voice, pointing a wand to her throat. "Did Nott work amongst you?"

She was crying, but Voldemort barely noticed, except that she kept choking on her own words.

"Y-yes," she whispered. "N-Nott was – was... Nott w-was valued h-highly –"

Voldemort couldn't take her stuttering. He was right. That's all that mattered and it angered him. With a flash of green light, Meadows crumbled back, slumped where she lay. Voldemort admired his work for a moment, before turning to face Lestrange, wand at his side.

"Does that satisfy you?" he mocked.

The Death Eater said nothing. He was standing very still, staring at Voldemort with wide, frightened eyes, as if he had very recently lost something. Voldemort turned away.

"Clear up this mess..."

He was too impatient to know nor care what Lestrange's reaction was next. He left the room, fully aware that he had taken his anger too far. Many curious Death Eaters lined the halls. They could have learnt the Order's secrets, could have understood Dumbledore's plans with just a little more patience. Tom, however, didn't care, because he needed this control: to kill whomever he may. He returned to total solitude that night.

To his dismay, as days passed, he realised that he could have used more help from Meadows. She had been safe of information waiting to be cracked and after her capture, almost no news came up amongst Death Eaters for possible leads on the Order. Lestrange grew quiet in the worst hours, reminding Voldemort of his mistake. The more time that passed with no reports, the more Voldemort was convinced that one of his own men had again betrayed him.

If Harry wasn't bad enough, who else amongst Tom's followers had decided to work alongside Albus Dumbledore, he wondered? With the Prophecy's claim that the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord had been born, many men had changed allegiance at a certain period of time, but Tom was sure he had flooded out those rats. Could his Death Eaters still doubt his power? Unless they had discovered _Jonathan's_ true involvement in all of this, Tom doubted many witches or wizards would change sides. Harry had always had more power than he was willing to admit.

In an attempt to reenforce the Death Eaters' loyalty, Tom decided to launch a raid against the Order not five days after Harry's death. The catch was, it wasn't against any Order headquarters, but was a personal attack on two very dangerous men: The Prewett Twins. They went down fighting, to no surprise. Dolohov lead the group, driven by Greed, and didn't lose a single man. It gladdened the Dark Lord greatly. The Order would slowly back down with the more men they lost.

When almost a week passed since Harry's death, an unexpected setback emerged. While Tom was busy glancing through a list of witches and wizards across Britain who refused to join him, he was interrupted by a change. He sensed the Dark Mark burn and knew Death Eaters would soon be arriving. They would be in the entrance hall. Tom stood up.

Sure enough, the Death Eaters were waiting in the entrance hall. It was cold and echoed the sound of Voldemort's footsteps when he arrived. The Death Eaters spoke in haste when he stood before them.

"Travers has been captured by the Aurors, my Lord," came the calm voice of Rodolphus Lestrange. Bellatrix stood beside him, her expression dark.

"Travers?" repeated Voldemort, his eyes burning in annoyance.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. There was nothing we could do."

"What happened?"

"I believe Travers got himself caught, my Lord."

Not all of the Death Eaters seemed convinced. Voldemort noticed this as Bellatrix stirred beside her husband. Six or seven witches and wizards behind her glanced over. He was interested.

"What say you, Bellatrix?"

She looked proud to be addressed by the Dark Lord and straightened her chin, standing up taller.

"He was there," Bellatrix told the Dark Lord in a hushed voice. She was leaning away from and glaring at Nott. "He was there when Travers was caught."

Voldemort glanced at Nott, who's attention had been fixated on the stones at his feet. Nott's stare was steady when he noticed the Dark Lord's eyes on him. He didn't seem guilty.

"What happened, Nott?" Voldemort asked him directly.

The Death Eater didn't look particularly grateful for the chance to explain himself, but he made no hesitation before answering.

"Travers has been a suspect of the Aurors ever since the McKinnons' deaths, my Lord," he said quietly. "I couldn't predict their wrath – not before Travers made himself known."

Lord Voldemort considered this slowly. Travers had been known to walk on the edge when it came to his acts of expressing anti-Muggle views. "What did he get himself caught for?"

"There were Aurors following those who attempted to track the Order of the Phoenix, my Lord," Nott answered.

"Why is it that you stand before me unharmed, Nott, if Travers is in the Aurors' hands?"

At this, Nott smiled weakly, as if it were obvious. "My Lord, I didn't follow the Order quite so aggressively. You know it's not in my nature."

Voldemort couldn't disagree, but it didn't please him. "It was your duty to protect Travers. I thought I made this clear."

Nott said nothing. He was somber, unresponsive, and his eyes dropped.

"He can't have forgotten about the Aurors' wrath," Bellatrix commented in the silence. "It's his fault that Travers was caught, my Lord. Surely you see that?"

Voldemort considered Bellatrix's claim, but wasn't wholly convinced. Nott was one of his oldest remaining Death Eater, a companionship that couldn't be doubted for the sake of Auror success. He considered what could be wrong with the wizard, before remembering the fate of Evadne.

"I understand your wife's death has caused you to lose focus, Nott," he said delicately, proud to have figured it out, "but we cannot afford to lose our own people over it. Do you understand?"

Nott looked up without moving his head, giving the Dark Lord a long, steady look. There appeared, for a moment, to be conflict in his eyes. Lord Voldemort was not known for his patience, yet here Nott stood, undecided. When he spoke, his voice was monotonic.

"Yes, my Lord," he agreed quietly.

"You may leave."

Nott did so without hesitation or comment. The moment he walked into darkness, heading for the exit of the hideout, Voldemort turned to Bellatrix. She looked positively outraged, her large eyes frozen on his.

"You are a loyal Death Eater, Bellatrix," he said delicately, "but perhaps your time will lay better in fighting the Order than is does in accusing our own of crimes they did not commit."

Bellatrix wasn't pleased, but she looked at her Lord for a long time and seemed to decide his judgement had to be followed. She nodded once, her large eyes softening.

"Yes, my Lord..."

The conversation ended swiftly after this. Travers' capture didn't end in any short-term affects, so Voldemort felt utterly unfazed by it. To win this war, he had to keep his army strong and not lose focus on the more pressing aspects of it. He was responsible for every movement, every kill, every crime the Death Eaters committed in the name of Wizarding Supremacy. He spent every waking hour plotting and planning against the Ministry and Order, trying to get them out of the way so he could change the Muggle world for good.

It had been a long and laborious war. The same night that Nott left, followed by Bellatrix and the others, Voldemort met with another guest in secret. A guest who refused to mix with the other Death Eaters at large, lest they should give away his identity. Rookwood spoke of plans to take down the Minister within the following year and infiltrate the Ministry at large with a great number of loyal Death Eaters. Voldemort listened closely. As the Dark Lord, he would rise as a great figure, helping the Wizarding World to break the shackles of Muggle suppression...

Visits from Rookwood were often met with surging inspiration that set Tom in a state of ecstasy. He imagined himself standing before a world in which Muggles and Wizards mixed, those who possessed magic overtaking those who didn't. He felt at peace with his own thoughts for the first time in a long time as he sat alone in his study. Rookwood had brought him plans to work with and he dedicated himself to it promptly, poring over notes and papers. He would stand alone as the Dark Lord and rise to become a famed and renown leader, free from help, devoid of Harry's guidance.

This thought was the first of many to lower Tom's mood that night. To win this war, he had to carry on as though nothing had changed, but murdering Harry, watching and feeling him die before him, wasn't something he could forget. The Prophecy warned him that Harry was his equal, which meant that any continuance in their relationship would forever put him in danger. Tom sat back in his chair, neglecting his papers and rubbing a thin hand over his face. He was supposed to move on and forget everything that had happened with Harry before the war, but it had meant the world to him.

Three wars... Three wars, Tom had lived through, counting only one of two treacherous Muggle World Wars. It often made him wonder whether this was his fate. He was born between the World Wars, had grown up to understand Grindelwald's, and now had started one of his own. He could not have predicted that this fight would end up against the man he loved. If he had known sooner, he wondered, would he have stopped training Death Eaters, or would he have stopped loving Harry? He didn't see how it could be any other way.

He couldn't speak to Harry about it. The realisation hit him surprisingly hard that night and he remained very still where he was seated, letting it wash over him. Harry could not understand this conflict within him. Wherever his soul had disappeared to, whatever he may be experiencing, he would never know how much his death affected Voldemort's judgement and how the Death Eaters' movements changed from that point on. Tom would soon be faced with the challenge of eliminating Harry's Horcruxes. It was the next step. He didn't know how to do it.

Years ago, they had both made a promise to resurrect the other in case death occurred during any of the many battles they fought alongside the Death Eaters, or in worse circumstances. The idea had been that they would always have each other waiting on earth to help bring the other back to life, ultimately insuring that the amount of Horcruxes they carried were doubled. Throughout all the research they did, past the Death Eaters and Dragons they trained, through every dangerous attempt to kill and capture Ministry figures, they were meant to be safe. Tom was the only person on earth who knew about Harry's Horcruxes. He was the only one able to kill or bring him back to life now.

The choice is what hurt him most, he thought. In the low light of his study, Tom stared into space, trying to imagine the realm between life and death. He understood, dully, that he would need to tell another Death Eater about his immortality and instruct them on how to resurrect him, but the thought played a minor threat to him. He didn't know how he was supposed to bring himself to kill Harry fully. He had the tools, had the time, and had more reason to than he could bear... so why was it difficult? The thought frustrated him. It played on his mind and tormented him so much that by the time he went to bed that night, he was furious.

Voldemort remained in an unstable state from this point out, battling between anger and remorse. Problems with the Death Eaters were piling up ever since Travers' capture and he couldn't seem to find the root of the problem. Unlike in past years, when Voldemort had been thrilled to rule out and discover flaws in his complex plans, he now wanted the problems to go away so he could just _think_. There was no way to express this to his Death Eaters. They turned to him with hopeful eyes, clearly wondering what great tricks he would come up with next.

When a certain situation arose, Voldemort couldn't take it any longer. In a chase against the Order of the Phoenix, a number of his own Death Eaters – Dolohov, two Lestranges, Yaxley, and others – had failed to kill or capture anyone from the Order and had returned empty-handed of information. It was as if the Order had been expecting them, waiting for the last minute to disappear. It infuriated the Dark Lord, who showed no mercy for his own wounded fighters. Dolohov had very nearly felt the Aurors' grasp upon him and it was he who Voldemort decided to blame.

"Has Dolohov no concept of the dangers that dwell before him?" he asked in a scathing whisper, speaking at large to the few Death Eaters brave enough to report the news. "Has he underestimated the importance of trapping and killing off the Order?"

"My Lord," said Yaxley, his face pale, "there was nothing we could have done to prevent the Order leaving. They're too familiar with our attack strategy, too comfortable with our impending arrival –"

"I needn't hear excuses from you for your own lack of imagination and skill, Yaxley," Voldemort retorted coldly. "There's no excuse."

The Death Eater was more uncomfortable than scared. Voldemort's burning gaze rested on him, his reddened eyes steady and his dark hair, usually neat, falling over his colourless face. His large, spider-like hands grasped the arms of the chair he sat at, his knuckles paler than ever.

"Where is Dolohov tonight?" he demanded in a hiss, his eyes turning to Lestrange and Avery. "He surely doesn't think hiding will shield him from Lord Voldemort's wrath?"

"There is no saying, my Lord," Lestrange answered calmly. "We haven't located him yet."

"So, he is hiding?"

No one answered. He took it as a 'yes' and was furious that no one remained brave enough to express it. Scowling in impatience, Voldemort sat up slowly, his shoulders relaxing forcefully. The handsome cut of his robes and the glint of a goblin-made necklace was visible in the torchlight, reminding the Death Eaters of his wealth, his power. Pushing back his hair in frustration, the Dark Lord spoke.

"Avery, Yaxley, you'll be in charge of hunting Dolohov's trail."

The Death Eaters addressed didn't respond. They, instead, became very still.

"You will bring him to me within the following twenty-four hours," Voldemort carried on quietly, his eyes closed, envisioning Harry's face. "There, he shall be interrogated for information to explain his absence, the failure of his recent tasks, and any useful information he may be hiding from me for his own protection..."

Still, the Death Eaters didn't speak. When Voldemort looked up, Avery was glancing worriedly at Lestrange, who bravely met his gaze. When Yaxley, too, looked towards him, it became clear that they were uncomfortable with the orders.

"What is the problem?" Voldemort asked them gently, his expression unkind. "Do you fear Dolohov's power?"

Avery and Yaxley said nothing. Their faces were pale and they shifted where they stood.

"Or do you perhaps support his lack of competence?" the Dark Lord suggested. "Do you think, perhaps, that he is indeed trying hard enough, but that the information we seek, the Order we're trying to destroy, should be allowed to carry on?"

"No, my Lord," said Yaxley at once. "Of course not, my Lord!"

Avery shook his head vigorously. "No, m'Lord."

Voldemort became more infuriated with each passing second. He stood up from where he was seated, watching seven pairs of eyes follow the movement.

"Are you attempting to convince me that Dolohov's actions are justified?" he asked his Death Eaters, "or do I have to give you all the same treatment before you satisfactorily understand the significance of his recklessness, his lucklessness?"

"My Lord..."

Lestrange's voice was strong. He stepped forwards from amongst the Death Eaters, appearing far from scared, even with everyone's eyes on him. Voldemort was stunned.

"My Lord," he said again, his expression apathetic, "no one here needs to be punished for the Order's luck."

Voldemort didn't understand. He was sure many of the Death Eaters would be happy to see Dolohov in Ministry custody, so surely Death would be an even better permanent residence for him? The Death Eaters looked scared. It only infuriated him more. He waited for Lestrange to speak again, to explain himself.

"There has been and will always be mistakes during our attempts to overthrow Dumbledore's army, my Lord. Fortunes and misfortunes will occur, but it remains just that: chance."

Voldemort understood, but he wasn't pleased that Lestrange was changing his orders. For a long moment, he watched the Death Eater stand bravely, then made up his mind. It was a rash decision, made in haste, acted in an instant.

"Avery, Yaxley, you needn't chase Dolohov. He will come to us... but all of you, leave at once."

It seemed to go without question that Lestrange was supposed to stay behind. He didn't avert his attention, even when the six men behind him disappeared into the shadows, their footsteps leading them onwards. Voldemort temper raged on, but remained calm on the surface. He sat down again.

Lestrange seemed to have become a great deal calmer, lately. For years, he had tried desperately to win the Dark Lord's attention and prove himself a loyal Death Eater, but decades had passed now, so competition was fading. Lestrange, alongside Nott, had outlived every other Knight of Walpurgis and had watched them all die too young. With Harry, too, gone from sight, and Nott preoccupied with the death of his traitor of a wife, Lestrange stood alone with the Dark Lord. He got what he wanted.

The accomplishment didn't seem to please him. As he stood here bravely, waiting for the Dark Lord to do something, his eyes flickered between Tom's as if he knew exactly how Harry's death was affecting him. It made the Dark Lord uncomfortable, but he hid it well. Lestrange had always known a great number of secrets that the Death Eaters didn't dare to question. This was his job: to remain far from judgement, to focus on the war rather than Voldemort's personal affairs. Standing before the Dark Lord now, Lestrange blinked slowly, breathing evenly, thinking.

Voldemort didn't interrupt his thoughts. He didn't even remain angry. His long fingers tapped on the left arm of his chair, his expression unamused. Lestrange spoke quietly, calmly.

"Anger will be your downfall if you cannot control it..."

That was all. Lord Voldemort stared at him, his glare harsh for a long moment, until it faded. He felt as if the solitude that confided them was a significant representation of the recent changes that had taken place. Lord Voldemort was winning the war, but in reality, this is where he stood: alone in a dark room, with no one left brave enough to talk to him besides Lestrange. There were many men who met with Voldemort in private, playing the war game. Many men who would praise the Dark Lord in fear. Lestrange was the only person left who dared to be honest with him.

"You may leave," Voldemort said in a low voice. He was no longer angry, but watched Lestrange with a look of knowing curiosity. The Death Eater bowed his head once, before turning away. Voldemort was left in silence.

He understood what Lestrange had meant. Seated on a throne of power, Voldemort couldn't be kept grounded without someone to remind him exactly where earth was. Right beneath his feet. It was to keep him stable, to remind him the facts, to stay watchful of enemies at eye-level. Harry used to be this figure. Tom understood that Lestrange wasn't trying to replace him, even if he was stepping up to fulfil the role of Voldemort's closest follower. Tom also rather thought it wasn't just for credit – with no competition, Lestrange had no reason to stay stable towards the Dark Lord, except to keep things balanced.

Some part of Tom wished Lestrange had been there prior to Harry's death. The thought hit him like a dagger when he sat alone, brooding in his chair. That may have kept him calmer. In the months Tom had spent searching for Harry, Nott and Lestrange had been loyal followers to him, staying on each side of him, separate from each other. They had made sure Voldemort didn't do anything irrational in haste. By the time he found Harry, however, they seemed to leave Tom to his own business, confused as to what Harry had done to hurt him initially. If the Dark Lord had been honest, things could have worked out differently.

Voldemort decided to move. Out of the entrance hall, back to his bedroom at the heart of this hideout. He had moved closer to Harry's Horcrux, the Mask, but knew he wouldn't bring himself to destroy it today. The bedroom was dark, even when he ignited the torches. Black and green velvet hung down from the four-poster bed frame, curtains open, while the windowless room remained unnaturally still. He had built a fortress so powerful, so hidden, that not a single breath of air nor flutter of an insect's wings disturbed his war-full mind.

Voldemort didn't know what he was doing here. There were tens of projects he could be dedicating his time to, many Death Eaters and others he could speak to, but all he wanted to do was stand very still in this room, thinking. Killing an object should have been easier than killing a person. This was simple fact. Watching Harry clutch at him, slipping into death, and seeing the light leave his eyes should be harder than piercing a Mask with a basilisk's fang, but the memory haunted him every time he picked up Harry's soul for the last time. Tonight, he wasn't going to touch the Mask Horcrux. He wasn't going to make any plans. He needed to think.

Tom took a seat down at his desk, but didn't pay attention to the papers strewn and scattered nearby. Head in his hands, he thought about everything that had happened. He had one Horcrux in his possession, two hidden by Harry elsewhere. He became agitated at the very thought, trying to slow his breath down, even when his mind raced. He was beginning to realise that if things carried on the way they were, his anger would destroy all of his work on the war. Harry had wanted nothing more than for all of this to stop. In death, his wish had been forcibly gained.

Stuck between regret and pain, Voldemort fought between believing in the Prophecy and believing what Harry had told him: that none of this had to happen. The Dark Lord wanted nothing more than to believe that Dumbledore was wrong, the Prophecy flawed, but the very act of doubting Harry's word, his loyalty, had lead to all of this. Stuck between two beliefs, he made more mistakes than he ever would with a solid state of mind. Indecision would lead to a downfall. Indecision would leave him burning in confusion. So, he made his choice.

It was then that he realised that Love was not a strength, but a weakness. Anything, he supposed, that Dumbledore believed in surely had to be worked against. The only thing Tom had ever taken from his old Headmaster was an outward appearance of tranquillity – something he had failed to master recently. By remaining constantly calm, Dumbledore had succeeded in reminding all those around him that his way of life, his beliefs, and his thoughts were so valuable that they kept him grounded at all times. The thought drove Tom mad sometimes – and this was one of those times. If Dumbledore believed in Love, why was he calm?

As Lestrange himself had said, to become a Dark Lord worthy of ruling this world, Tom had to eliminate his anger. Anger was the result of losing Harry, the result of losing Love, and it was destroying everything Tom had left. His mind, his judgement, his orders, his foresight – all blurred by red, burning ire. To become strong once more, he must eliminate all that brought him weakness. Love proved itself to be his greatest weakness of all, nothing more than a distraction, a flaw that would hinder his greatness.

How might he go about eliminating Love, Tom wondered? The thought played on his mind violently, shaking him down to his core. Killing Harry and destroying his Horcruxes wasn't enough. Tom couldn't shake this tremor of rage, this sea of anguish that crashed throughout his lungs and blinded his sight. Harry was the source of his Love, yes, but destroying him now destroyed the Dark Lord too. They were too connected, he felt. Too much time had passed in which they were bound by words, Horcruxes, and promises.

To shake this pain, Tom realised, to shake this anguish and anger, he had to shake the roots of love that dug deep into his heart. After all, the opposite of love isn't hate, but indifference. Every small promise, every whisper of affection, touch, and kiss, every thought he had ever had on staying with Harry as an immortal being for the rest of existence, had to be eliminated. He must shake himself out of his sense of anger, because allowing anger in his heart proved love once existed there. Then an idea occurred to the Dark Lord. An idea so strong, so meaningful to him that he froze where he sat, his gaze dead, excitement and hatred burning in his stomach like a slow wisp of fire.

There was a way to murder Harry without touching any of his Horcruxes. With one quick movement, there was a way Tom could end all of this, starting afresh. Lord Voldemort was in close proximity to Harry's own beginning. The Potters, under Dumbledore's protection, held a child in their arms who would always grow up to become the man that Voldemort knew and loved. Tom needed to erase all of his history with Harry to remain a focused, able Dark Lord. This was his only way to. He would kill the child, Harry Potter. To eliminate the child would be to eliminate Harry completely.

The thought made Tom stand up in blind delirium. He would undo all desire. If there was no Harry Potter, there would be no Love, no pain, and nothing to hold him back. With no Harry Potter, there would be no Horcruxes for him to destroy, no years of partnership, no romance, magic, and no Prophecy.

He wouldn't make any further plans to hunt Harry's Horcruxes. He wouldn't command his Death Eaters to chase down the Order anymore to learn of Harry's involvement in their old plans. It didn't matter to him. The only thing that mattered to Voldemort now was that child. He would not monitor the Potters from this point on. He would not wait years for the child to grow and spy on him to see if Dumbledore decided to train him against the Dark Arts in a vain attempt to defeat him. No, killing the child was the only way out of this now. He, Lord Voldemort, would show no mercy.

It happened very fast. Almost magically, as if fate were rewarding him, Voldemort's decision to murder Harry Potter came with a very fortunate coincidence. He stayed up until the early hours of that morning, waiting to change the Death Eaters' entire attack strategy, when he was met by a very early visitor. He was not accustomed to seeing Death Eaters during daylight, but he understood Peter Pettigrew was attempting to be discreet. They met in Voldemort's study, where the windows told tall truths about the cold, grey weather outside.

"Wormtail," said Voldemort gently, his vision boring into those beady eyes, "why do you stand here so frightened, so lively? Pray, you have not made a mistake."

He enjoyed using the name 'Wormtail' in relation to Peter Pettigrew. It was a false sign of closeness to the rat who would soon betray his greatest friends. Voldemort had learnt a great deal of information from this young wizard through intimidation alone. The more he knew, the more poor Peter seemed to pour – it was a useful trick. A cunning method.

Wormtail didn't answer his Lord quickly. He stood where he was, hands brought together, shaking. His eyes darting again and again to Lestrange, who had let him in, as if he couldn't quite decide whether he could be trusted. Voldemort watched Peter closely, something like hope growing in him. Pettigrew was both terrified and enthralled.

"M-My Lord, I..."

He waited. The Dark Lord was not usually so patient, but when Lestrange tried to speak, he held up a delicate hand in silence. Peter was wetting his lips, sweating, a smile breaking across his face nervously, then falling, constantly. Voldemort had never witnessed such distress.

"M-My Lord... I – I need to know t-that you and your – your Death Eaters will keep me s-safe. When I tell you... when I tell you what I have learnt, I need to know that you – my L-Lord – you will protect me!"

Voldemort was transfixed. His eyes widened, his head tilted. "Carry on?"

"P-promise me –!"

"You have my word, Wormtail," he swore delicately, "that you shall remain safe, given any situation that involves the Order turning against you. Now, tell me – what have you seen?"

By this point, Peter had begun to shake violently. Bringing thick fingers up to his lips, as if in prayer, he fell between laughter and pain. He caught Lestrange's eye, who remained impassive.

"My Lord, t-there was a change," Wormtail stuttered. "The Fidelius Charm that Dumbledore planned to place – that Dumbledore initiated – has b-been compromised... Sirius Black – he didn't want to be the Secret Keeper! My Lord – M-My Lord, he... he suggested it is _I_ who should guard the Potters!"

Voldemort became very still. Lestrange followed in unison, his bored eyes suddenly alive. He passed the Dark Lord a look of disbelief, before they turned back to Peter. Only one thought was on the Voldemort's mind. If Peter meant what he thought he did, he could extinguish Harry Potter before he even began. With this small slip, Voldemort had won the war...

"Peter," he said softly, looking at the small rat with praising eyes, "Pray, do tell me..."

Before he could even form a question, Peter spoke again, sweating heavily, frantic.

"I had to wait a week to tell you, my Lord!" he said. "I c-could not escape their w-wonder... We must act now, before it's too late... Th-There's no telling for how much longer they'll t-t-trust me..."

Voldemort waited for Lestrange's approval. Silently, they passed a look, one that told him in somber desperation that Lestrange knew what came next. They would attack the Potters. This opportunity could not be dealt with any other way...

"Peter," said the Dark Lord quietly, "I need you to listen closely for what I am about to say..."

"Y-yes, my Lord?"

Voldemort straightened up where he was seated, a fire of courage, accomplishment, and wonder growing in his chest. He felt lighthearted, enthralled, and no amount of Peter's squirming could convince him that there was anything left to fear. He felt not a drop of anger and the light in his eyes convinced Lestrange, wholly, that he was making a rational decision. The Dark Lord spoke.

"You are not to see the Potters today, Peter... I want you to go home, make yourself known, and give the Order an excuse for your absence. Anything believable. You will be followed home by seven Death Eaters, all of whom will capture and murder anyone who decides to pay you a visit. By this time tomorrow morning, you will walk away a free man, openly under the protection of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters... Do you understand what I am saying?"

Blood drained from Peter's face. His thin lips, chapped with dehydration, trembled.

Voldemort sat forward in his chair then. It made him appear taller to the already short Peter Pettigrew. His head tilted and he expressed his euphoria through eyes that glinted in overwhelmed happiness.

"You are not to leave this room, Wormtail, until you tell me how to break Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm. You are safe now. I will deal with the matter of the Potters with minimal destruction, taking the boy from his parents' hands. Do you understand?"

Wormtail nodded violently, but seemed shaken by one thought. "B-but my – my Lord... you will not h-hurt the P-Potters, will you? You won't h-harm them or – or –?"

At this, the Dark Lord laughed. It was a stunned, maniacal gesture that far from assured Peter of his better judgement. The rat had done his duty by destroying Dumbledore's security and could do no more. Voldemort's voice echoed against the harsh stone and pierced the ears of Pettigrew and Lestrange.

"My dear Peter," he said in a harsh, impassioned hiss, overwhelmed by happiness, "whether or not the Potters choose to fight me is their own responsibility... No, I do not think it should matter to you by this point in time. You have betrayed your friends, have proven yourself loyal to the Death Eaters and Death Eaters alone. Here – Lestrange, if you would do the honours, I rather believe Wormtail deserves a reward. A mark of his loyalty to the Dark Lord..."

Lestrange understood. He nodded once, not smiling, and turned to Peter.

"Give me your arm."

"W-What are y-you –?"

There was a flash of white light. In an instant, Lestrange branded Wormtail with the Dark Mark. He cried out in shock and pulled his arm away, terrified, but the mark seared red and black. The Dark Lord smiled once more, shaken into a stunned state of disbelief.

"Tomorrow, you will walk away a free man, Wormtail. It will be a brand new world..."

With Lestrange as his assistant to intimidate Pettigrew, Voldemort learnt all the information he needed on the Potters, becoming a Secret Keeper. Lestrange could not convince him to wait a day longer, even after Peter left, so the Dark Lord spent the next hours drawing up plans and calling in Death Eaters to make arrangements for the downfall of the Dark Lord's rival. He didn't dare let a soul more than Pettigrew, Lestrange, and himself know about what he had learnt today. Even when he sent a group of Death Eaters to stalk Peter, another group to stalk the Longbottoms, he didn't confide in anyone.

"It's a day of celebration indeed, my Lord," commented Lestrange in private by the time night fell. "Do you expect no complications?"

"None at all, Lestrange," Voldemort answered him, allowing himself one last grin of maddening success. "The Potters have no idea..."

"I will watch over Peter, my Lord, in your absence."

Voldemort was glad to hear it. Lestrange's sons had already been called to keep an eye on the Longbottoms from this point on, an afterthought in consideration to the Prophecy's claim that the boy would be born on the exact date Neville Longbottom was. The Dark Lord had no doubts, however, that Harry Potter was his rival. Staring into a mirror at his own warped, pale reflection, Tom could hardly imagine what the world would be like when he eliminated Love...

"Would you like me to accompany you to the Potters, my Lord?" Lestrange then asked, his tone curious.

"Why would I?" Voldemort asked him arrogantly. "I shan't be there longer than necessary. Your presence might warn the Order."

Lestrange seemed to understand. He nodded once. Voldemort drew up his hood and was knocked into a mental state of unreality. It seemed too good to be happening, too overwhelmingly surreal to end like this. Kill Harry Potter, and he will never know love...

"I shan't wait a moment longer," the Dark Lord murmured to his own reflection. His eyes were red, his skin blurred and warped with a lifetime's worth of the Dark Arts on him. In a quiet voice, the then added, "When I see you again, Lestrange, this world will have changed."

"Yes, my Lord," Lestrange agreed, watching him. He appeared proud, confident. "I'll be waiting here for you."

This seemed to be the final word. The Dark Lord turned away, feeling his wand at his side, and left Lestrange. Not a single Death Eater disturbed him on his way out of the hideout. Men and women knew him as he passed and watched him with hopeful eyes, noticing that today, the Dark Lord stood tall, more powerful than ever. London was cold, but the rural town of Godric's Hollow was colder when Voldemort Apparated to its streets. With anger eliminated, bravery burned in the Dark Lord's heart...

The night was wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square, and the shop window covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry Muggle trapping of a world in which they did not believe... And he was gliding along, that sense of purpose and power and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions... Not anger... that was for weaker souls than he... but triumph, yes... He had waited for this, he had hoped for it...

"Nice costume, mister!"

He saw the small boy's smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face.

Then the child turned and ran away... Beneath the robe, he fingered the handle of his wand... One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother... but unnecessary, quite unnecessary...

And along a new and darker street he moved, and now his destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet... And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and peered over it...

They had not drawn the curtains; he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of coloured smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pyjamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist...

A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning...

The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did no hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open.

He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy, he had not even picked up his wand...

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Hold him off, without a wand in his hand? He laughed before casting the curse...

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut...

He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear... He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in... She had no wand either... How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments...

He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand... and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the last sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead...

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside now."

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –"

"This is my last warning –"

"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –"

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all...

The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time. He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty light, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing –

He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face. He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry. It had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage –

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

And then he broke; he was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away... far away...

– X –

He was choking on his own blood. Swimming in a storm of terror that flickered in and out of time like lightning, he tried to grasp for breath. He was being pulled back into reality, back into _something_, but the pain was like nothing he had ever experienced before. For hours, forever, he switched between soul and mind, aching in a physical form he thought he may have never felt before at all. It was as if he were being held under water. No matter how much he fought, they wouldn't let him breathe.

Things remained this way for a while. He worked outside of space and time, forced into something he couldn't quite remember. When he was human enough to move, he opened his eyes to a blurred, milky haze. He heard sounds – a heartbeat, rasping breath, tremors, organs moving and jolting into action – but nothing was familiar. Nothing remained of his old self yet. There were hands on him, a burning touch pulling at his arms and words spoken to him. Light flashed before his eyes many times before he awoke.

In waking memory, he lay on his back. There was a ceiling. Breathing came naturally to him, but memories were harsh. His own ego, his sense of self, slotted into place forcibly and painfully. He couldn't believe that this could be _him_, but here he was, stunned. He was lying on a bed. That's what they called it. No one was leaning over him anymore, but he felt hand-prints on his arms still as if he had been branded. When he awoke enough to move, he turned. On a chair, in gravity, hooked to an earth, sat a human. A human, moreover, with a familiar face.

"Nott..."

Harry spoke in an unfamiliar voice, the voice of a much younger man. Someone purer.

From across the room, he saw a smile break across Nott's face. He rushed to Harry's side too quickly; suddenly he was there, his face lit with wonder and his blue eyes, like two planets, shining.

It wasn't until Harry stirred in pain, his eyes closing, that he stopped. Harry fought down violent memories that came flooding back to him now.

"What did you see?"

Nott guessed these things too quickly. Harry struggled to answer. Thoughts rushed to him: seeing his parents, witnessing Voldemort's transformation and sudden death...

"It's done," he managed, his voice hoarse. "It's over. Voldemort's been banished..."

A look of amazement crossed Nott's face. He moved and Harry tried to sit up, but found he couldn't. Nott was pale. He urged Harry back, looking older and more exhausted than Harry had ever seen him before. He was pained.

"I know," Nott explained slowly, speaking in a whisper. "Harry, it's – it's been three years..."


End file.
